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Chapter Text

Bryce’s first realization was the pressure in her ears had eased. She could hear her fast, loud panting breath now. The falling sensation had stopped, her body felt heavy again, it was shaking uncontrollably. She was laying face down on a soft surface that smelled like wet earth. 

Had she finally arrived in Hel? How long had she been laying here until her senses felt normal again?

She couldn’t tell, falling had felt both slow and fast. She had to start moving, before one of Hel’s creatures sniffed her out. She kneeled, folded on top of her sticky blood-soaked leggings into a small ball.Hunt… Ruhn…, she whispered to herself.She could have sworn she’d heard them. Hunt’s pain filled scream, and Ruhn’s furious cursing. She’d left them with those fucking monsters, she sobbed.

Were they still alive? Was it too late already? she worried. 

Her mind was still speeding through all she’d learned. She’d made a mess. She was responsible for getting her mate and brother captured. She had endangered everyone she cared for, and the Asteri would retaliate with pain and death. Guilt gripped her hard, she curled further into a ball, ashamed that she had risked those she loved to know Danika’s secrets. She’d been selfish. She needed to fix her mess before it was too late, before she lost them forever. She needed help.

"Find Aidas" she repeated over and over.

One slow breath. She lay her hands on the ground, curling her fingers, her blood crusted nails dug in grassy earth. She blinked her eyes open, trying to focus on her surroundings. Face down on neatly clipped dew-covered grass. Hell had grass? a little surprised. 

She slowly released her breath, slowing her panicked mind to think about what to do next. She located her brother’s sword by it’s singing, the Starsword, was just a short distance away from her right shoulder, an easy arm length away.  

Move! Grab it now, she ordered her hand. 

But her body wouldn’t obey. One more breath, while she looked at more of her surroundings. The mist airily drifted to reveal a gentle turquoise river about fifty feet away, a few yards away was a large stone building similar to Pangeran architecture. Down the river, wood docks with dinghy boats to large sail ships further where the river widen, also an ancient and beautiful city. Indistinct shapes meandered beyond the river in that city, unaware of her presence, the demons of Hel continued on. 

Bryce pushed herself on shaky arms, uncurling, and finally facing Hel. 

Something cold and sharp pressed against her throat.

A sharp voice spoke above her. The language was unfamiliar, but the words and tone were clear enough. Don’t fucking move.

The male’s voice demanded something in a strange language, Bryce remained kneeling on the ground, her hands raised and reaching for her power. But only faint glimmers remained, Hunt’s last bolt to power her was spent to open the gate, and flee the Crystal Palace in Midgard.

He hissed when she didn’t move, grabbed her by an arm, hauling her onto her legs and twisting her to face him.

Head down, she glimpsed his black boots, his wide, solid stance facing her neon pink, blood splattered, sneakers. Mat, dark scalelike armor covered his strong legs, blue gems encrusted at each knee seemed to shimmer from within. His tall, powerful humanoid shape was cladded in that dark armor with several more of those shimmering blue gems. Her eyes caught on wisps of unnatural shadows that moved along his throat, over his wide shoulders, arms and large wings on his back. Demon wings, leather with shinny black talons at the top. The shadows, similar to her brother's but darker, twirled and cascaded along his body excitedly. The male’s face was beautiful, even if his hazel eyes held no warmth.

He spoke again in a low, commanding voice, this male in such an impressive armor was not a common guard, he expected to be obeyed. Bryce wondered if she should be fighting.

She couldn’t control the tears, they streamed down her face to her chin, and with a dirty hand she whipped them off. "Aidas" her voice broke. "I’m looking for Prince Aidas. I need to speak to him! My world, my mate… they’re in danger" she chocked on a sob.

The winged male swept his gaze over her, not revealing anything, assessing the blood covering her. Barely lingering a moment on her tear streaked, bloody face. Wary, he shifted his gaze towards her sword on the ground, sheath still on, and his eyes slightly widen.

The sword’s song had changed, Bryce realized. It was a more complex harmony, as if more instruments were added to its song. It resonated deep in her, compelling and melancholic. 

Bryce lunged, meaning to grab his arm in a plea, the male easily side stepped her move. His stance ready to parry more attacks, but his knife remained down. "Please, take me to Prince Aidas, please" she begged. His brows knitted. 
He picked up her sword, noting how the length of the strap didn’t fit her body. The leather set off a faint smell towards her, Ruhn’s mist and citrus smell, and her heart cracked, more uncontrolled tears rained down her cheeks. "Help, please" she begged again.

With scarred hands, he pulled a black cloth from a hidden pocket in his armor, indicating his intention to blindfold her by raising it to her face, then waited. Bryce remembered her dad’s training, Randall’s voice repeating to her, never let your kidnapper move you to a secondary location, that’s where he will isolate you and kill you. Considering her choices, Bryce agreed, hoping he would take her to Aidas like she’d asked.

He efficiently fitted the blindfold on her face, his cold fingers were gentle as he pulled her hair free from the knot, and checked for any gaps. His hands patted her down to check for any hidden weapons, Pollux had taken them already. They came to her knees and back, lifting her off the ground. She was braced between his powerful chest and arms. Then they were flying.

Bryce had never flown before meeting Hunt, there was no one until him she’d ever trust to hold her helpless in the sky. She was acutely aware of this male’s every movement, minding his hold on her remained strong, her fingers held tightly onto the leather strap across his chest. If he let her go, she’d have only seconds to feel her way to grab a hold on him. The sound from the flap of his leather wings, different from Hunt’s feathered wings, was a reminder that this was not her mate. She was anxious for the flight to be over with. She tried to breath normally, but with every breath his smell, cedar and fresh snow, filled her nose, and it was oddly comforting. She refused to trust it.

Their flight was short and soon they started gliding down, his hold on her never faltered, not even when his boots made a loud thump on the pavement. He kept her in his arms and walked, his steps hitting the ground for a dozen steps until she heard a wood door creak open. Then they were inside, somewhere warm and nice smelling.

He lowered her on her feet. While he closed the door, he said something to her. One step away, she banged her shoulder into a wall, hard enough to rattle something hanging on it from the sound of it. She swore, he sighed.

He grabbed both arms twisting her a quarter of a turn, then one cool hand slid down her arm, catching her hand, callouses rubbing against hers, he pulled her along. Again, two words spoken so low she barely heard them over the squeaking sound of her shoes on the wood floor. She tripped on something that sent her falling forward, a carpet, she realized too late from the muffled sound of his boots. She braced her free arm on his lower back to stay upright, he was solid, sturdy. But for a second her face brushed against soft cool leather, he jerked and moved it away quickly. Touching his wings was probably very bad, especially if they were as sensitive as angel wings. "Sorry, sorry, but I can’t see shit!" she apologized.

He led her a few more steps and stopped, pushed her down, she tensed. A short curt word and he did it again, she resisted. She shook her head refusing. He spoke again, in a silken voice, much softer this time.

"I don’t understand Hel’s language, if you’ll just get Prince Aidas?" she said. "He knows me, I need his help, please" she begged again. Silence, then he shoved her down, she swore as she landed in a soft chair, hitting her elbow on a smooth velvet armrest. He repeated the same words.

"I don’t understand" she whispered. More silence from him, the room was quiet except for the Starsword’s song. 

She folded onto her legs, rocking herself. Thoughts of the cruelty Hunt and Ruhn must be facing haunted her. She’d left them, she’d ran and… she wept, "Oh gods, oh gods, what have I done, what have I done, what…" she cried. Finding help wasn’t going to be easy, she’d be too late to save them. She’d lose them. Those monsters wouldn’t stop until they were broken and destroyed. And that, pissed her off! 

Her rage simmered. They had murdered Danika and her pack two years ago, then Lehabah died last spring because of their plotting. No more. She did not give up, she’d fight, she’d get her mate and brother back, and make them pay. Her blood boiled. She tore off the blindfold, bared her teeth and shouted at the cold-faced male "Get fucking Aidas, now!"

He didn’t move, not a flinch, didn’t so much as blink. He just stood in front of her, unimpressed, watching her without a single hint he cared. She pushed herself off the chair, ready to yell some more in his face. But noticed the room. This house… 

She blinked a few times, leaning to look beyond the male’s large wings. Noting the exits. A large archway where she could see a dining table and foyer, likely they entered through that room. Another arch opening behind her with stairs leading up, a second floor. Two large glass windows and a door seemed to lead to a flowery backyard garden. 
It wasn’t what she expected Hel to look like, cozy, warm, luxurious. There were plush throw pillows, and a soft looking blanket hanging off the sofa arm. This room was made for snuggling with a loved one in front of the fire place, or enjoying an evening with friends.

The air whooshed out of her lungs as she took in more details, the dark wood floors, the nice furnishings, velvet sofa and chairs, wood side tables, the crackling fire in the dark marble fireplace, above it a painting of a large snow topped mountain and starry sky, the bookcases on each side, full of leather bound books. A gold cart with many crystal decanters full of liquor, and an expensive looking chess board on a coffee table. The room’s style was old Pangerian, so similar to Jesiba’s gallery.  
"Where are we? Whose house is this?" she asked the male standing too close now that she was on her feet. He didn’t respond to her questions, only stared at her, even when she raised an eyebrow and put her hand to her hip, signifying she expected an answer. He didn’t understand a word she said, she realized.

Curious wisps of his shadows darted in her direction, but scared of getting close to her, she ignored them, as she continued to assess their surroundings some more. Her nose full of his cedar and fresh snow smell again, she ignored that too.

Her eye caught on a tiny gold orrery on the fire mantel. Wanting to take a closer look at its odd configuration of planets. She fainted left toward the door, the male leaned to block, but with Fae swiftness, Bryce moved around his right and headed for the mantle.

Clearly not many managed to slip by this male from the surprised look he threw her over his shoulder. He recovered quickly, and joined her at the fireplace. His stance was prepared for another move from her, but he didn’t stop her from observing the small ornament.

Bryce touched a finger on each planet, counting. Fewer than it should have been, or she thought since Hel had seven layers. Were they all one planet? Her thumb ran along the carved lettering on the marble pedestal. Lips moving silently, reading in the old Fae language, Prythian.

Chapter Text

Azriel looked at the red-haired female staring at the orrery of Prythian. She looked confused as she was taking in the living room, but now, she looked lost. Her breathing was loud, and he could smell her salty tears again. The orrery was a Winter Soltice gift he’d given Rhys decades ago. It was a rudimentary version, static, but beautifully crafted in gold by a talented artist in the Summer Court. Rhys had been fascinated by his small gift. It inspired him, years later to make his own, a larger one, that moved to track all the planet trajectories through the year. Rhys’s was impressive and displayed in the office at the River House, while this small gifted one remained at the Town House.

He couldn’t decide what to make of her. She was covered in strange smelling blood, nothing he could recognize, little of her own blood from what he could tell. Not injured, but she had survived some kind of violent fight. The sword didn’t seem to be her own, but it was the only weapon she had. The sheath strap was too large for her body, the leather gave off a faint smell, not hers, a male, not unpleasant, likely from a High Fae.

She obviously wasn’t from here, even if her red-hair was typical of the Autumn Fae lineage, impossible she was from their court, her clothes were in a strange fabric, and her language he’d never heard before. He’d traveled across this world, his research taking him even in remote areas, looking for others of his kind, not Illyrians but Shawdowsingers. No human half-bred were born since the rise of the wall between High Fae and Human lands, but even before the wall very few half-humans survived to maturity.

He didn’t understand her language, and she didn’t understand a word he said either. Which convinced him, she just might have come from another world. It was the only explanation, as crazy as it sounded, all he could come up with for all the oddities. The strangest was his shadows excitedly whispering that she was finally here. She had suddenly appeared on the River House lawn.

One moment, he was watching Elain trying to comfort baby Nyx, he’d been driving the house mad with his relentless crying since he was teething. He’d abruptly stopped crying as if also curious about the faint song playing, then it seemed Truth Teller started humming along. His shadows searched the house first, once cleared of danger, he warned Elain to stay inside with the baby, and he stepped out in the yard, searching where the music came from. There was a hole, a black one in the clear blue sky, far within a single dot of light, a lone star approaching, it’s brightness blinding as it fell over the edge of the black hole. Then, all there was, her, laying on the ground.

Rhysand must have sensed a breach of his ward around the River House, he asked him, mind to mind, what was happening. Azriel informed him about the appearance of a female on his lawn, and showed him an image of the red-haired stranger curled on the ground. Rhys ordered him to seize her, take her away from the house and Nyx, they would meet him at the Town House as quickly as they could get there.

At the sound of the door opening and voices, the female took a deep breath and wiped her face with her dirty sleeve, she had a brave face on by the time his family entered the room.

Amren was the first in the living room, she stopped at the sight of the female standing next to him. Likely because she was a half-human, half-fae, probably not the amount of blood covering her. She may have seen a few in the past, like Myriam, but none in many decades.

Cassian and Nesta walked in next, both taking in the sight of her too.

Before anyone could speak, the female blurted something in her language, it sounded like the same questions she’d asked him several times.

Amren asked everyone in the room "Any idea what she’s saying?" The female endured their gaze, as Amren, Nesta and Cassian reviewed her appearance, looking for clues. Cassian even sniffed loudly her scent, but only shrugged, just as confused as he had been. Then she spoke again, but this time in another language, and Amren stepped back, hand flying to her mouth in shock.

Azriel couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Amren’s shocked face. Cassian just as concerned by Amren’s shock, asked "what’d she say?"

But Amren ignored him, looked over to the sword, Azriel had dropped to the floor when he thought she was making an escape for the door.

"Has Truth Teller reacted to her?" she asked him.

He told her how Truth Teller hummed when she’d first appeared, and he could see why Amren would ask about it now, since the sword seemed to be glowing. At the sight of him reaching for his knife, the female exclaimed what he was sure was a curse, and stepped away. He pulled the knife out slowly, and it flared with dark light, as if answering to her sword now glittering white light. Alpha and Omega.

Wary, Azriel dropped the knife to the floor as it continued to glow darkly next to the bright light of her sword. It had never done that before. Amren whispered ‘"Gwydion" as she pointed the sword.  Cassian sucked in his breath, and asked him "Do you think she might be your mate Az?" Nesta elbowed him saying "Seriously, that’s what you’re wondering right now?"

He was relieved, Nesta saved him from having to respond. The female started asking more questions, further distracting everyone from Cassian’s. Everything about this female was confusing to him, something pulled him towards her, or maybe pulled towards the sword she’d arrived with. Its song resonated in him, compelling and lovely.

Amren explained that she was speaking in the ancient language of the Fae. Azriel learned a few basic words when he was younger and Rhys had a tutor teaching it to him, but it wasn’t spoken in Prythian anymore. This female seemed fluently conversing in this dead language. Amren was translating "She's from a world called Midgard. She’s saying she didn’t mean to come here, that she’s looking for a male called Aidas, he’s a Prince from another world called Hel."

When Amren told her, they didn’t know anyone called Aidas, the female asked about another, also Prince called Apollion from the world of Hel as well. Seemed like this other world was made of layers, and each had rulers that this female knew of, and was seeking their help. Azriel and Rhys often wondered about the existence of other worlds, speculations but no proof of their existence.

He didn’t know what to make of this strange female, as far as he could tell she wasn’t lying, but what she was implying seemed crazy. He hoped Rhysand would know what to do with her.

Then Rhys and Feyre arrived.

Chapter Text

Two more came into the house, a pretty golden-brown haired Fae female, who was likely related to the taller one standing by the broad winged male. She wore a loose white shirt that had paint stains in various colors, her arms were tattooed all the way to the top of her hands. Behind her a Fae male walked in.

Bryce gasped. "Ruhn?"

The male blinked, confused. His appearance was so similar to her brother, his hair was the same black but short, his face, his posture, even his eyes were the same rare shade of violet blue. He was so much like her brother, except for those large leather wings on his back. Bryce observed every detail, mentally made a list of everything that wasn’t like her brother while he just stared back at her with stars in his eyes. Tiny, bright, stars in his eyes. She willed her own not to respond, begged for her chest to remain dark. Powerful, oppressive magic radiated from him. The short Fae that looked like a tiny version of Fury, who understood the Old Fae language, spoke to them very fast in their language. Bryce could only assume she was repeating what she had told them so far.

The pretty tattooed Fae asked a question, which baby Fury translated to her. "She wants to know your name?"

Bryce glanced at the two new people in the room, recognizing their power and authority. Everyone seemed to be waiting, taking their cues from them, even her captor seemed to have relaxed a little when they entered. So, Bryce even looking like she did, straightened her blood-stained shirt, stood with her shoulders back and lifted her chin. And introduced herself, "My name is Bryce Quinlan."

The male, who looked so similar to her brother, took a step forward, tucking in his wings. He smiled slightly, not the open friendly smile her brother gave her. This was the same smile her brother used for the king’s business relations, the Fae’s he didn’t trust but with whom he had to keep things professional. Fine, she didn’t trust him either. The male said in the old language, in a voice like glorious night. "Hello, Bryce Quinlan. My name is Rhysand."

The moment his fingers brushed her wrist, her Fae instincts and years of training with her dad kicked in. She twisted her wrist away, and threw her opposite hand upwards, shoving his nose up into his skull. She moved fast, the moment she’d felt the tingling of magic trying to pull her away, he’d meant to teleport somewhere. She didn’t put much weight behind the hit, not meaning too damage much, but it would still hurt. A warning hit really.

"Never touch me, without my consent" she warned calmly. Stepping back slowly, palms open and arms down, standing closer to the male who had brought her in this house.

Everyone in the room had taken a fighting stance, hand on their weapon, they were very still, and waiting. If her captor was surprised to see her standing next to him, he showed nothing on his beautiful face. His shadows twisted around both her wrists, cool, tugging slightly as if to prevent her from taking another swing. Then everyone seemed to talk at once, but not to her, not in the language she understood.

The pretty Fae female was concerned about the male, but seemed also reprimanding him. The broad winged male was smiling, and asked something to Rhysand. He seemed impressed with her move. He demonstrated it, as if explaining how effective it was to the Fae female standing next to him. It made her wonder if maybe the threat was over with.

Rhysand grumbled something that didn’t seem intelligible even to the others. He was staring up at the ceiling and pinching his nose. Probably waiting for the pain to subside and his watery eyes to clear. This group reminded her of her friends, it was a nice sort of chaos.

Bryce looked at the male standing next to her, trying to figure out what was going on. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt your friend" she said in her common language. He didn’t understand her words, but he seemed to know she was apologizing. His shadows on her arms remained, but they relaxed slightly. Standing side by side, they both waited quietly while everyone calmed down.

Then two more people burst in the living room from the glass door, coming in from the yard this time.

Chapter Text

Elain walked in, Lucien trailing behind her, she gasped at the sight of Bryce, and dropped her basket of apples. She must have been in the yard picking them unaware their visitor was here.

The sight of Bryce shifting back into a fighting stance, staring at Lucien disdainfully, smirking at his scarred face and mechanical eye, made Azriel’s lips pull slightly into a smile. He may have loosened his shadows on her arms to see if she would take a swing at him too. Bryce’s dislike of the Autumn High Fae smelled like burning nutmeg, sweet with a hint of bitterness.

"It is you" Elain whispered staring at Bryce.

Bryce’s gaze shifted to Elain and soften.

Lucien set the basket upright, and went about retrieving the runaway apples on the floor. Bryce watch him with surprise.

Then crouched down to pick up two apples near her feet. Elain also kneeled, impatiently pulled the basket away from Lucien while piling apples of her own in it. Bryce cautiously stretched her arms to hand hers to Elain. Azriel watched Elain’s gaze run from apples in her hands to his shadows coiled around Bryce’s arms. Her face tensed, her delicate brows furrowed, looking more like her sister Nesta then ever, she stared into his eyes and demanded "What are you going to do to her?" Silent, Azriel just stared back, his face impassive.

Feyre interrupted her sister with her own question. "Whose watching Nyx?" Feyre likely already checking, mind to mind, on her son.

“He’s napping finally…” Elain sighed. “Nuala is watching him” she added more calmly, her eyes returning on Bryce. “What happened to her? Why is she so bloodied?” she asked, her brows frowned.

Amren exhaled “We don’t know much yet. We were about to interrogate her, but she made Rhysand cry when she hit him in the face.” Rhys groaned. His nose was still sore, he kept touching it as if checking if it was broken. It wasn’t, she hadn’t hit him hard, it just hurt like a motherfucker to get hit on the nose.

"What do you mean interrogate her?” Elain stared back at Amren, but didn’t wait for an answer. “What he’d do to her?” she accused Rhys.

“What makes you think I did anything?” Rhys questioned. Pulling off a rather convincing innocent air, Azriel thought.

But Elain persisted, “She wouldn’t hit you, unless you did something to her” slightly annoyed with him.

Azriel wondered who Bryce was to Elain, not a stranger, it was recognition he’d seen on her face the moment she’d noticed her in the room. Unlike Nesta, she rarely spoke aggressively, much less standing up to Rhys like she did now.

Bryce’s arms remained still, waiting for Elain to take the apples from her, watching her face as if trying to understand what she said, what had upset her. Elain’s hands curled around Bryce’s to retrieve the apples. Elain’s eyes changed to milky white, and she whispered to Bryce in her language. Bryce’s hands jerked slightly, then her face crumbled in relief. Her eyes quickly cleared, while both raised to their feet. None of the others seem to notice, Elain’s uncommon and subtle use of magic.

She said to her sister, “Feyre, don’t let them take her to those dungeons to interrogate her. She’s just lost, she needs our help. Bryce wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“You know her name?” Amren asked. Bryce had introduced herself before Elain came in.

Surprised by her sister’s plea for a stranger, Feyre silently stared at both of them for a moment. Her beautiful, gentle sister, such a contrast standing in her flowing soft pink dress, holding her basket of apples next to this stranger, an assertive, blood covered red-haired half-fae in black leather.

“You are asking me to risk my family, our friends and our people, I don’t think I can do that for a stranger who obviously has trouble after her.” She told Elain.

It pained Azriel to see the disappointment on Elain’s face. He added. “She never threatened anyone. She’s been calm, and cooperating from the first moment I found her.”

“Except for hitting me in the face, you mean?” Rhysand reminded. Azriel grinned.

“You may have earned it for being so slow and obvious about grabbing her” Cassian teased. “You might want to get a few training hours in once in a while Rhys.” Rhysand groaned. This was a recurring suggestion from Cassian, especially since Nyx was born. Azriel suspected it was mostly about Cassian missing their brotherly brawls during training. 

Amren said to the High Lord and High Lady. “Can’t either of you just look into her mind so we know what we are dealing with?”

Feyre frowned. “No, I can’t. Her shield is like nothing I’ve ever encountered. There’s nothing” She looked to Rhysand, what he made of it.

“It’s not her shield. She’s warded, it’s very ancient, powerful magic, made to protect against daemati powers.” He told them.

Amren frowned. “Just a coincidence you think?”   

Elain turned to Azriel asking, “Is she hurt?”

Surprised she’d addressed her question to him. Elain had avoided him since… well, since the incident in the foyer at Winter Solstice. It was his fault. He didn’t blame her, and it had been easier this way, to let her avoid him. She was probably confused by the odd smell of blood on Bryce. She was still inexperience with her High Fae senses. He hated seeing her worried, he reassured her. “It’s not her blood, I don’t think she’s injured. But she seems distraught, like she lost some kind of battle.” Elain nodded relieved.

And because Elain seemed to care about this stranger, and he missed speaking with her. He tried asking her softly. “Have you seen her before?” Elain hesitated, then nodded slightly.

Feyre prompted gently. “Where have you seen her?”

She sighed, answered so quietly, Azriel had to stop breathing, even his shadows froze to hear. “I know her. I’ve seen her in my… you know, dreams.”

“Dreams?” Nesta repeated loudly. “You’ve seen her when you were sleeping?” she asked.

Elain squared her shoulders. “No, I wasn’t sleeping.”

“So, you mean visions, symbols and confusing images, that’s how you know her?” Nesta challenged. Elain tensed.

Lucien shifted between the two sisters. Nesta eyed him angrily, warning him to stay out of it. Lucien weathered her gaze without backing away. Idiot, but brave, Azriel smirked.

Elain responded louder now. “I know Bryce. Don’t make me sound crazy, I know what I saw, and I know her.” Then she added. “Those symbols and images were from scrying those silly bones. My visions are clear.” she told both sisters. “I’ve been able to see her from the moment I was shoved in… the Cauldron.” She’d barely said that last word. Elain was shaking now.

Bryce’s brows worried, she asked something in the old Language, looking to Amren and Rhysand for a translation. Neither paid attention to her, busy considering Elain’s powers and the role the Cauldron played into this. It was Lucien, who responded to her in fluent ancient Fae. Whatever he said, it seemed to quiet her, though she seemed wary of him. She patiently kept her eyes on Elain.

Nesta asked. “Was she in the Cauldon with you? That would explain why I can feel something made about her.”  

“I don’t think she was” Elain said. “There were so many visions all at once in the Cauldron… horrors, so much cruelty, darkness and she... She was sad but kind, she told me not to let them, the monsters, see my tears. Told me to just keep breathing, the pain wouldn’t last forever.” Feyre’s face filled with anguish. Rhys brushed his hand to hers. Nesta’s face filled with rage at the memory of what had been done to both of them.

“After they pulled me out, after I lost everything.” Elain looked up from her fingers, at both her sisters. “I kept watching her. She’s the reason, I choose to… eat again.”

Everyone remembered how frail Elain had been after the change, how close they had come to losing her.

“Why her? Not your family and friends who begged you?” Amren questioned.

Elain seemed to think about it for a moment. “Bryce lost so much. Her pain felt a lot like mine. Watching her, reminded me to keep breathing like she did. That, I could make the world better for others, maybe they could enjoy it, even if I couldn’t. That, the pain wouldn’t last forever. That, the best revenge against those who did this to us, was to live, immortal and beautiful, the life I choose.’’ Elain shrugged, frowned. “it’s hard to explain.” But Amren seemed satisfied with the explanation, she gazed at Bryce from head to toe again.

Bryce endured Amren’s gaze, and stared right back at her. This stranger from another world had done what none of them could, convince Elain to live.

Azriel could tell Feyre and Rhys were discussing mind to mind. Probably trying to decide what to do with Bryce.

Feyre finally said, “I’m glad she was there for you, Elain. But I need a good reason why I can thrust her around our loved ones and our people.” She continued, asking, “Perhaps, if you would share one of your vision of her, what makes you believe she’s not a danger to us?"

Elain grimaced. “They aren’t my stories to share.” She hesitated, “but I suppose, if it’s to help her, it would be ok.” Azriel understood, sharing personal information about a friend, it was power, secrets more so, it could be used against her. He was himself a very private person, he wouldn’t like it, not even his family knowing some of his personal stories. But Elain weighted and agreed, told Feyre she’d picked a vision, and she was ready to share it with them.

Chapter Text

Feyre entered Elain’s mind, and shared the memory of her vision with Rhysand, who shared, mind to mind, with their inner circle.

Elain’s vision was as clear as his eyesight, the edges blurred where Azriel tried to look beyond her view. Pass the edge, he could see the living room and Rhys serious face, reviewing the strange world revealed in Elain’s vision.

Azriel recognized Bryce, in the same leather jacket, black with white lettering on the back, she was wearing it now. She was standing on a roof of a tall building looking out onto a city like none Azriel had ever seen, or able to imagine. The scale of this city was larger than any in Prythian, tall buildings stood closely side by side, some shorter were made of stone and looked similar to here, but the taller ones were entirely made of glass, looked like gems in the sunlight, some were made of metal, colourful or polished like mirrors, reflecting images of their surroundings. Bryce was starring at the skies.

Azriel looked at the horizon, large arches peaked higher than the tallest buildings, the skies were filled with people flying erratically. In the center of the arches was a black pit, through them dark creatures were rushing into the city. They darken the skies and the streets below, a loud siren was sounding an alarm, people were screaming and running. This city was under attack, Azriel realized. Everyone in the room went very still as they were staring at the chaos in Elain’s vision, all remembering how it had felt when their own city was attacked.

Bryce pulled a small rectangle object from a pocket inside her jacket, she touched it with a finger and put it against the side of her face. A panicked female voice said "Oh gods, Bryce…" Bryce responded immediately, “Get somewhere safe!”

“I am, I am” the female voice sobbed. Through Elain’s vision, from her magic, Azriel could understand Bryce’s strange language. The voice continued explaining that she was in a shelter but the Fae’s were frantic and wanted to close the doors immediately instead of waiting for people to reach its safety. They didn’t want to let humans in she said. Bryce swore. She was watching humans getting slaughtered in the streets as they were running towards what would likely be closed doors.  

“I’ll make them hold the doors. But Bryce it’s…”  the sound of the female’s voice went silent, then her voice came back in pieces, only broken words. “Mess of…” another silence then “Safe?”

“I’m safe” Bryce said into the object. “Stay in the shelter. Hold the doors for as long as you can”

The female’s voice crackled but it wasn’t intelligible. Bryce responded “I love you, June.” She hit her finger on the illuminated side of her rectangle object, it went dark. She secured it under a strap on her shoulder, then ran into a staircase, down to the ground.

Azriel watch Bryce fight in the street, small weapon in her left hand, it made a loud sound every time she shot, the projectile was so fast he couldn’t see it, but the impact on the creatures was fatal when she aimed at their head. In her right hand, she swung a sword.

It was Amren who said “that’s not Gwydion’s sword.”

“Still, it’s a pretty damn fine sword” Cassian responded back. “She knows how to use it she’s handling it like she's been trained.”

Bryce was running and screaming, telling people to run to the shelters, to get to safety fast.

“Why isn’t she using any magic, can’t she burn them?” Nesta wondered out loud while they all watched her duck, slash, shoot and run some more in the streets.

“I don’t think she has any? I can’t feel any fire magic coming from her now” Lucien answered looking at Feyre to confirm if she sensed any. But Feyre was carefully concentrated on Elain’s mind and didn’t answer him.

Wherever Bryce was running to, she had to get there soon, the sun was coming down and darkness would make it much worst. Azriel could see the strain in her arms from the repeated shots and swing of her sword, her breath was labored from running tirelessly street after street. Her lungs were likely burning. She was once again covered in blood that was not her own.

The creatures were horrendous, covered in the blackest of black leather, crazed beasts with large claws and teeth, some had leather wings similar to Illyrian’s. They attacked everything, feeding only seconds on their prey before hunting another moving target. Their fighting was chaotic and disorganized, this was not an orchestrated war, it was a feeding frenzy.

Bryce’s hand weapon ran out of projectiles, she threw it at a beast plunging towards her, knocking it off kilter. She sheathed her sword, braced another weapon against her shoulder, a much larger one that had been strapped on her back. This one, she held with both hands, when she shot the sound exploded so loud, everyone in the room jerked. The projectile blasted the creatures head into a blood mist like Rhysand’s power does. Bryce kept running and battling her way through the streets. She ran past a shelter where occupants defended the entrance as best they could, doors still open for more to come in.

Bryce hid behind what looked like a horseless metal carriage, and press a finger to the small rectangle object still snatch on her shoulder. A ringing sounded. She swirled around more carriages and hid behind a large container. She aimed and shot at a beast gaining up on a running mother pulling her child along, the projectile hit the beast in the leg, only slowing it down.

“Aren’t there any soldiers to help?” Nesta burst angry at the human carnage unfolding.

The ringing stopped. A female voice called out Bryce’s name. Bryce took another shot at the beast, now that the mother was out of her aim, this one, a kill to the head.

Bryce yelled. “Tell whoever’s at the Summit that I need backup in the Meadows – I’m heading for the shelter at the Mortal Gate.”

A male voice yelled back, “Bryce, it’s a massacre!” And everyone looked at Rhys, that voice sounded so much like his, he shrugged, it wasn’t him. The male voice continued without Rhys’s lips moving, “Get inside that shelter before they all shut-”

They never heard the end, drowned by the noise from Bryce’s weapon, killing a creature charging on a running man with two small children in his arms, a woman running next to him with a baby in hers. Nesta swore. Azriel was relieved, they wouldn’t have to watch a family torn apart, the man nodded his thanks as they keep running past Bryce. Focused, she didn’t acknowledge him, and watched out for any other threats.

The inside of the Gate was still a black pool where more creatures kept spilling into the city. The sunset was now staining the sky in vibrant golden red and orange. The nightfall would make these creatures even deadlier. Bryce ducked behind the container and swapped a piece on her weapon, likely adding projectiles to it.

A sharp female voice declared “There’s no backup for Asphodel Meadows. The pack is stationed-” Bryce screamed, “There are children here! There are babies!’’

A male voice panting, growls in the background, responded after a few silent seconds. “I’m coming, Bryce” Bryce’s face crumpled, her eyes silvered “Ithan?” she whispered.

The female’s sharp voice snarled, “Holstrom, stay at your fucking post-”

The male, Ithan, she’d called him, “Bryce, I’m coming. Hang on!” A pause, then he added, “we’re all coming” Then a click sounded, as the female yelled back, ‘’You are disobeying a direct order from –” Bryce pressed her finger to the bright object on her shoulder, the female’s voice cut off. Then she started running in the streets again, confidently navigating towards what she’d called the Meadows while firing on the beasts in her way.

She fought like a soldier. Her stamina was impressive, her weapon seemed heavy and punched back into her shoulder with every shot. Azriel knew, she had to be getting tired. He’d noticed when he’d picked her up for the flight here, that her voluptuous body was well toned, and her fighting demonstrated well trained, but even well-trained soldiers would feel the strain during such an intense pace and lengthy battle.

Bryce finally stopped running, positioned herself at an intersection, ahead Azriel could see what she’d called the Mortal Gate, more creatures coming thru, and behind, further down the street, he could see where the shelter’s entrance was, doors still open. The sunset was now dark red and purple.

Humans screamed orders for people to Hurry! Drop the bag, and run! Get in the shelters!

Bryce shots cleared the path, she shot again, and again, her shot a little slower as the weapon seemed to be digging painfully into her shoulder, but she made every shot count.

A beast came soaring for her, her weapon clicked empty, no more projectiles. The beast leaped for her throat, without hesitation Bryce rammed her weapon into its open maw, both slamming down onto the cobblestone. Her face hadn’t shown any surprise, Azriel realized she’d been counting her projectiles and expected to run out. The beast clamped down on the weapon, head twisting and fangs grinding into the metal while Bryce tried to shove it further into its throat. Azriel tensed, she was pinned.

It was gagging, drooling saliva on her, as she desperately tried to backout from under the beast. The weapon split in two, sending the beast backwards, it spit the weapon’s shards out. While Bryce managed to hurl herself back from under him, but she was weaponless, her sheathed sword pinned under her, she reached for a small blade at her thigh.

Cassian swore “Fuck!” Watching Bryce pinned down was nerve racking.

The beast sank on his haunches, readying for the kill. Bryce angled her small blade upward, preparing for the attack. Then the ground shook, pounding steps rushed, and a towering black armored male appeared next to Bryce, his massive sword severing the beast’s head clean off before it leaped on Bryce. Blue light flared along the blade, on his breast plate was a symbol of a large headed snake, a striking cobra, his helmet was in the traditional style of the High Fae. The soldier skewed another beast on his sword, and ripped it’s head off with a gloved hand. He nodded once to Bryce, then returned to the battle. More soldiers in similar armor ran by.  

As Bryce scrambled to her feet, looking around, she pulled her sword out. Sounds of battles grew louder, there was barking, growling, yapping. She planted herself in a fighting stance at her intersection. Running by Bryce were wolves, jackals, coyotes, wild dogs, hyenas, dingos, foxes. Furred canines of all sizes, Bryce’s face registered who had arrived, relief visible on her face. The canine Faes were her backup, Azriel realized, as some changed into humanoid shape, they had rounded ears like Illyrian’s did. They fought with weapons, claws and fangs.

One particularly large golden-brown wolf fought its way up to Bryce.

She feinted left, swinging her sword up as the beast fell for her fake-out, but her arms must have been getting exhausted, the blow barely sliced his leathery skin. It roared and lunged for her angrily, she lifted her sword in front of her to parry the attack, while the large wolf attacked it from behind. His attack was brutal, fangs and claws ripped the beast in bloody pieces. Bryce for a moment, seemed stunned by the wolf’s violence.

Then in a flash of light, he changed into a young, handsome athletic male, Bryce’s face softened at the sight of him. He was wearing a navy shirt, the symbol on the front was mostly covered in blood, Azriel couldn’t tell what it was. But he had another symbol, a black tattoo on the side of his throat, a black rose with a slash of claws across it. Neither spoke, just stared at each other for a few second, eyes filled with emotions. This had to be him, the male she’d called Ithan.

Elain who’d been silent till now confirmed, “that’s her friend, Ithan.” Azriel thought, the male’s eyes had hinted to more than friendship.

Bryce twisted and slashed a beast attacking from behind. She was still fully alert, made the kill before looking back and giving the male a grim smile. They nodded, no time for talking, they fought side by side, holding the intersection closest to the Gate, while the other canines and High Fae soldiers held a secure barrier along the street where humans made a mad dash to the shelter doors.

These two had trained together, they moved like a couple dancing, faints and attacks synchronized, where one stumbled the other did not fail. Azriel found Cassian’s eyes, smiling at him, they knew how it felt, perfected their own dance through years of training together. Bryce and Ithan held their defense line, slowly backing while the others started running towards the shelter doors.

The siren, Azriel realized, was ringing at a faster pace now, signaling the beginning of the shelter doors closing. They didn’t have much time left.

“They’re too far” Nesta said quietly.

“They’ll make it. If they start running now” Rhys said. They started running. Then he added, “She makes it, she survives this. She’s standing with us right now” as if reassuring himself it would end well.

For Bryce maybe, but Ithan had a bleeding gash on his side. How was the male even able to run? Azriel wondered.

The doors were already halfway closed. Clawed hands tried holding it from inside, but the gap between narrowed. Losing their grip, one by one. Only one brown haired wolf held on, braced against the wall, heaving, and bellowing. Fighting the inevitable.

Ithan stumbled, Bryce grabbed his hand before he could go down. Only three feet of space was left between the doors, not enough for both. Bryce looked over at Ithan, saw his shirt soaked in blood, her eyes filled with such sorrow. Then determination.

“No, she can’t” Rhys whispered.

Bryce dropped a step behind, gathered her Fae strength, she shoved her friend towards the entrance, ensuring he made it inside. Ithan twisted, realizing to late what she’d done. His eyes flared with anger, then despair, his hands outstretched to pull her in with him. The metal doors shut with a final boom. The sirens went silent. It was too late.

Her momentum was to great to stop, Bryce hit the closed doors. Everyone in the room flinched at her impact. She bounced off, hit the ground hard, the air swooshed out of her lungs, the metal of her sword clanged loudly against the cobblestone. Grunting in pain, she turned frantically grabbing her sword. Her face was leached of color as she picked herself up and leaned back against the closed shelter doors, hidden in its alcove.

She heaved, her entire body shaking, her face searching, coming on empty. She hadn’t planned on missing the shelter door closing. Behind her someone, Ithan probably, was pounding on the doors as if he could claw through back to her. She ignored it. Shelter doors did not reopen.

Bryce starred ahead. Only a sliver of sunlight colored the sky now, last moments before night time. Already so many fallen on the streets, and many more creatures still spilling into the city.  She looked, like Azriel felt most of the time, so alone facing so much darkness.

Silently, she nodded several times to herself. She took a bracing breath. Her exhaustion visible, her sword arm tired, shook. She pushed herself off the door and started running again. They watched her red hair flying behind her like a war banner as she sprinted down the street.

Amren spoke in old Fae language. Then, in common tongue, “Through love, all is possible” Amren whispered, ‘’that’s what’s written on the back of her jacket” As they watched Bryce running further away from the shelter, away from their view.

Elain’s vision ended abruptly, Azriel blinked at the brightness of the living room. His family standing silently, stunned, they hadn’t recovered either from what they’d seen.

He found himself wanting more, staring at Bryce, he asked Elain, “What happened next? How did she survive?”

Chapter Text

Bryce had no clue what was going on. The lovely Fae female had dropped her basket of apples at the sight of her, had spoken to her in Midgard’s common language. She said to trust her, she would convince her family to help her get back home. Then she’d reverted to talking in her language to her family.

Bryce could tell the pretty tattooed Fae wasn’t easily convinced. She worried about lovely Fae who trembled in fear in front of her family. To her surprise, it was the Autumn Fae who stepped protectively in front of the taller Fae female and held her gaze. When Bryce asked what was happening. It was also him, who assured her that Elain was safe, that’s how he’d called the lovely Fae who’d asked her to trust her.

Whatever Elain told them, she had them enthralled. Everyone went quiet, they looked like a group of people watching the same TV screen, their reactions almost timed perfectly together. So, Bryce quieted and watched. Suspecting someone in the group, Rhysand likely, had mind reading powers. Bryce checked herself but didn’t feel any different. 

A few exclamations and comments among them, but they were mostly quiet with their gaze fixed on something unseen in the room, something moving fast from their accelerated heartbeats. Her captor’s shadows remained twirled around her arms, more wrapped around her legs, likely monitoring her movements, in case she tried anything while their eyes were elsewhere.

Whatever they were looking at, their emotions ran high, the room filled with their smell of fear, anger and sadness. They clenched their teeth, their fists, her captor’s hand searched for the knife at his hip at some point, but seemed to remember it was on the ground next to her sword. Everyone flinched at the same time, some even backed a step as if trying to avoid something coming at them. It went on for what seemed a long while, then baby Fury whispered “Through love, all is possible” in the old Fae language, and Bryce’s heart filled with hope.

Her captor was the first to speak when their eyes focused on the room again. He addressed his question to Elain, but was staring at her puzzled.

Elain didn’t respond to him, instead she spoke to the pretty tattooed one. They spoke among themselves a little while longer in their common language. Bryce waited, she could tell something had changed, the way they looked at her, still wary, but also curious, and maybe a little awe

Finally, Rhysand turned to speak to her in Old Fae language.

“My apologies, Bryce, for touching your hand without your consent.” He said with a polite smile. He’d tried more then touching her, but fine, that’s how they were going to play it.

“And I’m sorry as well, for hitting you in the face, and making you cry.” Bryce smiled sweetly. The broad winged male chuckled. Confirming, Rhysand was mind speaking, translating their conversation to everyone in the room. Rhysand rolled his eyes, ‘’I’m fine” although Bryce could tell he wanted to touch his nose again to check the damage.

“We understand you are looking for someone called Aidas, we’ve never heard of him here. You’re lost? You said, you didn’t mean to…” he hesitated, “travel to our world? How did you travel?” he asked.

Bryce nodded, “I was going to Hel, that’s where Aidas lives. My world is in great danger. They’ve taken my mate and brother.” Bryce tried to keep calm at the mentioned of Hunt and Ruhn. The last question was trickier, the horn was not something she was ready to discuss with these strangers, she’d have to spin some bullshit. Rhysand noticed her hesitation.

Before he could insist, the pretty Fae next to him spoke. Rhysand nodded.

“Right, before we get into all the details. Let me introduce everyone. This is my mate, wife, and High Lady of the court, Feyre.” he said. Bryce bowed her head, although none seemed to be very formal with each other in the room, she said, “Your Grace, I’m pleased to meet you” Feyre nodded, likewise.

He continued around the room. Baby Fury was introduced as Amren, and Second in command for their court. The broad winged male, War General, and his name was Cassian. Her captor, Azriel, Spymaster no less. The two golden-brown haired Fae’s were introduced as Feyre’s sisters, Nesta and Elain. Finally, the Autumn Fae was introduced as an emissary for this court called Lucien. There was a short awkward silence, everyone just standing looking at her, as if they were all bursting with questions but didn’t know where to start.

Feyre spoke again, Rhysand translated, “Perhaps before we start, you would like to clean up, then we can all talk more comfortably?” Buying themselves time probably to figure out how to go about interrogating her without the usual scare and torture methods.

A wraith came out of the shadows, dark skin and a flowing cream-colored silk dress with gold trimmings, her black hair drifted away her stunning face, revealing gold pendant earrings on her pointed Fae ears. She moved shimmering soundlessly, slowly approaching Bryce, her dark eyes friendly, and lips smiling. Bryce smiled back to the beautiful apparition.

Rhysand watched her closely. “You’ve seen wraiths before” it wasn’t so much a question as a statement, based on her reaction. Bryce told him, “Wraiths live in Midgard, my mate’s friend is a wraith, most wear bodies in my world.” She tried not to think about Viktoria’s current circumstances, enduring her punishment at the bottom of the Istros river. “You know, to help them navigate the physical world.” Rhysand nodded, understanding the challenges for them.

"This is Cerridwen, she and her sister, Nuala, work for us, they help around the houses. She will show you to a room and bath, upstairs, so you may clean up, change your clothes. You may leave her, yours, she will clean them… or, salvage what she can.” As he considered the state of her appearance.

The dark beauty curled a finger, silently moving backwards towards the alcove with the stairs, indicating to follow her.

Bryce moved toward her, leaning down to pick up her sword, until Amren drop her foot on the sheathed blade. Her smile was a frightening sight, how her blood red lips stretch over her small white teeth, “You can leave the sword with us, we will take care of it”

Bryce stared at Amren’s tiny foot on top of her sword, debating. The Starsword sang for her, did it for anyone else in the room she wondered. Rhysand and his starry eyes, Azriel and the knife, perhaps? She looked toward Elain, who was frowning, fretting with her apples in her basket. Right, they still saw her as a menace, they were just indulging their sister’s desire to help her.

Bryce straighten, leaving her sword pinned down, and asked, “Am I guest, or prisoner?”

Rhysand casually slipped both hands in his pant pockets, smiled, that fucking polite smile again. “A guest, of course” he told her. Bryce nodded, turned towards Cerridwen, followed her a few more steps toward the stairs.

The song grew louder as Bryce moved away, sentient, the sword sang for her. When she reached the first step, she whirled back toward the living room, and pulled the invisible string to the sword. The Starsword eagerly flew off the ground, sending Amren a step backward, the hilt settled into her open palm, her left hand closed on the sheath, ready to pull it off, if needed.

“Thank you, but I’m quite capable of taking care of my sword” Bryce planted her legs in a fighting stance, and showed Amren the face her brother called so much like their father’s, the Autumn King.

Amren’s silver eyes glowed, her smile turned in to a snarl, ready to pounce, but waiting for Rhysand’s permission.

Instead, he said, “Careful, we will not stand to be challenged in our own home.” His power pushing down on her. Bryce refused to cower, it reminded her of the Asteri’s display of power.

“Don’t want to be challenged then keep your hands off me and my stuff. We will all get along much better” Bryce warned, keeping her gaze on Amren. 

“Fair enough” Rhysand conceded, “you may keep the sword in your room for now, it doesn’t leave this house until we allow you.” This house likely warded to his control.

Right, the Starsword was a legend in Prythian as much as it was in Midgard. Bryce had witnessed what it was like for her brother carrying it in Crescent City. Ruhn complained about being pestered about it, or accosted in the most inconvenient times. Hunt and Bryce teased him about the hardships of his Chosen One title. But since saving the city last spring, Bryce missed her anonymity and understood why it bothered him.

“I can agree to that.” She told Rhysand. Amren relaxed, but her eyes remained burrowing into her.

Bryce’s eyes darted to Azriel’s hand, before she returned to the stairs and followed the wraith upstairs, sword sheathed in hand. His scarred fingers were wrapped around the hilt of the knife, where she had returned it. She avoided looking into his face, scared of what she’d see in his eyes.

Never before had she dared to pull at the sword’s string, she’d willed it to her hand, and it came most ardently. The knife had echoed, it’s dark string tugging, yearning to follow in battle it’s alpha. She would not claim it, she returned it to its wielder’s hand. They were a set, partners, they pulled towards each other, wanting to fulfill an age-old prophecy. When the knife and sword are reunited, so shall our people be.

Soundlessly, Cerridwen moved down the corridor, passing a few doors until one opened on its own violation. Bryce followed her inside, away from all of them staring, the quiet of the room was a relief. Her heart was still pounding loudly in her ears, it was unlikely she would have fought Amren unscathed. But she had lost too much today, she felt raw, leaving Ruhn’s sword behind was like losing him all over again. Her throat tightened, holding in the tears. Cerridwen tugged on her jacket, smiling, indicating to her the warm perfumed bath waiting for her. Grateful, Bryce laid the sword on the bed and pulled Danika’s jacket off.

Chapter Text

It was mindless habitual reflex when Azriel’s fingers curled on the hilt of Truth Teller the moment he felt the smooth leather in his palm. Only after did he realize, he had not fetched it with his shadows. He would have, when Bryce pulled the sword to her and Amren was about to charge. But now looking back, he was slightly confused how he would have used it. He’d felt immediate danger, a call to join her, a compelling need to protect Bryce, the sword wielder, to stand against one of his own.

No one noticed his confusion, his family were all talking at once, agitated by Bryce’s bold assertiveness again. Very few denied Amren of what she wanted, those who tried rarely survived it, granted Rhys had held her back.

Amren hailed everyone, for such a small person, her voice could rally even this rowdy crowd. “So now, we know the sword sings for her, did anyone else hear the sword’s song?”

Nesta and Feyre nodded, then Rhys. Azriel didn’t. Amren looked at him suspiciously, but he kept his impassive mask on. 

“I could hear its song, but it’s not calling to me” Rhys clarified. “It’s bonded to her.”

“What does that mean?” Nesta asked him.

“The sword is sentient, it feels and chooses it’s wielder based on its own desires, values and mission.” Rhys explained to her. Cassian added, “Like Truth Teller chose Azriel.”

“Can this bond be broken?” Azriel couldn’t tell if Nesta asked to know if Bryce could take Truth Teller from him, or if they could take Gwydion from Bryce.

“Some objects have released their bond, if the wielder refuses to fulfill it’s desires, or goes against it’s values, when the mission is accomplished or lost. Or when the wielder dies, it would be forced to.” Amren explained. “it’s mostly the decision of the sentient object to end the bond. Taking it from the bonded person will not break it. We would need to kill her, but even then, it would not ensure the sword would bond to one from our court.”

Elain's face paled. Amren told her, “Easy girl, I’m not saying we will kill her.” But Elain’s gaze was elsewhere, searching. Whatever it was, she must have found it, her face relaxed and her gaze returned. Then she told them, “She’s going to be hungry. She’s been running on two cups of coffee all day. I’m going get started on dinner” She ignored everyone and headed to the kitchen with her basket. Lucien's face worried, watched her walk away, but he stayed in the living room with them.

Cassian nodded happily, “Great, I’m hungry!” Nesta rolled her eyes, and sat in the sofa.

“She is still keeping many secrets that one, you should go to see what that’s about” Amren told Feyre.

Feyre threw Nesta a pleading look, but Nesta shook her head. “I think she’s had enough of me for today, this is all yours.” Grudgingly Feyre headed for the kitchen.

Everyone settled, Cassian poured himself a generous shot of whiskey in one of the fancy crystal tumblers, and sat on the sofa next to Nesta, his arm resting on the back, his hand touching her neck. Nesta relaxed into his side.

“So why could I hear the sword, if it’s bonded to her?” Nesta asked.

“Like calls to like” Amren simply said, dropping her shoes and curling her legs under her on the velvet chair. Rhys got started on opening a bottle of red wine and pouring a glass for her. Her simple explanation did little to help Azriel make sense of the force compelling him upstairs. He released a few of his shadows to check it out, just in case. They found Bryce in the bedroom, choking on her sobs and Cerridwen consoling her.

The wraith threw a scatting look at his shadows. “If you will let me do my job Shadowsinger, I might have more information from her without you hovering over my shoulder” Cerridwen whispered silently to his shadows. “Or are you just here to watch her undress like a pervert?”

His shadows darkened at the insult, and prepared to strike. But they seemed to attract Bryce’s attention while she was pulling her jacket off, her eyes searched the ceiling, and stared straight at them. So, he relaxed his shadows. ‘’I want a full report when you are done in here” his shadows whispered like a breeze to Cerridwen. Then they spread thinner and slowly pulled out of the bedroom. Leaving her to take care of searching Bryce.

In the living room, Amren explained, “The bond doesn’t prevent someone else from using the sentient object. As such, you are bonded to the trove, and the queen could still use the crown. But the sentient object would continue calling for you, pulling you to them to serve their mission.” Nesta nodded.

Then Nesta put into words, how Azriel was feeling, “I can hear the sword sing, but I’m pulled to her. As I said before, I can feel something Cauldron made on her.” Amren frowned.

Azriel assured, “Cerridwen is getting her undressed for a bath, we will know more if she’s been hiding something on her person.” Everyone nodded. Getting her cleaned up wasn’t for her comfort, but more like a full body search.

Feyre walked back into the living room, looked at everyone cozied up and choose to sit on Rhys’s lap. Nesta smirked, “That was fast, did you get kicked out of her kitchen?”

“It’s my kitchen.” Feyre sigh, “But I was told to be useful or get out, she has a lot to get done. And since I’m useless in the kitchen, we both agreed it was best I just get out of her way.” Rhys chuckled, along with Nesta, and Cassian. “You have many other talents that I’m very fond of” Rhys consoled while handing her his wine glass for a sip. They shared a glass and smiled to each other like couples do, likely also sharing private mind to mind messages. Azriel was happy for his brothers, even if it pinched him that he didn’t have that sort of connection with anyone.

“Well, did you get anything more out of her before you got kicked out?” Nesta asked, looking somewhat smug that Elain could hold her own against the High Lady.   

Feyre exhaled, “I was warned, that she would help Bryce with or without us. And, she would never forgive me if I let anything happen to her” Feyre looked at Rhys saying this last warning.

Nesta sigh, “She really cares about her, doesn’t she?” Cassian added, “Well I like her too, I thought she fit right in the group when she hit Rhys in the face” Everyone chuckled, while Feyre delicately touch his nose assuring him it was still quite perfect.

It was funny because it was true, Azriel thought. Rhys respected, even liked people who could hold their own, call him out when he was being a prick.

Nesta continued, “That vision of hers, it was…” When she couldn’t continue, Cassian finished, “horrible, stressful… stuff of nightmares!” Everyone nodded again. Nesta said guiltily, “I had no idea.”

Lucien frowned, “Sometimes she’s digging in her flower beds, and tears are just streaming down her face, or she’s savagely plucking weeds, or pounding dough in a blind rage. I can never figure it out, why she’s feeling the way she does, it’s very confusing. If I ask her what’s happened, she stares at me and just shakes her head.”

Cassian squeezed Nesta into him, “None of us did, she’s been very private about her powers. She's let us assume she had shut them down.”

“Except she hasn’t.” Feyre told them, “Her mind was full of them, she's been hoarding visions. It was like walking into the grandest library, stacks on top of stacks. I could tell her vision of Bryce are her favorite, but there are so many more.” Rhys ran his hand along her back, soothingly. “I don’t know how she hasn’t gone mad. How she’s held on to her sanity with all these images, lives unfolding in front of her eyes, powerless to do anything.”

Azriel went very still, as everyone seemed to look towards him, guessing his shadows must feel the same way sometimes. He was reminded of Elain’s delicate questions about how it had been for him when he came into his powers, this was when she was moved from the House of Wind to the Town House. Azriel assured them, “She’s always been strong, just in a very different way than us.”  

Chapter Text

The beautiful wraith loosened Bryce’s shoe laces with invisible magic, mimed for her to undress and pointed to the bath. She glided silently out of the room, probably to give Bryce a little privacy. Bryce pulled her phone from the inside pocket of her jacket, kicked her shoes off, and sat on edge of the bath. The screen was black, she’d powered it down before leaving this morning to keep it silenced. Her mom had the unfortunate ability to call in the most inconvenient times. But now, the thought of not being able to speak with her mom and dad, it crushed her heart.

She powered her phone, the home screen came on, Hunt’s beautiful smiling face appeared, “I’m going to get you out of there, I promise. You just… stay alive, please.” The battery showed a 73 percent charge, no service, no messages, no missed calls. Bryce lips trembled, more tears threatened to spill, she blinked them away, and swiftly hid her phone under the folded towels as Cerridwen floated back in the room with a large pile of clothing.

Bryce touched her hand to the warm water. It smelled luxurious, of lavender, oat and a hint of vanilla, it was smooth on her skin. She only hesitated a short moment before pulling her blood crusted leggings down in front of the beautiful wraith. They were her favorites, she’d paid a fortune for them, but right now, how they were glued to her skin was disgusting. Bryce wasn’t modest, and she figured wraith thought of bodies like clothing, so she didn’t care if she saw her skimpy thong. She took everything off and stepped in the bath. It was made for winged Vanir’s. It was so large it was almost a small pool. Bryce closed her eyes, dunked herself, pulled out and washed her face. Then she laid back, took a few deep breaths, inhaling the soothing perfume and letting the warmth relax her body.

A scratching sound on paper had Bryce blinking her eyes open, she found Cerridwen sitting on the edge of the bath. Paper and feather floating above the bath water. Bryce sat up straighter, watching the pristine white feather, so much like Micah’s, as it wrote in the old Fae language, “I am Cerridwen”

“I know, Rhysand told me your name” Bryce told her. But Cerridwen, put a finger across her lips, then she twirled it, indicating the room, and pointed to her ear. Bryce understood the gesture, she was to remain silent in case they were listening.

The feather dipped into the ink jar, and returned to the paper and started scratching more words. All the while Cerridwen floated a soapy sponge to Bryce’s hands to wash herself. And dropped a dalop of shampoo on Bryce’s head, then invisible hands started lathering her hair making her lids heavy and difficult to focus on the writing.

“My sister and I, we work for the High Lord and High Lady, but we serve Prince Aidas.” Bryce’s eyes widen at the name, she reread it several times, and before she could ask a question, Cerridwen’s finger returned to her lips. Then pointed back to the paper. Bryce impatiently waited for the feather to scribble some more.

“Our mother was a spy from Hel, she came to Prythian a very long time ago, and remained at Aidas’s request. After many years of living here, our mother fell in love with a High Fae, and my sister and I were born in this world. She educated us in the ways of both worlds, and continued to serve the Prince until she was destroyed” At those words, Bryce’s eyes looked at Cerridwen's beautiful face, and silently worded, “I’m soo sorry.”

“Thank you, it was a very, very long time ago. We underestimate how important our mother is to us, and how much we will miss them when they are gone.” Bryce nodded, her own relationship with her mother was difficult, but she couldn’t imagine her life without her. The feather went back to the ink jar.

Cerridwen slightly pushed under her chin for Bryce to tip her head back so she could pour the pitcher of water over her soapy hair.

When she was done, Bryce’s eyes darted back to the paper to find the feather had written more words, “After Queen Theia’s death, Aidas believed that her star would return one day, although many claimed it was impossible. The Queen had two daughters, two lines from which it could be born from. One lived in Prythian, and one had followed their mother to Midgard. Even if the Asteri proclaimed to everyone it was destroyed forever, they knew it wasn't, and secretly had their own scouts to find and kill the heir that could destroy them.”

"Our mother remained in Prythian as a spy searching for the one that would be born with her star. She worked for Rhysand’s father, the previous High Lord, when he mated and children were born, Rhysand was born from the stars, but not Queen Theia’s star. His sister, well, she was killed when she was still quite young." Rhysand has lost a sister, Bryce didn't want to think about how painful that would be. "Later, my sister and I came to work for Rhysand when he became High Lord, we believed he could some day father a child that would be the Queen’s star.”  She supposed that would make Rhysand, a starborn, a distant cousin of hers. It might also explain his uncanny resemblance to her brother Ruhn.

Cerridwen’s invisible hands massaged an oil into the length of her hair, while the paper flipped over and the feather continued scratching.

It’s only when the High Lady’s sister, Elain shared her visions of you with us, did we know that you were already born, but not in our world, in Midgard. Elain is what you call a Mystic, she can see across worlds and time. She is the only one who knows about our relationship to the Prince. And it must remain as it is, for all our security! The High Lord can be quite aggressive about protecting his family and lands. He would not accept, or forgive such a secret, our service to the Prince would be considered a betrayal.

Bryce nodded, understanding the risk they were taking by helping her.

“We’ve informed Aidas that you are here in Prythian, in the Court of Night. He was relieved to know you are alive and safe for now. He cannot enter this house, but he will meet you at the docks tomorrow at dawn in the form you meet him the first time. Bryce silently worded, “Thank you!” Cerridwen smiled.

The feather returned to the ink jar, but rapidly returned to the paper as if she just remembered something else, “I will need to tell them something about you, something I could not have missed on your body while seeing you naked”

An invisible hand pushed the soap suds Bryce had gathered in front of her chest, revealing her star shaped scar. Bryce looked down at it, then at Cerridwen, she pointed at her back and shook her head. “No, we will keep the horn tattoo a secret for now, I can pretend to have forgotten to mention the tattoo considering the strangeness of this scar. But you will need to come up with an explanation about how you came to our world. 

Bryce said, “Thank you, I appreciate all your help. I think I can handle that part.” She winked at Cerridwen. She smiled, and silently nodded. She returned feather and ink jar to the small desk in the corner. The paper floated to the fireplace and ignited as soon as it touched the flames, all traces of their exchange disappeared. Except for someone who could read minds.

Bryce had not expected to make friends in this world, people willing to take such dangerous risks to help her and Midgard. Leaving them to return home would not be so easy.

Cerridwen floated an open towel for Bryce to step out of the bath. She padded to the bed, where they reviewed the clothes she’d gathered for Bryce, and wondered how was she going to fit in these skinny bone Fae ass clothes!

Chapter Text

Bryce looked at herself in the mirror astonished by her reflection, Cerridwen had managed to remove most of today’s violence off. Even the puffiness of her crying eyes was gone with a cold cloth and a silky cream. No one could tell, except for two small red cuts on her face from shards of the exploding statues, and purple bruises on her throat, distinctive large finger prints, where Pollux had grabbed her to pull her off the Hind. You couldn’t tell from her appearance how horrible today had been.

Cerridwen had braided Bryce’s hair away from her face, exposing her Fae ears adorned with many earrings, her favorites in the curve of the shell of her ears, small diamond shaped stars, they sparkled in the faelight of the bedroom. A sixteenth birthday gift from her brother. No make-up, clean face and youthful.

They had settled on a wide leg pant, they were a little short, falling only mid-calf, but the soft grey fabric was stretchy and comfortable, and molded her ass like a second skin. Choosing a top had been more challenging, everything Cerridwen had brought was to tight for her generous breasts. They settled on a black T-shirt, it had slits for wings on the back, likely one of Azriel’s from the smell she recognized. It was so large, she could have worn it as mini skirt, but Cerridwen cinched the hem around her waist and tied it in a smart knot. The wide collar draped off her right shoulder, revealing one hot pink bra strap but still concealing her star shaped scar. By now, they would know from Cerridwen about it, but not seeing it with their own eyes would keep them distracted while she safeguarded her other secrets. Shoes were impossible, and Bryce choose to forgo them entirely and go barefoot.

Her phone had lost 5% of its charge searching for a service, she debated shutting it down but settled on slipping it under her bra strap, hidden under her shirt for now.

She made it a few steps down without anyone seeming to notice, except for Azriel’s shadows. They were lurking in the staircase, she ran her fingers through them, rippling their surface, gently stroking their cold smoothness. Azriel’s eyes darted to her, pausing in the motion of pouring an amber drink from a decanter. She continued down, joining all of them in the living room.

Bryce was about to thank her host, when she noticed Azriel’s dark eyes behind a few hair strands, his hazel eyes churned with rage. In three long steps, he was standing in front of her, knuckles white on the decanter and tumbler in his hands. Bryce froze. Was this about the knife?

“Why is he so angry?” she asked nervously. “I’m sorry I borrowed your shirt, but everything else was too small. I’ll get you a new one.” But he wasn’t staring at her clothes, his eyes were on her throat, the unmistakable hand-print bruises. Bryce pulled her braid over her shoulder, covering part of it, and his eyes drifted down along her hair and on her top.

“What makes you think he’s angry?” Rhysand asked, eyes scanning Azriel.

Couldn’t he tell? Azriel’s face was a stone mask, but his eyes were pinpoint, focused on her, slowly straying to her chest as if he was looking for her star through her shirt.

Bryce felt it shimmer, but calmed it down. “I don’t know. You tell me, is he?” Bryce told him.

“He says he doesn’t care about the shirt, but he wants to know if you need a medwitch.” Rhysand said while everyone’s eyes traveled on her, snagging on her chest, inspecting for wounds.

Looking at Azriel’s stone face, she told him, “I’m fine. Just scratches and bruises, they’ll be healed by morning. It probably takes a little longer to heal then what you’re used to. Half-Fae, half-Human.” she shrugged.

Azriel slightly nodded, his pupils dilating, and softly asked, “Whiskey?” Bryce burst laughing. Azriel’s brow raised slightly in surprise.

“We, finally, have a word in common.” She explained. “Yes, whiskey please.” She smiled at him, one side of his mouth stretched, he handed her the tumbler with a finger of whiskey. Her hand brushing over his mosaic of scars, burns she realized. Bryce took the tumbler, threw its amber liquid in the back of her throat, swallowing the stinging liquor still looking into those hazel eyes, watching them brighten slightly. Cassian exclaimed something she didn’t understand, but his smiling face was encouraging.

Bryce presented her empty glass, “More whiskey.” Her smile challenging Azriel. This time, he smiled back, and poured another finger shot. Bryce threw it back, and presented her glass again. “Good whiskey.” Cassian spoke, and Lucien translated, “He says someone should tell you that’s Rhysand’s good stuff, and he hates it when we throw it back like river water.”

She shrugged, “Ah well, I suppose I should have another to taste it properly.” She held her tumbler out for more, and Azriel obliged with a generous pour. Let them think she would be more pliable a little intoxicated, as if, so little could falter her. Azriel’s low chuckle vibrated in her bones, as he returned to the cart for a tumbler of his own. She could feel his knife pulse like a heartbeat, or was that the whiskey buzz.

Bryce sat in a velvet chair, curling her legs under her, toying with her painted toe nails. Bracing herself for the interrogation that would come. She just needed to buy time till tomorrow, when she could speak to Aidas. He would help her, and she would keep these people out of it.

“Bryce Quinlan, I hope you are feeling better? You certainly look much better.” Rhysand asked in a casual tone.

“I am. Thank you for your hospitality. I do appreciate it, expensive whiskey and all.” She said raising her glass.

“Let’s start with you telling us how you traveled out of your world and into ours?” Rhysand’s first question was the big one, straight to the point.

“I didn’t mean to come here, I already told you. I was going to Hel, I wanted to find Prince Aidas.” She reminded him.

“Right, but how is it possible for you to travel to another world?” He insisted.

“Have you never had travelers before? Bryce asked innocently. Rhysand’s eyes narrowed. “No, you are a first.”

“That you know of, you mean.” Bryce stated. Rhysand blinked.

Bryce didn’t give him a chance to recuperate as she moved to another topic, “That’s a very interesting painting. That mountain is… it seems alive somehow. Depicted as a portrait, as if it was a person, and not a landscape” she pointed above the fireplace. “Did Feyre paint it?” She asked, remembering the females paint stained shirt.

“She did. Shall we stay on topic, if we are to find a way to help you get back home after all?” Rhysand was not fooled by her tactic.

“Right, sorry. Can’t help myself. You see, that’s what I studied, art history.” Feyre’s brows narrowed at this. “Anyways, it’s my job now. This painting, the technique is… hum” At this Rhysand’s eyes flashed, a warning. “But the composition and light, that’s what brings the mountain alive. It looks like someone who has a secret. It’s quite unique, I’ve never seen anything like this from classically trained painters.”

Rhysand’s impatience was palpable. Feyre was definitely considering the rare feedback on her art. While he just wanted to get to his questions, Rhysand shared Feyre’s answer to her, “What’s unique are those paintings on your nails, I’ve never seen such tiny work?”

Bryce looked at her hands, surprisingly her manicure was still looking very good. Since last spring’s big Starborn reveal, Marcia always incorporated a tiny eight-pointed star in her designs. It was on her middle finger glowing above the flowered Rose Gate in the dark sky. “Oh, I have an amazing draki manicurist who designs and paints them. I meet her when I was investigating her boyfriend’s murder.” At everyone’s shocked face, she assured them, “Oh no she’s better off, it wasn’t love or anything. Maximus was a monstrous vampire. A rich one, son of a Lord, he got her in all the great parties, but a total blood sucking asshole.” At this Amren smirked.

Before Rhysand could ask about her traveling again. Elain stood in the archway, whipping her hands on an apron to announce dinner was ready. In the back, Cerridwen floated delicious smelling platters to the dinning table. Everyone started moving towards the dinning room.

Rhysand breathed loudly through his nose. “We don’t stand on much formality when we are just among each other, you may choose to sit wherever you want” he said as he made his way to the other room, an arm around Feyre’s waist.

Bryce followed smirking, he was probably wishing he’d taken her to the dungeons for that interrogation.

Chapter Text

Bryce sat between Azriel and Amren, “Bold choice.” Rhys told Azriel, mind to mind. “She seems to be forming the usual savior attachment to you brother.”

“Except, he didn’t save her.” It was Cassian’s voice in Azriel’s mind.

Rhys and Az looked at him expecting him to explain, but Cassian busied himself pilling food on his plate before continuing. “He just found her, after, she saved herself.” Cassian grabbed two rolls of bread, put them on his side plate. “I’m just saying, she’s not cowering next to you, like the others. Bryce, she can hold her own. Az, pass the potatoes down.”

His brother had a point, Bryce didn’t seem to be seeking his protection, perhaps she thought she could use him because of Truth Teller. She was sitting quietly, observing them, hands on her lap.

Az pilled potatoes on Bryce’s plate, then some on his own, before handing the platter to Rhys to pass it along. Everyone busied themselves with plating their dish with food, Az continued adding on hers as each platter came by their end of the table. He didn’t ask if she had any preferences, he poured the gravy on her potatoes, added a bread roll on her side dish. Bryce didn’t seem to notice, she waited, hands still on her lap. They started eating, Cassian already stuffing beef in his mouth, Feyre tearing into her bread roll, Rhys munching on green beans. When Azriel noticed Elain’s seat still empty, Lucien had platted her dish with food, but she hadn’t returned from the kitchen since calling them to the table. He realized Bryce was waiting for Elain to join them, so he too, patiently waited before starting.

Elain quietly came into the dinning room, wrinkled her nose slightly at the only empty seat next to Lucien, but elegantly sat, and looked at the spread without anyone stopping their chewing. Bryce spoke over everyone’s noises, Lucien translated while Rhys’s mouth was full of green beans, “she says, everything smells delicious, and thanks you Elain for this generous spread. She hasn’t had a cooked meal in a long while, it reminds her of home.” Everyone joined her in thanking Elain, complimenting the food. Elain’s face lit with a broad smile, “Please, dig in. You must be starving! But keep some room for dessert, the apple pies are in the oven.” Bryce nodded after Lucien’s translation, and plunged her fork into some potatoes on her plate.

Rhys picked up the questioning almost immediately after Bryce managed scooping a few bites of her supper. Although she seemed willing to talk, she managed to dodge answering his questions, instead she deviated to stories about her world and her life. She was entertaining, she had everyone engrossed, even Amren. After a while, Rhys looked like he’d given up trying to interrogate her, he leaned back and sipped his wine, letting the evening run its course.

Az stared at his plate, his gravy growing cool, he’d run out of bread, but the platter was at the far end of the table, one last roll on it. Cassian would grab it any minute now, he was just distracted by the conversation. Rhys had asked about Gwydion’s sword and Bryce spun it into a discussion about legendary swords. Cassian added bits of his own along her story, he’d probably notice the lone bread when the subject ran out.

Bryce folded her leg, foot on her chair, while listening to Cassian translated by Lucien, she pushed herself slightly up, reached in front of Amren and took the bread roll. Amren barely had time to save her wine glass, before it spilled. Cassian still happily continued his story about the flame sword that had a ruby the size of a chicken’s egg set in the hilt, not seeming to care about the last bread. A king’s sword, Bryce confirmed her world also had rumors of its existence, but it was never seen. She casually put the bread on Azriel’s side plate, and settled herself back in her chair.

For a second, he wondered if she’d confused the plate for her own. But she took the leftover bread on hers, and tore a chunk. She dunked it in the gravy in the bottom of her plate, put the saucy bread in her mouth. She licked up a gravy drop on her bottom lip, and smiled at him. Rhys translated mind to mind, Az could have told him to never mind, he already knew what she meant, “Don’t waste the gravy, it’s the best part.”

She looked at Amren’s plate, barely touched, and asked “The food is amazing, do you not eat meat?” Amren told her, “Eating is exhausting.” Bryce nodded.

Over an hour had gone by, they still didn’t have any details about how she could travel to their world, or any potential dangers for Prythian. Az nudged Rhys’s mind, “You realize she hasn’t answered any of your questions, right?”

“Really, you think I didn’t notice. She’s as slippery as shit after cornmeal. I asked about Gwydion’s sword and we got a lecture on the art and history of blacksmiths” Rhys eyes rolled. Cassian had been an enthusiast, that conversation lasted over twenty minutes. “Every time, I try to put a little pressure, Elain looks like she’s about to burst out of her chair, and Feyre pinches me to ease up. So, by all means, if you think you can do better, go ahead, ask her a question Az, I dare you.”

Azriel laughed at his brother’s exasperation.

He could never resist a dare, not from his brothers. So, he softly asked Bryce, “Who’s blood was that on you, when I found you?” Simple, direct.

His voice had been low enough, she could have pretended not hearing it, but she didn’t. She watched him, for seconds, he thought she was trying to read something on his face, his usual mask was in place. “She called herself, The Harpy, I never bothered to learn her real name. She was a sadistic bitch. No one, not even her kind will miss her.”

“What kind was she?” he pushed another question to her. “She was a malakim, an angel, they are breed of soldier.” She continued watching him, expecting another question, he realized, so he obliged.

“Who’s the other one?” They’d been at least two victim’s blood on her. “She lives for now, I just kicked her ass, hurt her to save her cover. She’s a spy, so don’t ask her name.” she warned.

She was protecting a spy? “Are you planning on killing her?”

“I haven’t decided yet. She’s done some terrible things, but It’s complicated. She helped me escape.” She exhaled.

“Who were you running away from?” again, he followed up with another question. Rhysand translated, and mind to mind, he repeated her answers back to them. Rhys was leaning forward now, everyone was quiet, listening without interruptions, it was slow, but they were finally getting answers. She seemed almost ignoring Rhys’s translations, her eyes observed Azriel's lips, attentive to each movement as he pronounced each syllable. It felt intimate, he repressed the urge of hiding is mouth with his shadows.

“His name is Rigelus, the Bright Hand. He is one of six Asteri, their leader. Claims to be fallen stars with god like powers, they rule our world, they are real immortals. Monsters really, they are parasites. They feed on our people’s magical powers.” At this Amren, frowned. “How do they feed?” she asked in the Old Fae Language. But Bryce waited for him to ask in common, staring at his lips, he repeated the question, no one translated, but she still answered it.

“When we come of age for our powers to mature, we have a ritual called the drop, at which time they siphon part of our magic.” Bryce explained.

At this everyone’s face changed to shock. Magic feels like life itself running through our veins. To give up even a small drop of it, it's like cutting off a limb, you would always remember it was there once and now missing. That’s why Rhys had to compel the other High Lord’s in giving a drop to Feyre to save her life under the mountain. It is a very personal part of oneself, a part very few would willingly give away freely.

“Through the years, some tried to rebel, to overturn their rule. But all failed. The latest are humans, but it’s a carnage and they are losing in great numbers without much progress or hope.” Bryce continued. “I just found out, they’ve contaminated the water with similar parasites, they drain our magic without us even knowing.” Everyone had stopped eating, and listened in horror.

Amren whispered, “Their Asteri sound like our old foes, the Daglan.” Rhys told her, “They were all destroyed.” She responded, “Perhaps in our world, but they seem to have migrated elsewhere, and ruthlessly evolved their methods.”

“Why do you believe this Prince Aidas, who’s not from your world, will help you?” Azriel asked Bryce.

Bryce breathed through her nose, “I don’t, but Rigelus killed his mate. I’m hoping if he gets a chance to avenge her death, he will tear Rigelus to shreds.” Bryce swallowed loudly, “I might be changing one monster for another. I don’t know. But until we can stop their feeding, I don’t see any other choices.”

Azriel watched her worried brows, she chewed her bottom lips, pushing her left over green beans in the gravy. He could almost see her mind searching, hitting walls. She looked lost again. The urge to tell her it would be okay, she would get the help she needed, was overwhelming. He breathed it out.

He was about to ask another question, when the silence was broken by a loud ringing sound, it was coming from her chest. Bryce’s eyes rounded in surprise, Azriel realized he’d heard it before. It was that rectangle object from the vision, it was on her person right now.

He’d searched her for weapons, he hadn’t bothered at the time with any of her other belongings. When she put her hand inside her shirt, his hand instinctively reached for his knife, but he wasn’t expecting a weapon. It was still surprising to see the bright pink rectangle in her hand, ringing even more loudly now that it wasn’t muffled under her shirt, the front lite up brightly.

The image was of a beautiful black-haired human female, her face looked very much like Bryce’s but an older version of hers, freckles, wide smile and warm eyes. He could hear Bryce’s heart racing, she was smiling at the image, even if her eyes silvered with tears. “Shit, I’m in so much trouble.”

Chapter Text

Bryce looked at the beautiful face illuminating her rectangle object for a few seconds, it incessantly rang, her hands slightly shaking, she showed the image to Rhysand. Everyone moved in closer to look at it. She told his puzzled face, “I’m so sorry, I know how rude it is to take a call during dinner, but it’s just that If I don’t answer, she’ll keep ringing. My mother turns worrying into an extreme sport, she won’t give up until we speak.” It went quiet, the image went dark.

“Your mother, who’s in Midgard? In your world? You can speak to her with that?” Rhys incredulous face questioned.

It started ringing again for the third time, her mom’s face illuminating the front again.

“Yes, it’s called a… no words in the Old Fae language for it” She said in hers, “A phone.” Then continued in Old Fae, “Everyone has them in my world.”

“Will speaking to her make that annoying sound stop?” Amren asked. Rhys waved an elegant hand indicating to go on and answer.

Bryce touched the image, and put the phone in front of her face. She spoke in that language none of them understood, except for Elain. Sitting at the end of the table, Elain’s eyes were milky white, listening in on Bryce’s conversation.

Azriel leaned closer to see the image Bryce was looking at. Her mother was standing at a counter in a kitchen from what he could tell, there was a cutting board, dishes, utensils and napkins pilled behind her. In the background there were two other voices, one male, the other sounded young.

Bryce’s voice was relaxed, she almost sounded bored. Her mother’s was agitated, she spoke very fast, barely breathing between sentences.

Bryce’s words sounded in his mind. Azriel realized, Feyre asked Elain let them hear the conversation as well. Rhys tapped his mind asking to look at the image. He let him in.

It was confusing, his ears could hear her voice sitting next to him without recognizing the meaning of the words. But like an echo, he could hear them in his mind again, with Elain’s magic, those same words he could understand. He had to ignore the sounds in the room, his shadows spread out, keeping watch while he focused on the conversation in his mind and watch the image.

Her mother was upset, she complained of calling many times, and worried because Bryce wasn’t answering her phone. “I’m sorry mom, like I said, I was out of service range. I was traveling all day for work.” Bryce tried to appease her. Work? Azriel smirked at how smoothly she lied to her mom.

“What traveling? You never mentioned anything to me about it. Juniper didn’t know. She says you left her a message but haven’t returned any of her calls or text messages since. Where are you? Is Hunt with you? He’s not answering either. Is it safe? And since when do have to travel for work?” Her mother didn’t slow down, she rushed Bryce with so many questions. Bryce calmly nibbled on a cold green bean, waiting for her to finish.

When her mother didn’t seem to slow down, Bryce moved her face up so close to the image, they couldn’t see anything on it. “Mom, take a breath. Everything is fine.” Her mother went quiet. Bryce pulled it away from her face, both females looked at each other for a silent second. Bryce smiling, her mother looking frustrated.

 “Well, are you going to tell me? And no bullshit Bryce.” Her mother warned. Azriel smiled, maybe her mother knew her well enough to be suspicious.

Bryce took a long breath, “It was a last-minute thing that came up, it’s safe. Someone else was suppose to come down here months ago, but they didn’t, and you know how Fae’s are, they have a ton of stuff unmarked sitting in storage.”

Her mother interrupted, “You mean fucking hoarders they are? Yes, I’m well aware. Your father is the worst of them, you’ve seen his office?” Bryce flinched, she looked up at Feyre, Nesta and Elain’s face in time to catch them trying to hold their laugh. Bryce looked around the table, noticed how everyone was quiet, staring intensely at their plates or wine glass. Took in Elain’s milky eyes, and figured they were listening in.

“So, hum… I’m out here to survey and catalog some pieces. They absolutely want these in the Winter Solstice exposition. I’m not sure how long it’ll take to go through all of it, but I can’t get back until all the feature pieces are ready to travel back to Crescent City.”

Rhys whispered in Azriel’s mind, “She can spin some pretty credible bullshit. How are we supposed to believe anything she says?” 

“The fear of a mother’s wrath and all. Remember the lies we told your mother when we were up to stupid shit?” Rhys smiled at that. Azriel whispered, “She’s lying to protect her. You’re a parent now, probably hard to remember. But we lie so our parents don’t have to worry about things they can’t do anything about.”

Rhys rolled his eyes, “Let’s see how you feel about it when it’s your kids?”

Azriel jokingly said, “I have a huge network of spies, my kids won’t get away with shit.” Rhys chuckled at that.

Bryce kept the phone so close to her chest, Azriel had to lean in closer to see it. Bryce was saying, “No, mom, Hunt has his own job, he can’t just pick up and leave...”

It was too late when he realized he’d gotten too close. Like in a mirror, he could see himself hovering over Bryce’s shoulder in the small square at the bottom. “Who’s that?” Her mom cut her off to ask.

Bryce dropped it on her lap, and poked him hard in the thigh with her fork. “Sorry mom, I dropped the phone.” Bryce whispered to him, “Spymaster, think you can stay out of sight?” Before bringing it back in front of her face. “Who was that?” her mother asked again.

“Who?” Bryce gave her mother a pretty convincing confused look.

A message box appeared over the image of her mother. At the top of the box was a red-haired Fae male, most of his face was hidden by a silver square frame. Azriel could only see his arched brows, mischievous eyes and his tousled red mane. The written words weren’t in a language he could read. They were short sentences. Two more boxes appeared with the same male’s face, and Bryce paled. Her scent shifted, slightly tangy, Azriel smelled her fear.

Rhys loudly put his wine glass down, and put both hands on the table. “Who is that, and what does the messages say?” Rhys had smelled it too.

“Bryce Adelaide Quinlan, what is going on?” her mother gave her a stern look.

“Mom, I’m being rude. I’m at supper with a bunch of colleagues. They are waiting for me to start dessert. Everything is fine, I have to hang up now. Love you, I’ll call you back tomorrow!” Bryce was ending the conversation very fast. Her mother tried speaking, “I’m expecting you to actually call, and…” Bryce didn’t let her finish she pressed the red button and ended the conversation. Bryce pushed down a side button, and put it back under her bras strap inside her shirt.

Rhysand’s eyes bore into Bryce, “Tell me.” Amren sat up straighter, as if finally getting the action she’d hoped for.

Rhys stood, his power swirling in the room, darkness wrapping around the dinner table, hands still on the table, fingers curling into the wood surface. His voice low, and threatening. His patience holding by a tread.

Elain burst out of her chair, “Stop it. She hasn’t done anything wrong. Feyre, you promised!” Lucien and Nesta both raised, standing next to her.

Azriel’s hand drifted to Truth Teller. Bryce remained seated, hands flat on the table, looking up at Rhys.

He said to Elain, “I made no such promise. I’m done with her bullshit. She will answer my questions. She’s not a welcomed guest, she brings danger to our house.”  His eyes were pitch black now, no stars left in them.

Bryce nodded to Elain, indicating to sit back down. She did, Lucien and Nesta did as well. Cerridwen hovered, watching.

“That was my friend, Dec… Declan Emmet, he’s a tech wiz. A genius. He traced my phone. I was supposed to leave it at home this morning.” She told them.

“What does that mean?” Rhys demanded, angrily not being able to grasp what danger she was talking about.

“He tracked it? He was able to see it was active, know who I was speaking with and what we were saying. Since he traced it, it’s likely the Asteri would too. He warned me to shut it down to stay undetected.” Bryce whipped her sweaty palms on her legs.

“What else?” Rhys knew there was more.

“If they can trace it, they can turn it into a bomb, explode it. It’s a type of long-range attack to kill me.” Bryce explained.

“How big of an explosion?” Rhys asked.

“I don’t know. Dec is the genius. I suppose it would depend on how much magic can be pushed through the connection. They can’t do anything when it’s shutdown. It’s safe off-line.” She assured.

“Now, you are going to fucking tell me how you traveled to our world.” Rhysand’s darkness stopped advancing but was like barrier around the dinning table. He waited for her answer.

Bryce’s voice was calm, solid, “There are gates in my city, large arches, they connect my world, Midgard to Hel. Sometimes, creatures from Hel slip in through them. I went through a gate expecting it to take me to Hel. I don’t know how it happened, how I got here instead. Maybe because of my sword. Its magic may have altered the gate to join it’s Omega, the knife.” She looked down at Azriel’s hand where it laid on his knife, ready to be pulled out.

Rhys frowned, mind to mind, asked Azriel, “Is she lying? I can’t fucking tell with her.” Azriel shadows told him, “She’s not lying, but she might be holding something back. Those creatures did come through the gate in Elain’s vision, it makes sense but something might be missing in her story.”

Rhysand sat back down in his chair, breathed through his nose, his darkness dissipating slowly. “What’s to stop them from crossing into our world?”

Bryce exhaled, “If they could, they would have a long time ago. Rigelus told me, he remembers this world and craves its magic.” At this Rhysand angled his head, a predator about to turn feral at the threat. “If they used the gates, they would likely end up in Hel with their enemies. Now that the sword is here. I don’t think they can come.”

Rhys frowned. “You don’t think?”

“Let’s get Mor home. I need her to cut through the bullshit and lies.” Rhys told everyone in common. “Or do you have more information for us, Elain?”

Elain crossed her arms, “I told you, she wouldn’t hurt anyone innocent. She’s in trouble, I’m going to help her.”

“You’d choose her over your family?” Rhys challenged.

Elain smoothed her skirt, looking down a moment at her shaking hands. When she looked up, her smile was cold, she said. “You are so small in this infinite universe.”

“That’s enough!” Feyre scolded both. “I promised Elain. Nothing bad has happened. Bryce has done nothing wrong here.” She told Rhys.

To Elain she said, “You will not disrespect my mate in our home.”

Elain nodded, got up informing them she was getting the apple pies. Rhys leaned back, brooding. Feyre sighed.

“Azriel, I’d like you to stay here tonight to keep watch. Take the phone from her. We’ll cut her off from her world until we know more.” Feyre asked him, smiling to Bryce as if all was normal. “We will get Mor home to take over watching Bryce.”

“That’s ok, I can handle her.” He told Feyre.

“Of course you can, but let’s keep you on your current business.” And she moved on.

“Rhys, ward the house to keep her inside. It’s not the dungeons. But she’s not free to roam out in Velaris as she pleases.” She told him.

Rhys smiled, “Already done!”

Bryce yawned. Bored or tired, Az couldn’t quite tell.

Nesta frowned, “If Elain finds out, she’s going to be upset with you.”

Feyre shrugged, “I know, I will deal with it then.”

“Lucien, could you stay here. Your ancient Fae language is fluent. You can translate until Mor arrives.” Feyre asked him, and he accepted.

“Amren, let’s meet up tomorrow morning, I want to you to tell me everything you know about the Daglans.” Amren answered her, “By morning you mean noon, right?”

Feyre smiled, “Of course.”

Elain joined them with two large warm pies, the room filled with delicious warm apple and cinnamon aroma.

Chapter Text

Hunt rested his face on the cold white quartz, staring into the small gate where Bryce had teleported. Rigelus stood there, fuming. She’d gotten away, that’s all that mattered. Pollux pushed his knee into Hunt’s throat, choking him, while the Asteri soldiers snapped the gorsian manacles on his wrists. He let them. It didn’t matter anymore, Bryce had escaped, he could only hope she was in Hel, where Aidas would keep her safe.

It had taken all of six soldiers, and Pollux, to tackle him down. Two of the angels were on the ground with severe burns from Hunt’s lightning. One holding him, couldn’t see from an eye because it was swollen shut. Another, couldn’t talk because Hunt had broken his jaw. It was done, Hunt gave up struggling.

Ruhn was grunting, pinned down under three angel soldiers. Trying to worm out from under their weight. Bastian was on the ground, dead or maybe, just out cold, Hunt couldn’t tell.

“Have you secured them?” Rigelus yelled at Pollux. “Or do I need to do everything myself?” He started walking back towards them from down the hall. Lidia walking next to him, whispering.

“I want them on their knees now.” Rigelus ordered. 

Pollux told him, “Make a fucking move and I will bleed you like a pig.” Hunt laughed, “Better ask daddy's permission first.” But Hunt didn’t resist, Pollux didn’t need the blade on his throat, he shifted and kneeled. It wasn’t his first time.

Someone slapped Bastian on the face several times, “Wake up, traitor! Time to beg for mercy.” The soldier, whose white feathers were stained red with blood, dragged Bastian half dazed next to Hunt. The soldier held him by the collar to keep Bastian from folding back on the ground. Shit, he was in bad shape, a bump on his forehead was already swollen to the size of a small ball.

Bastian’s head wobbled, finally settled at a strange angle to look at Hunt. Bastian gave him a broad smile, his normally bright teeth were smeared in blood, “She got away, right? We did it. They don’t have Bryce.” Hunt nodded. Bastian spit out blood on the white floor, “Fuckers! She’ll make’em pay.”

Hunt doubted he’d get to see it, but yes, he believed his strong, brave, beautiful mate would. She never gave up, never stopped. She would rally Hel’s armies, tear this place down, and destroy these monsters.

Hunt couldn’t see Ruhn, but heard him, grunting, snarling. He wasn’t letting up, when the soldiers eased some weight off him, he started fighting again. It landed him a few more punches, and an arm twisted hard enough to dislocate his shoulder. He landed on one knee beside Hunt. Refused to bend the other leg.

“Bend it, or I’ll break it” Pollux threatened. “Fuck you!” Ruhn gave him the gesture along with the insult. Hunt smiled, funny how the crown prince used to annoy the shit out of him, before. But right now, he was grateful for his boldness and irreverence.

Pollux kicked him in the knee, Ruhn went down on his side, his leg still straight as an arrow. Rigelus rolled his eyes, “Can we get on with it?” Waiting impatiently for someone to pull him somewhat in a kneeling position. “We will have plenty of time to break that rebellious behavior of yours, Prince.” Ruhn smirked at Pollux.

Rigelus looked down at Hunt, his small boyish hand gripped his jaw stronger then expected for its size. He held Hunt’s face up to look at him. His right hand was glowing with raw magical power menacing. “You have been my most challenging creation, Orion.”

Hunt grunted, tried pulling his face away from those vile eyes. “Ah yes! I am the closest thing you will ever have to a father.” Rigelus laughed. “Now, pay attention, because I’m about to tell you about your life purpose. The reason, I let you live this long. And why I will let you for a little while longer.”

“No, thanks. I’d rather die then serve you, asshole!” Hunt managed to spit out even with Bright Hands grip on his jaw. Rigelus scowled, “You don’t get a choice.”

“I breed you, not from my own loins, of course! In our laboratories, I made you from my most worthy enemies, a product of their blood and magic. I gave you as a baby to your sweet, naive, mother to raise. She believed there could still be good in the killer I made. I must say, she did try to give you a better life, and it made it that much more fun to take it away when I killed her. Hunt growled.

“You are a weapon. I gave you that powerful and rare lighting magic from a malakim I destroyed a long time ago. He called himself Hyrieus, he was not from Midgard, but still, he tried his very best to stop us from ruling this world. I also used blood from Prince Aidas, that’s why you have such great skill at killing our demon enemies. Also, why, you have such a rebellious nature and I’ve had to break you in so many ways, so often. And, Aidas was also, Queen Theia’s mate, through his blood you can feel an echo of his mating bond. Because of it, you were instinctively pulled toward the Star’s reborn heir.” Rigelus smiled.

“Imagine my joy, last spring, when my little project came to fruition.”  Rigelus let go of his face. “Not only did you uncover the Starborn heir, but she declared you her mate a few month later. I suppose, it might feel like the real thing to you. You’ve had so little love.” He mocked.

Ruhn snarled, “Fuck you! My sister loves him, it’s real. Bryce is going to fucking kill you for this.”

Rigelus smirked, “Of course she does, love him. We made him so she would. As for killing me, she will have to return for that. Which brings me to your new purpose. You are the perfect bait to lure her back to us. We all know how she will stop at nothing for her loved ones.”  

“Welcome home, Hunt. And to you, Prince, you will find our ministration are much more creative then your fathers. Bastian, you are a disappointment as usual.”

“Ya, same to you, Rigs!” Bastian laughed. “Get them out of my sight." Rigelus started walking away, "Lidia, darling, you lead the interrogations. I want to know who else was involved.”

“Yes, your Grace.” Lidia confirmed, "I'm on it."

Chapter Text

Elain had perfected being physically busy while her astral form traveled outside her body. The trick was repetitive tasks, like at this moment, she was slicing the pies. Cut across, turn the plate, cut again, turn. Scoop a piece and place on a plate, repeat.  She barely noticed how Lucien took the plate away and passed it down the table to the others.

At the speed of the thought, her astral form was inside the Crystal Palace in Midgard. She hated this place. She only ever saw cruelty and violence here. She could hear voices, arguing in the throne room. She drifted closer to the entrance to look inside. They were in there, all six of them. The Asteri. They were arguing, blaming each other. One of them accused Rigelus of being careless. Telling the others, they should have listened to him, and split in two groups, instead of all going to the laboratories. If he’d been at the palace. They would have Bryce, by now. Rigelus savagely laughed at him, his laugh was high-pitched, it hurt. There were no signs of Hunt or Ruhn in that room. Elain eased away, hovered in the corridor leading to the gate. She watched, listened to the angels busy clearing the debris of the broken statues, and mop the blood off the white quartz floor.  With the Asteri in the next room, they didn’t gossip as they usually did. Elain floated down the corridor towards the gate, on the right, there was an alcove, the door was ajar, she moved closer to look in.

“You shouldn’t go down there.” An ethereal voice whispered.

Elain jumped back, slithered along the wall, away from the alcove. She avoided speaking to strangers in this form.

The astral male didn’t approach her, it hovered on the opposite wall, waiting there. He was rail thin, in nothing but black briefs. He looked starved, his collar bones stuck out, she could see all his ribs, his stomach caved in, and his hip bones jutted out. His face was good looking, even if his cheek bones looked to sharp, and his eyes were deep set. His brown hair was wet and combed away from his face, his smile looked genuine and friendly. “I’m looking for someone.” Elain told him.

“So am I.” The male told her. “If they are down there, I’m afraid it’s not going to end well for them.”

“The dungeons are down there, right?” Elain asked.

“Yes.” He said. “So are the mystic tanks.” He added. “I’m looking for my friend, I… I wanted to check if she was down there. I got nervous. I’ve just been standing here, listening to those assholes argue” He gave her a lopsided smile. One of his incisor teeth was a little crooked and overlapped his front tooth, Elain found his smile very charming, and smiled back.

“Someone stole her from our owner. I don’t know why. It’s stupid, I don’t see why they would give her to the Asteri. Our owner made a deal with them. They’d probably just give her back to him… I’m rambling, and you’re very quiet, you don’t talk much. It makes me nervous. Well that, and you’re very pretty.” He looked at the floor saying it. Elain laughed softly.

“I don’t speak to strangers, normally.” She admitted.

“Really? That’s literally my job. Clients come in with questions, and we search for answers by talking to other mystics or people with mind-speaking abilities.” He told her.

“Some came in a few weeks ago, I guess they were newbies to the mystic experience. He was looking for his dead brother, we traveled to Hel and it got pretty intense. I was attacked by the contact, he wanted to eat my soul.” He sighed.

“Everything went to Hel from there.” He smiled at the word play. But Elain just stared at him.

He continued, “My friend, she came to help me. The contact was powerful, he caused a power surge to the equipment, it shut down everything, including our respirators. Someone pulled us out of our tanks to keep us from drowning. I hadn’t been out in decades, since I was a boy really, it was strange to feel air on my skin.” He puffed out.

“Anyways, after the incident, my friend’s respirator needed to be repaired, it took a while before I saw her again. And it was just for a short time before she was gone again. Our owner won’t tell us what’s happened. I only know she was stolen because another mystic overheard my owner file a complaint about it.” He frowned sadly.

“I’m sorry you lost your friend.” Elain said. “I’m not going, down there. It’s too dangerous.” He agreed.

“Pretty, and smart. Totally out of my league.” He flashed her a lopsided smile again. Elain smiled back to him. He was very charming.

“Sorry for rambling, but it’s been hard lately, and you’re really easy to talk to.” Elain nodded, and start drifting away.

“Hey, who were you looking for? Maybe I can help, if they’re from Midgard it could be easy enough.” He said.

Elain hesitated, “I’m looking for my friend’s mate and her brother.”

“Do you have names?” He asked.

Elain told him. “Hunt Athalar, and Ruhn Danaan.”

“Your friend, she’s the Starborn princess?” the male looked surprised. “You’re right. This is too dangerous for you. You can’t be here. They are looking for her, they have over a thousand mystics down there, searching.” That scared her. Elain started moving further away.

He moved along the opposite wall, as she was putting more distance between herself and the door leading to the basements. “Both of them, they’re down there. In the dungeons. The Hind, she’s interrogating them. I overheard them talking about it.” He indicated with his pointy chin towards the throne room.

“They are going to use them for bait to get her back here. Tell your friend to stay away.” He added, “So, should you.”

Elain trembled. “Thanks!” And she asked, because he’d been kind to her. “Your friend, what’s her name?”

He grinned at her, “She doesn’t have a name. She’s been in the tank most of her life. We call her The Defender, because she’s always watching over us, she’s a bit of a mother hen. Making sure we’re safe. She’s a wolf shifter, large silver-haired. Very rare, you can’t miss her if you see her.”

Elain, smiled and gave him a shy wave, signaling she was leaving. He wave back. She returned to her physical form in the Town House dinning room.

She’d managed to serve everyone a piece of pie, and sit in her chair, mindlessly. But not take a bite of her own piece. Chewing and swallowing required more attention. She couldn’t take the risk of choking. She could sense Lucien stealing side looks. That was annoying. His worried looks were bound to alert her sisters.

She hadn’t missed much of the conversation. They were discussing communication with Hel. Bryce asked about obsidian salts. Which Amren explained what it was. Then discussed where there might be some in Prythian. And how dangerous collecting it would be. They were slightly shocked that Bryce bought it in a market in her world. None of it mattered anyways. Bryce was just keeping them busy, distracted. She already had an appointment with Aidas early in the morning. If she had any messages for him after that, Cerridwen and Nuala could relay them to him. Unless, Bryce had another purpose for the salts that Elain didn’t know about.

Elain excused herself, telling them she’d forgotten the tea. She left the dinning room. In the quiet of the kitchen, she poured water in the kettle. Checked the flames in the stove, added kindling.

She focused her attention within, her library, retraced the visions she wanted, shuffled about 10 years in the future, then drifted to a familiar home on an island in Midgard. She moved down the corridor, into the kids playroom. The two black haired boys were sitting on the carpet, playing a board game. Elain looked around the room and ceiling, searching for the little Danika, the red-haired, silver wing girl, wasn’t here pestering her brothers like she always did. Elain floated to the next room, but it was also empty.

She returned the playroom, maybe one of the boys would talk with her. Although they may be a little old now, their minds might not be as open as it needed to be. Elain gently tapped on Luk’s small shoulder, he had a vivid imagination, he might see her. He looked towards her, Elain muffled a scream with her hand, and retreated.

His face had vanished, gone, his beautiful dark brown eyes, like his father’s. Same with his brother’s face, its was blurry. Bryce’s children were fading away, their existence disappearing, their future was shifting. Oh no, this was terrible.

Elain came back to herself in the kitchen only to find the stove engulfed in flames. The heat scorching, she was about to try to put the lid back on the open stove, when Lucien rushed in. He snuffed the flames with his magic, took the lid from her and placed it.

“Are you burned?” Lucien asked her.

She shook her head, she wasn’t, although her face was probably red from the heat. Lucien sighed.

“Elain, please tell me what’s wrong?” Lucien begged.

She casually shrugged, “Nothing, I was just a little distracted. I put too much kindling.” She could feel the heat radiating from Lucien, hotter than the stove now. He took a long breath.

“Distracted?” He repeated.

She asked, “Why are you in my kitchen?” And took a stepped away from him.

“I came in here to make sure you were alright.” He told her.

“Well, I’m fine. I just came to get the kettle warmed to prepare the tea.” She answered him.

Lucien ran his hand through his hair, closed his eyes a second, obviously making an effort to stay calm. “Except, you’re not fine. You can fool your sisters. But not me.” She frowned.

“Explain it to me. How sitting at that table, while nothing was happening, you just served pie. You could feel in danger, and be so frightened. I’m not asking because your hands were shaking, or I smelled the fear on you. I’m asking because I could feel it in my stomach, in my bones.” Lucien waited calmly for her answer.

Elain sighed, “I don’t know what your talking about.” She turned away from him, opening the can of tea leaves.

“I’m talking about this.” He wanked on what seemed to be the very core of her being. Elain couldn’t stop herself from taking two steps towards him. Standing inches from him, staring into his eyes, his mechanical eye shifted to focus on hers, its motion making that soft noise that grated on her nerves.

Elain snarled, “I don’t want this.”

Lucien snarled back, “You think I want this. To be yanked by emotions, so intense I can’t breathe, and not have a fucking idea what it’s about? Lucien stepped back from her, as if he also needed to cool down.

“Do not yell at me.” She warned him.

“Your sister is clueless, when I ask about you. You’re gardening, you’re baking or you’re tending the baby. Maybe you are. But there’s something else. And I’d like to know. I need to know, before I go frigging mad.” Lucien seemed in pain.

“I tried, I left miles away, and I could still feel all of it.” Elain hadn’t realized, how connected he was. She’d noticed things, wondered if they came from him. Last winter, she had gone outside in her shift, and she never felt the cold, not even when her bare feet touched the snow.

“I know, you don’t want me. I’m not courting you, not anymore. I just… I understand you don’t want to marry, I don’t really either. It doesn’t have to be like it is for your sisters.” He said. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot. Maybe, ours could be a friendship, instead of a marriage?”

“You want to be my friend?” Elain asked stupidly. Lucien nodded.

“Yes, I think I’d like that. I’ve lost a few lately, including my best friend. So, yes, could we be friends?” Lucien gave her a shy smile.

Elain chewed her lower lip while considering, he wasn’t a bad male, even if his appearance reminded her of Bryce’s father, a little too much. She argued, “But we don’t have anything in common. Shouldn’t friends have some interest to share?”

“I have quite a few, interests, I’m sure if we get to know each other we might find one in common.” He told her. The kettle whistled. Lucien took it off the stove, poured the hot water in the tea pot where Elain had dropped the leaves. She watched him, pour carefully, not a drop or mess to wipe.

“Friends, they help each other, right?” She considered. Lucien nodded.

And he added, “They also tell each other things, personal things, maybe even secrets.” At this he winked at her. Nice try, Elain thought.

“You are going to stay here, watch over Bryce?” She asked.

“Yes, I am. I’m the official translator, nominated by Feyre just a moment ago.” He smiled at her. Elain could see his mind working. He’d led her here. He and Bryce had this in common, the long play.

If she was honest it worried her a little, following his plan. She’d risk finding herself deeper in a relationship with him, than she wanted. A friendship with him, it would be complicated, then again she could use his help. He was reliable.

“I want to help Bryce. Will you help me, help her? Even, if this might get you in trouble with my sister and Rhysand?” Elain asked him.

“Yes, I would like to help you, help Bryce.” Lucien put the kettle back on the cooling stove. He’d entirely snuffed the fire with his magic, the kitchen was feeling cooler already, more comfortable.

“Then, whatever happens. You need to make sure they don’t take her to the dungeons. If they lock her up there, things will go very badly for all of us.” Elain hurriedly added, “Don’t ask for details. That’s all I can say about it.” Lucien nodded.

Nesta burst through the door. “Are you alright? What’s taking so long?” She was glaring at Lucien.

Lucien took the tray, “Just warming the tea.” He told her calmly.

To Elain he said, “I’ll take care of it.” And he carried the tray out to the dinning room with Nesta watching him closely.

“Was he bothering you? Why was he standing so close to you?” Nesta asked.

Elain rolled her eyes, “How many times do I have to tell you? I can handle him. I don’t need you to protect me from him.”

“You seemed strange when you left the table.” Nesta said. Elain smiled, “I’m fine”

“It’s just… I didn’t know how bad it was for you. I mean beyond losing Graysen. The vision it was… scary. Feyre says you’ve had many more.” Nesta frowned. Elain recognized the guilt on her sister’s face, it pained her.

“When I look back now. I don’t even remember why I wanted that life so badly.” She admitted to Nesta, “It was a small life. I was blind. Nolan is a bully, and I deluded myself thinking Graysen would stand up to his father for me. I would have a marriage, but no say in how we lived or raised our children.”

She smiled sadly, “I can say, now, it wasn’t worth dying for.” Nesta’s eyes watered slightly, she blinked quickly, moved around the table to hug her tightly. Elain whispered, “I’m fine, Nesta. I like our life, here, together.” Nesta gave her a rare smile.

“Elain, I choose you. I have, and always will choose you.” Nesta frowned. “If you go against Rhysand, Feyre will choose him. Be careful.”

Elain laughed, hugged her sister quickly, “Don’t be silly. I’m not going against anyone.” Elain smiled, “Now, let me get back to my pie before it's cold.” They joined the others.

Chapter Text

Feyre was the first to leave after dessert, heading to the River House, Nyx had woken up grumpy and was in a crying fit. Elain joined her, wished them goodnight, even giving Lucien a nod before leaving with Feyre. Lucien’s pleased smile made Azriel wonder what had changed between those two.

They moved back to the living room to enjoy a night cap, and continue discussing how to go about helping Bryce. She’d curled up in the velvet chair, toyed with the end of her braid. She barely sipped her drink, and could hardly keep her eyes open. Her tiredness seemed genuine.

Amren was the next one to leave, deciding there was nothing more to discuss tonight. After they’d concluded, they would take Bryce to the House of Wind’s library tomorrow. Allowed her to research for clues on how to destroy her Daglans, and allowed to look for any information about traveling to other worlds. It was safe enough. Clotho and the others would keep a record of all books she consulted. Amren assured it was a waste of time, she had read the entire collection, there was nothing to find, but this would keep the girl busy for a long while. Time, they would use to get more information from her, maybe also from Elain, if she revealed more visions. Everyone agreed, even if Bryce seemed cooperative, she wasn’t telling them everything.

After Amren left, Bryce excused herself to go to sleep, she shuffled upstairs directly to her room. Azriel’s shadows trailed her, slithered to the corner of her room watching and whispering to Azriel everything she did.

Cassian and Nesta left a short while after, they returned to their home, the House of Wind.

Lucien went upstairs to settle in a bedroom, he picked the attic room, it was the smallest room, farthest from his. But also, right above Bryce’s. Not an entirely bad choice.

Azriel was finally alone with Rhys.

Rhys sighed, he looked tired, drank the last drop of his bourbon, an Old Fashioned. “I could have gone on, a lifetime, without knowing other worlds existed. Those weapons. The Daglans, or whatever they call themselves there. Princes of Hel, meddling. More enemies, more unknown and unimaginable threats to worry about.” Rhys ran his hand through his hair. A habit he had, when he was struggling with a problem, he couldn’t quite get a handle on. The stress visible in the tension around his eyes and mouth.

“I should go help Feyre with Nyx. His screaming is worst than a shrieking wraith. Are you okay, here?” He let a loud breath out. As if he was already well passed his limit of worries.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Azriel assured. Disappointed Rhys was leaving so soon, but not surprised. His brother always looked like he was carrying the weight of the world, since the war and with the baby now, it was taking a toll on him. He looked older, and didn’t smile as often.

“House is warded, she’s not going anywhere. Get that phone from her.” He reminded him as he got up, and started toward the door, he was probably flying home. “Mor is on her way back, it’s just for tonight Az.”

“You got word to her already?” Azriel was surprised at how fast he’d reached her.

“Messenger got lucky.” He said. “You’ll be back to monitoring the human borders tomorrow.” He assumed, he hated the babysitting duty, but he didn’t mind so much with Bryce. He left without another word.

Azriel found himself alone, standing by the mantle, in the quiet living room.

He loved the Town House. Preferred it. Not that he would ever let Feyre find out, after all the effort she’d made to design, and furnish rooms for everyone at the River House. He liked these old furnishings, they were comfortable. The decorations held a lot of their history, and memories, like the small orrery. He also enjoyed the smaller rooms. They squeezed in every chair and corner, the house full of their presence, sounds and smells when they all gathered here. But they are also a good size, when he finds himself alone late at night, unlike the spacious rooms of the River House, they are still cozy instead of too vaste and amplifying his feeling of loneliness. Its location is also better, in the heart of the city he loves, close to all the bustle of Velaris, and a short walk to Rita’s. The large open land around the River House makes it safer for his family, but it’s also isolated from the city noises and activities he enjoys.

It would be hours before he could get any sleep, even if the day had already been long.

Azriel poured himself more whiskey, sat in the velvet chair Bryce used. It wasn’t made for a winged person, it was uncomfortable. He had to tuck his wings around his body, he breathed in her scent, telling himself he was just memorizing the information. He pressed his face to the chair’s velvet side panel, where she’d rested her head. He closed his eyes, concentrating on his senses, moving his nose against the soft fabric, looking for the most potent spot. He inhaled deeply her smell, lilac, nutmeg, and a hint of something crisp, bright. That last note, reminded him in a way of Rhys, something from his darkness. That made him think about that strange scar, star shaped, Cerridwen said. He was sure Bryce had intentionally hidden it under her top. His shirt, he smiled at that. He took another deep breath through his nose, searching for more. She smelled nice, it was complex, feminine, but also slightly spicy, with that vibrant last note. He’d try to take a look at that scar while he was in her room later to retrieve her phone. He just needed to wait a while longer, until she fell asleep.

His shadows warned him, as Lucien made his way back downstairs. Azriel leaned back in the chair trying to look casual.

“Rhys left.” Lucien noted.

There was no one else here, Azriel didn’t have to make an effort be polite, so he didn’t respond. Lucien poured himself a small shot of cognac from the cart. He must have winnowed back to his apartment at some point in the evening, because he was wearing an expensive looking silk pajama now. Few males could pull off such a luxurious and shinny fabric, but somehow on Lucien it looked exotic, even sophisticated. Azriel hated how Lucien could easily adapt, and be at ease anywhere.  

The fire eased into a low crackle, casting a softer, warm light in the living room. Lucien's magic creating a calm, intimate atmosphere to the room. Damn him, it made him and his stupid pajamas, look even better. Lucien sat in the chair facing his, noticing how awkward Azriel looked in that matching chair, but not saying anything.

“She’s mumbling something, in her language, not on her phone, to herself in the pillow. I can’t tell what she’s saying.” He said.

Azriel was already informed by his shadows about this, but wondered how Lucien knew about it.

“You probably knew that already.” Lucien sighed, looking at the fire. He sipped his cognac.

“Do you think she’s praying?” He suddenly asked as if it occurred to him her world may have different gods. He was wondering about her world. Azriel raised a brow. Lucien was not the male he’d hoped to spent the evening conversing with, certainly not about this strange world they got a glimpse of.

“She’s not praying.” Azriel told him.

“How do you know?” He asked. “She keeps repeating the same words over. They may have gods. It could be a mantra.”

Azriel considered, but rejected it, “It’s her tone, it’s all wrong.” He heard many pray during his sessions in the dungeons, it wasn’t this. “Its fierce, sounds more like a promise. And the second part, its commanding, she’s asking something, demanding.” There was a subtle layer of fear in her voice, but it mostly conveyed authority and confidence. He smirked. Certain he was right about this. His shadows were always right about such details.

He was impressed at how Bryce controlled herself. He had trained spies who couldn’t pull it off as well as she did. Seconds before answering her mother, she’d been thrilled and terrified. Her ability to relax her emotions, her voice, her body, she’d convinced her mother of her lies with her bored demeanor. She’d even controlled her scent, which for most spies it was impossible, they used perfumes as camouflage. He’d rarely seen that level of ability to lie. Rhysand was right, they probably needed Mor to sort through her bullshit. But he was still convinced, she had lied to her mother to protect her, concealing her whereabouts, nothing nefarious.

“Taking her to the dungeons, it wouldn’t work.” Lucien declared. Azriel raised his brows, wondered if it was a challenge.

“Torture always works. Sooner or later, they all break.” Azriel assured.

“She’s not afraid of pain. Without Rhysand’s mind-reading ability, I don’t think you would get anything out of her. Whatever she’s protecting, she’s willing to die for. She hit Rhysand in the face.” Lucien paused, slightly smiling, “Wish I’d seen it.” He threw him a look. Azriel couldn’t blame him for smiling or wanting to see it, it was quite a sight, she’d moved surprisingly fast.

“She also challenged Amren to get her sword back. She wasn’t impulsive, it was calculated. So, we know she’s brave, unafraid to fight. I think you’d kill her, before you got any useful information from her in the dungeons.” Azriel hated agreeing with Lucien, but concerning Bryce, about this, he was probably correct. Taking her to the dungeons, would serve no purpose, other then getting rid of her for good. Azriel remained silent, his impassive mask solidly in place, Lucien didn’t need to know he agreed with him.

Instead, Azriel said, “You like her.” And he asked him, “Is it because she’s friends with the dogs, like you?"

“Wolves!” Lucien’s eye smoldered. “Tamlin’s pack, our friends, they were wolves. And, you are an asshole!” Azriel smiled, the evening wasn’t a total waste.

“I don’t know her, but yes, I like her. It’s not because of her friendship to the wolf. Although, I respect it, they are fierce and loyal, not easy friendships. She ran into danger, into those streets, not for her friend or family, she did it to help defenceless strangers. But mostly, because she was kind to Elain at the worst moment of her life. And, she helped her to survive, even if it was unknowingly, she helped, when none of us knew how to help her.” He took a large gulp of his drink to finish it, “I like her, even if she doesn’t seem to like me. I thrust Elain. If she wants to help Bryce, then I think she’s a good person. I don’t think she’s the threat.” He put his empty glass on the side table, and raised. “We need to worry about what’s coming for her, that’s the threat, we should worry about.”

“I’m going to bed. Wake me, if you need me for anything.” Lucien was heading towards the stairs when Azriel asked over his shoulder. “How do we get her to talk, about the important stuff?”

“Try being her friend. You, she seems to like. But maybe, it's just your knife she likes.” Lucien answered while going up into the staircase. Fuck him, Azriel silently swore.

He remained down stairs a while longer, enjoying his whiskey. He didn’t have female friends, he realized. Feyre was his High Lady, not really a friend. Amren was his commanding superior after Rhys and Feyre, barely friendly. Mor and Elain, he’d wanted more than friendship from both, for a long while. He embarrassingly remembered his fantasies of both females. Nesta, maybe a friend, not at first, when she was harsh with Cass. But she’d become a good fighter since starting her healing journey, and he enjoyed her sarcastic humor. He like that she didn't waste his time with pointless polite conversation, she was direct. Yes, he could consider Nesta a friend.

How was he supposed to be friends with someone who didn’t even speak the same language he spoke? The role would go to Mor, Rhys was right for calling her home. Mor would win Bryce over with her joyful disposition, and with her power, she’d sort through Bryce’s bullshit and lies.  

Azriel moved silently, he was a cloud of shadows, he glided under the door into Bryce’s bedroom. She’d fallen asleep a while ago, an agitated and fitful sleep, his shadows told him. The room was lightly illuminated from the embers in the fireplace, and a sliver of moonlight between the clouds coming from the window.

Her bed was a mess, like she’d tackled with it. The comforter was mostly on the floor, hanging by only a corner at the end of the mattress. Two of the four pillows, were on the floor, one as far as the bedroom door, she must have kicked it. Her head rested on one pillow beaten to a fluff, red strands of her hair loose around her face, striking against the white fabric. While the second pillow, she hugged to her chest, making it impossible to peak at her star-shaped scar at the moment. The sheet was twisted so many times, it was corded almost into a rope, it twisted around one leg and up her body, and finished in the stiff grip of her left hand.

She was sleeping in his shirt. She’d undone the knot at her waist, it was large on her, it covered her intimate parts, but also bared a lot of her beautiful tanned skin. He was an idiot, for enjoying this much seeing her almost naked in his shirt. Maybe she did like him.

It pleased him to see, that the sprinkle of her golden freckles continued down on her legs. She was an attractive female. He preferred his lovers bold, curvy and voluptuous, Bryce was all three. His eyes snagged on the long white scar on her beautifully toned thigh, an old injury healed, it had to be a bad one to leave such a scar. He curled his hand into a fist to tame the urge to run a finger along its length, as if touching it would reveal the story of how it came about. Did she get it that day, fighting those beasts in the street?

Her skin was otherwise smooth, even the small cuts on her face were healed now. Those didn’t leave any scars. Her full lips were parted slightly, breathing soundly, snoring like a low purr, its rhythm regular. Her mouth was made for passionate kissing. Maybe he was a pervert for looking at her like that. He was longing for a mate, a companion of his own.

Bryce blew out a long breath, sinking deeper in her sleep. Her muscles relaxed, her arm released the pillow, her hand loosened, from her fingers something hard rolled-out, fell on the carpeted floor in a muffled thump. His shadows chased it under the bed to tell him it was a small piece of pink quartz.

Azriel looked at her exposed throat, relieved that the bruises there were also healed. The collar of the shirt dipped low on her freckle dusted chest. The swell of her breast slightly exposed, there in the middle, he could see what could be the pointed tip of the star. He gently moved the shirt lower, his fingers lightly brushing her warm skin to reveal the full star-shape scar. It was a sparkling white contrast to her otherwise tan skin. Its shape a perfect symmetrical eight-pointed star, not a single freckle marred its white surface. Azriel ran a light finger across its surface, her skin was soft. Her star sparked, he felt a shock, and pulled his hand away as it started softly glowing. The star shinned to an almost blinding white light. He stood still, while his shadows rushed to hide from the brightness. Bryce remained asleep, unaware of how bright the room became, flooded with what he realized was starlight spilling from her chest. Then it receded to a soft glow.

Azriel stepped away from Bryce’s sleeping form, feeling a little overwhelmed by what he’d witness. She seemed undisturbed. She continued breathing in that regular purring sound.

Still seeing a white spot, he sat in the leather chair at the end of her bed, while his eyesight adjusted. Her star continued casting a white light around her as if protecting her from dark creatures. He didn't know what to make of this female, she kept surprising him. His shadows came clinging to him, a little fearful of her light, but still curious. They handed him the small piece of quartz Bryce had dropped, it was still warm from her hand. They whispered to him, they couldn’t find her phone anywhere in the room. Azriel smiled at how clever she was, even if she didn't understand their language, she'd guessed they would try to take it away from her, and she'd hid it.

Search the entire house, it's inside somewhere, he ordered his shadows. He settled deeper in the chair, this one was made for winged males. Her sword laid on the small desk in the corner, Truth Teller seemed content, their song quieted down to a lull. Bryce's steady breathing was comforting, Azriel relaxed while his shadows searched quietly. 

Chapter Text

Ruhn curled up on the hard-stone floor of his small cell. He was in pain, everything hurt. He’d heard two more metal doors clank. Hunt and Bastian were in their individual cells, not very far from his. On their way down to the dungeons, Ruhn reminded Athalar the fight wasn’t over yet. They went for another round, even with the handcuffs on. Athalar was incentivised after Rigelus’s big reveal, he fought like the fury of a storm. Pollux eyes bulged out and almost passed out from the choke hold Athalar had with the very chains of his handcuffs. Ruhn put three angels down, not bad, considering one of his shoulders was dislocated. Even, Bastian who was already in very bad shape, gave a nose crushing blow to Mordoc. It was in vain, they weren’t getting out of this hole, but it was a clear message to his friends watching the cameras. The Fuck You Team was going to fight to the very end. Then, the Hind put a stop to their fun, her dread wolves immobilized all of them, and dragged them to these cells.

If someone asked him, where it hurt the most, he’d say his fucken heart, or wait, maybe his ego. It was hard to tell at the moment. He’d been played like an amateur, Agent Daybright was the Hind herself. He’d fallen for the oldest trick in the books, seduced and captured by the beautiful monster.

He raised his mind shield, built layers, more barriers to keep her voice out, but her whispers still reached him. If he was honest, he was locking his heart in, to avoid continuing to make a fool of himself. He hated her, but not enough to stay away. She was cold for persisting, for begging him to listen to her reasons. All the while, she was still playing her sadistic game. She’d helped Bryce escape, for that, he was grateful. But he couldn’t forgive her betrayal. What they had shared was tinted by her lies, and it crushed his soul. He loved her, certain he’d found his beautiful mate, but now when he looked at her, all he saw was her monstrous persona. He wished he’d just pass out already.  

The dungeons were worst than he had ever imagined. It was damp and cold, the smells were horrible, urine, shit and vomit, mixed with blood and the stank of rotting and burnt flesh. The worst was the sounds, people in pain, crying, begging, yelling. Ruhn learned very young to endure his own pain, but when it came to the suffering of others, seeing and hearing it always made him feel raw. Gods, he was grateful Bryce wasn’t down here with them. He hoped, his friends, Dec, Flynn and Ithan were safe. Rigelus had said something about Cormac being dead, lies maybe, one had gotten away. Tharion’s identity might still be safe, if he really did escape. Ruhn sighed, moved his mouth closer to the thin gap under the steel door.

“You still with me, Athalar?” He asked, his voice carrying into the corridor. He heard some grunting, and dragging on the stone floor. Then, Hunt’s voice sounded in the corridor. “Yes, I’m here.”

“Bastian with you?” Ruhn asked. “He’s across from me, I can hear him vomiting. His concussion is looking pretty bad.” Hunt sighed loudly.

Ruhn didn’t need him to say it, this was just the beginning, hardly the worst they would endure before it was over. “I’m sorry, I know what it’s like to win the award of most shitty father. That was… fucked up.” How Rigelus revealed Athalar was no more than an experiment of his.

Ruhn didn’t expect Athalar to respond, but after a long silence, he said, “Fuck that, he’s not my father. Just the same psychopath trying to pretend he’s a god. Mixing vials and playing with magic, doesn’t make him anything to me, other than another bastard I’m going to kill if he touches Bryce.”   

He went quiet again, until he asked softly, “You think he’s right about the bond, not being ours?”

Ruhn thought about it, “Does it matter, where the bond comes from? You love her. My sister dated a bunch of idiots before she met you, not sure she even liked some of them. But you, Athalar, I know she loves.” Ruhn smiled thinking about his sister, “She’s stubborn, in everything she does, she believes in. It’s the same with loving you, she’s not giving up on you.”

He could hear Athalar’s smile. “I really love that about her.” Hunt said, “She loves you too, Ruhn. Whatever comes next, you have to survive this. Losing you, it could very well break her.” Ruhn sighed.

He heard him shifting against the stone again, “These floors are as hard as I remember them.” He whispered, “I’m sorry, it turned out to be her.” He didn’t need to say more for Ruhn to know he meant the Hind being Day. They both quieted down, guards shuffled by, half-dragging someone who was crying and begging down the corridor.

He must have passed out, he wasn't sure how much time passed.

He threw his mental bridge outward, searching for the pink comm-crystal, it extended into the vast unknown, his mind recalling the crystal’s milky core. He saw it, the thread running from it, reaching for him as he was reaching for it. His mental bridge extended, following the thread for what seemed a very long time. He called out several times, “Are you there?” He continued into the darkness, his bridge seeming to go on forever, until he saw something at the end. It looked like a cloud of gentle snow falling in the middle of the night, bright white snow flakes danced and twirled on a phantom wind.

That was the moment Ruhn knew, something had happened to his sister, Bryce wasn’t in possession of the comm-crystal anymore. He cloaked his form of night, stars, galaxies and planets, he continued slowly down the bridge, carefully approaching the light snow storm form ahead, he remained silent.

His bridge landed onto a half-circle balcony, at its curved edge was a stone railing in old Pangeran style.

Whoever was coming down that bridge, on the opposite side of his, was familiar with this balcony. The snowy form glided onto the balcony and went to stand by the railing, looking out into the vast darkness ahead.

“This is new, Rhys. Not unpleasant.” A deep and velvety, male voice sounded from the snowy form. “I dozed off in that leather chair in her room, and now I’m standing at the balcony of the House of Wind.” He wasn’t unnerved by this form of communication. He twisted towards his bridge, looking back as if making sure his body was still where he remembered it. He mistakenly assumed Ruhn for this Rhys person.

Ruhn considered how to play this, and decided not to correct him just yet. He’d try to find out first if the female he referred to, was his sister.

“How is it going with her?” Ruhn kept his question vague.

He was staring into the darkness beyond the railing, the snow flakes became more agitated, and he sighed.

“I haven’t found her phone yet? If that’s what you’re asking. Bryce guessed we’d take it away, and she hid it.” Ruhn smirked. That definitely sounded like his sister.

The storm puffed out loudly, “We’ve been at it for hours. She’s only been in the bedroom, the living room and the dinning room, where she was never alone. How could she find a good hiding place that quickly that we can’t find it?” The snow flakes were flying erratically now. If Ruhn wasn’t so worried about her, he might have felt sorry for the poor squall, going against his sister.

He looked down at himself, the sight of his stormy snow seemed to surprise him. And irritate him, because the storm raged into a spinning blizzard. He wrenched the cloak off. And Ruhn took a good look at the demon who’d taken the pink comm-crystal from his sister, and dozed off in her room.

Chapter Text

Ruhn observed the handsome winged humanoid demon roll his shoulders, trying to loosen the tension in them, letting a long breath escape his lips. He was tall, taller than himself. He moved like a trained fighter. He was wearing a mat black, leather scale-like armor, blue stones encrusted in it. Shadows, much like Cormac’s, spilled from behind is back, around his throat, down his shoulders onto his arms. He hoisted himself onto the railing, sitting casually, wings relaxed in the open darkness beyond. The bottomless blackness didn’t seem to worry him, and typical of winged males, he was unafraid of heights. He polished one of the blue gem on the top of his hand with his thumb, deep in thought. Ruhn was thankful his cloak hid the horror on his face when he noticed his scarred hands, recognizing the fire damage, knowing just how painful those must have been. He soothingly ran a hand down his own scarred, tattooed arm.

“Why are you standing so far?” the winged male asked him, suddenly suspicious, his shadows spiked up towards his ears. Ruhn knew his ruse was up. He had to change his approach. While he slowly moved toward the railing, he cloaked the male’s bridge with his shadows, and took it apart, brick by brick, locking him in. He searched for a hidden bridge, no back door for him.  How very thrusting for a demon to connect his mind to someone, and not protect it with a secret way out. Whoever this Rhys was, he was a friend, someone he trusted. Unfortunately, his friend failed to teach him the dangers of mind bridging, especially with strangers.

The male jumped off the railing, stood in a wide stance. He looked towards his missing bridge, his eyes widen slightly, “You’re not Rhys, are you?” He asked in a deathly calm voice.

“No, I’m not.” Ruhn told him. “That crystal doesn’t belong to you.” Ruhn pulled off his cloak of starry night. He gathered the shadows at his back like a large cape, floating around his body, down onto the stone floor of the balcony. The demon looked at him from head to feet, assessing.

Before, the demon’s hand reached for the knife at his waist, Ruhn sent flying coiled shadow ropes with a swipe of his hand around both his arms, pulled them at the back his body. The demon tugged at them. Another coiled shadow tightened around his throat. The demon’s shadows tried to push it away, they tugged on the coils, trying to loosen them around his wrists. His shadows were not sharp like Cormac’s, they didn’t slice through Ruhn’s roped shadows. His were untrained against Ruhn’s attack. He coiled more around the demon’s legs, wrapped more around his wings until they were folded, useless on his back, completely immobilizing the demon, gently putting him off balance. The demon wobbled slightly, cold hatred in his eyes.

“What do you want?” his voice laced with quiet anger.

Ruhn respectfully approached, stopped a few inches away. “Just talk. Tell me, what you’ve done to her, demon?”

“I’m Illyrian, asshole!” But his cold eyes scanned Ruhn’s face, his hair. His shadows twirled around both of them, exploring, curious. Ruhn smiled, and let them. He recognized the whispering shadows. They were murmuring to the demon’s ears. The demon watched, stared at his lip ring for a second, traced his tattoos from his throat down his arms. If he noticed the scars under the tattoos, it didn’t show on his face. His face didn’t reveal a damn thing. “I don’t know who you are talking about?” He said.

“Do not waste my time.” Ruhn tightened slightly the coil around his throat. “Yes, I can choke the life out of you, even from here.” From the edge of his sight line, a new bridge span out. Ruhn crushed it with a single blow of a whip of shadows. The demon was trying to reach his friend, building new bridges, with each try, Ruhn tore them down. “No, it’s just you and me for this conversation.”

Ruhn flinched, someone kicked his body in the ribs. The demon frowned.

Fuck, he didn’t have much time left. They were in his cell. “You will give it back to her. The crystal.” He told the demon. Then his lip was pulled away as someone ripped his lip ring out and blood streamed down his chin.

The demon flinched, “What’s happening to you?” He tried looking down Ruhn’s bridge, searching for a threat. “What are they doing to you?” Ruhn shook his head, disconnected his mind from the physical pain, forgetting the lip ring. The demon’s eyes returned to Ruhn’s face, watched the rip in his lip and blood disappear.

“It’s not important. She’s all that matters. You keep Bryce alive, and keep her safe. Take her to Prince Aidas.” Ruhn could feel them dragging his body out of his cell. He continued to cling to his unconsciousness a little longer, refused to wake up.

“I don’t know who that is.” The demon told him.

Ruhn frowned, “You don’t know who the Prince of Chasm, ruler of the fifth level of Hel is?” He looked more closely at the demon.

He was handsome, agile, elegant like the Fae’s. He wielded shadows, whispering shadows like some of the Avalen Fae’s. His wings were the only demon looking part of him. Ruhn pulled his knife out of its sheath.  It was a smaller version of his own sword, the same black metal. Its song was gentle, it hummed.

“That’s mine!” He growled at him.

“She’s not in Hel, is she?” It occurred to him, maybe Bryce didn’t land in Hel. The pain seared the side of his face, twisting his head sideways. “Don’t say it. Don’t tell me. It’s best I don’t know.” He looked into his hazel eyes, not needing to explain himself any further.

Ruhn put the knife back in the Illyrian’s sheath. He removed the shadows cloaking his bridge, bricks returned, revealing his way back.

“Keep her safe, don’t let them catch her.” Ruhn released the Illyrian, and woke up in a cold torture chamber.

She was alive. She’d escaped. Ruhn kept repeating it to himself. He had proof. He’d found a trace of her. Maybe she wasn’t in Hel, but he knew his sister, nothing would stop her. If there was a way, she would find it and she would destroy those bastards. That’s all he cared about. Ruhn smiled painfully, he could feel the blood dripping off his chin. His shoulder was hurting badly, he was strung up in chains, his weight pulling at the shoulder joint.

“Stop smiling! Nothing about this situation is reason to smile.” Ruhn opened his eyes and looked into his father’s fiery stare, the Autumn King was in the chamber.

“He’s ready for your visit.” Lydia signaled. “You have 10 minutes as agreed with His Grace.” Lydia leaned onto the stainless-steel table where her bloody tools laid.

“Get out, and close the door. You can watch from the cameras like everyone else. I do not want to be disturbed.” His father ordered Lydia, not even sparing her a look.

Great, just great. This was the worst torture he could think of. Having to bear his father’s disapproving glare and insults. Lydia’s eyes strayed on Ruhn’s mouth. Ruhn, I’m sorry.

Ruhn shielded his mind, looked away. On the floor, there was a pair of bloody, grey feathered wings. They twitched, and bleed. Fuck, they’d sawed off Athalar’s wings. She walked out, “You have 10, no more.” She said closing the door behind herself.

Ruhn closed his eyes, retreaded inside where he couldn’t feel the pain and could ignore his words. His fathers voice started, “This is disgraceful, how could you humiliate us like this? It’s your sister’s doing isn’t it?” The smell of smoke filled the room. Ruhn ignored all of it, 10 minutes, he’d be done soon, he told himself not to respond to the provocation.

Son, look at my left hand. His voice ran in his mind, Ruhn eyes flew opened. He hadn’t expected he needed to shield his mind, not after Lydia left.

The Autumn King stood stoic, looking very angry. His hair was smoldering, wisps of smoke floating around him. Was he intentionally blurring the cameras with smoke? Ruhn coughed, his eyes burned but there in his left hand, he was holding a small milky white quartz, it quickly disappeared in his palm.

A gift from my brother a long time ago. Technically my half-brother. Same mother, different fathers. He had the gift of mind-speaking, like you do. He died in these very dungeons. You remind me so much of him, son.

Ruhn frowned. His eyes watered, he told himself it was the smoke. His father had known about his mind-speaking ability all this time.

“You disappoint me, Ruhn. You are disowned, I do not have a son. You have no titles, no money. I can’t believe you are this much of a fool to have been taken in by the rebels. This idiotic plan. Your sister’s doing obviously. You deserve everything that’s coming to you.” The King was shaking his head in disgust. The heat coming off of him was so hot, Ruhn was already slick with sweat. The chains and handcuffs were scorching his skin.

Your mother is safe. I’ve managed to protect those fools you call friends, Declan and Tristan. There is no proof of their involvement. I advised Bright Hand, if he weakened the Fae Aux any further, he’d have a political nightmare to manage. The wolves, Sabine would likely press for an advantage and no one wants to deal with her. They will be under tight surveillance of course.

His father walked to the tables, the heat easing off Ruhn slightly. He took a tool that looked like an ice pick, threw it back on the table. “Where is your sister? I have much to say to the ungrateful wretch. Can’t believe I extended my benevolence to her, gave her a title and this is how she repays me.” He’d moved to the table, working up his anger, to further smoke up the camera there.

“She’s gone. She’s never coming back. She never gave a shit about your title or you for that matter.” Ruhn responded. You know, about how they feed on us. You never said anything, or did anything about it.

“I went against my better judgement, and should have gotten rid of her when she was a child.” The Autumn King scolded. Ruhn flinched, damn, his father was good at spitting hateful words.

Why say anything. If nothing could be done to stop it. I lost my brother trying. I wasn’t about to risk you, or the little freedom we have now, not until we had an advantage, a plan. I needed more time.

Getting you out of here, won’t be easy, Ruhn. I hope I’ve prepared you enough for what they will do to you. There was a slight tremble in his voice. He almost sounded like he cared. Ruhn was unprepared, unable to accept his father might actually be afraid for him.

“She’s too smart for the lot of you. If she comes back, you should be very scared, she just might kill you first. Shouldn’t be too hard, after all, she did kill an archangel, didn’t she?” It was painful to smile, but Ruhn still gave his father a grin, it was ruined with a fit of coughing from the smoke.

Did you know about Athalar? Ruhn asked.

He’s a weapon, made by them. It didn’t matter if he sacrificed himself for her last spring. He will be controlled. They will use him willingly or not. I tried to get her away from him, that’s what the engagement to your cousin was. But Bryce, she’s stubborn.

“She will come back, and we will be prepared for her when she does. She will be punished, as she well deserves. Just as you will be.” His father’s hand ignited, a flaming torch.

Whatever they do, you endure it, all of it, son. You live, you must survive it all. There is still much to do until our people may have true freedom. They need you. They need a fair and just king.   

He approached his flaming hand to Ruhn’s abdomen, burning the soft hairline below his navel. The door opened wide, Lydia standing in the frame, “Your 10 minutes are up, Your Highness.”

Chapter Text

Bryce was tired, her eyes felt grainy. She had barely slept more than an hour or two last night. She’d left Rhysand and his little circle of deadly Vanirs in the living room, pretending to go to bed exhausted. She had a lot to do to be ready for her meeting with Aidas at dawn. Hiding from the inquisitive spymaster, and his shameless band of snoops, his shadows, complicated matters.

She looked down at the spymaster himself, sleeping, in his bed finally. He’d gotten to his room only an hour ago, barely bothered with undressing. The knife, ready under his pillow. He was not someone easily surprised. It was unnerving how still he could be. It was far beyond the ability the Fae’s have, if it weren’t for the quiet humming from his knife, she might have completely forgotten about him in her room last night. And his patience had no end. Surely, he’d gotten bored looking at her fake sleeping form. Luckily, Bryce had practiced fake sleeping since a very young age with her mom watching, she excelled at it, Ember’s human hearing was not easily fooled. Then again, Bryce’s nightly excursions back then, usually landed her mother in awkward discussions with the head priestess the next morning.

It had taken, all her control, to keep her breathing and heart regular when he’d gently pulled her collar down her chest to peak at her scar. His touch had been as light as a feather, all her nerves had tingled, she’d felt that touch everywhere. Had she chosen the spymaster as a champion, or had the star picked him? Bryce couldn’t tell for sure. He’d remained just as still, and impassive when her starlight shinned brightly.

He’d spent most of the night in that chair in her room watching her, shadows rummaging through her room. Bryce smiled. He’d been looking for her phone. Rhysand was paranoid enough about any threats, he would have ordered him to take it away from her. She couldn’t allow it. Dec’s last message had told her, he would have an encryption file for her to install by morning to secure her phone, then, they could talk.

It had taken her a while to come to an understanding with his shadows last night. They had played hid and seek for a long while in her bedroom. She’d thrown her snickers, a pillow, a book, an unlit candle at them. Each time, her aim true, they caught it and gently deposited the item, every time they looked for a better hiding spot. When they hid under her bed, they unknowingly gave her just enough privacy to open the window, testing the opening for wards. If some alarm went off, it would have been easy enough to explain she was trying to get some fresh air in the room. Sure enough, her amulet warmed on her chest as it worked its magic against the wards, but no alarms, no one came looking for her. She’d hid her phone on the small roof line below the window sill, and gently closed the window as another light turned on at the window above hers.

She’d talked to that pink quartz for over an hour, promising and begging Ruhn to stay alive until she got them out. She’d dozed off a little while. But her senses came alive when he drifted into her room, she’d felt him move, smelled his crisp snow scent, heard the gentle song from his knife. It was then she decided, she relaxed and dropped the quartz to the floor. The spymaster, Azriel, was her choice.

His shadows, who’d been hovering around his sleeping form protectively, moved towards her when she came in his room. They read her mood, she remained calm. She shushed them to keep quiet, and let him rest. They twirled, like sexy dancers curling around her body, she watched them explore her new clothes from Cerridwen, their cool touch on her skin was invigorating. One curious wisp excitedly curled around her arm toward the folded paper note in her hand, eager to read the message. They knew, she didn’t mean any harm to their master. She left the note on his bed-stand, quelled the urge to brush his hair away from his beautiful, peaceful face.

She had picked him, one of the deadliest of the bunch. He had not picked Bryce. She would need to stroke his curiosity. Maybe throw a few puzzles at him to keep is inquisitive mind busy and intrigued. And to do all of that, she needed to resolve the communication challenges between them.

She silently moved out of his room, prayed her cartoonish note would atone for escaping his vigilant surveillance. Maybe, even make him smile. She’d noticed, his were rare. She hadn’t sketched a note like this since her college days with Danika, she’d loved them, laughed, mocked and keep all of them in a box for years. Hopefully, Azriel would enjoy it, or at least get the message.

She left the house, eager to find Aidas.  

Outside, there was a light drizzle of rain, the mist limited her visibility but would also cover her scent if they came looking for her. The landscape was impressive, the city was nestled on rolling hills, along a ridge of mountain peaks. The temperature was cool, she was grateful for the new clothes. Bryce looked back toward the house. Noting where she’d have to return, as promised she’d left her sword inside, but slipped a knife in her boot. There were plenty of weapons of all kinds laying around the house, she doubted anyone would notice one missing small knife.

She was a tourist in this city, she had no sense of where she was, or any direction where to find the docks. She’d left early, it was still dark outside, it would give her plenty of time to explore the city before dawn. She stretched her body, jumped a few times to activate her circulation and warm up, while looking down each side of the street, uphill or downhill were her choices.

Uphill lead towards a large red stone mountain, the largest peak was carved, what looked like balconies and windows of a house.

The soft leather boots, Cerridwen gave her, were surprisingly comfortable and silent, she didn’t have to worry about waking anyone. Bryce gave the house one more look, it was a pretty red stone town house, she spotted her window, looked twice at the attic window, above hers, unsure if the curtain had moved. She’d have to get going, risk it, in case her father look-a-like had spotted her exit.

She picked a side, downhill, water flowed down, she started in a slow jog. She’d run to figure out the geometry of the city. She didn’t put in her ear buds for her usual running music, it was too dangerous. She needed all her senses to focus on her surroundings. The first twelve minutes were brutal, her body ached, her breath was uneven, her rhythm was off.

The city was quaint, charming even if rather old-fashioned for Bryce’s taste. A few strays looked her way curiously, none white cats with blue eyes. She settled into a comfortable jogging pace, noting how the streets curved into each other, they seemed to flow either along the river or across it. There were a few intricate iron bridges, and just as many in artful stone ones, crossing over the river where it was narrow enough, they were a continuation of the streets running toward the river.

She slowed to a walking pace when she recognized the wide open, grassy river bank on the opposite side, there was the large Pangeran style house. This was the spot where she’d arrived from the gate. The mansion seemed luxurious enough to be the High Lord’s residence. All the windows were still dark, even if the sun had started breaking dawn, a sliver of sunlight along the ridge of the grounds. Bryce returned to her jogging pace, noting the docks further down the river, relieved she was in the right direction.

As she got closer, there was more activity, people walking towards and from places, hauling stuff. Shop owners sweeping porches, opening awnings to cover tables and chairs from the rain. People looked towards her, then behind her, wondering what she was running from, and dismissed her just as someone tardy for something. She passed by what looked like a bakery, the smell of warm bread made her mouth water, she craved a warm chocolate croissant. She looked twice at the shop front, and the burly man in the door frame adjusting his apron.

Soon, the shops were replaced with large sheds with craftsmen signs. She recognized what they were from the art of their signs, universal symbols for woodcraft, metal-worker and fishing gear.

Bryce slowed to a walking pace again, passed a wooden pier where boys were fishing from. Along the river, on a stone retaining wall, there was a white cat licking its groin area very thoroughly. Bryce grimaced, surely not, it looked filthy.

Then she heard the single long meowl, sitting on a covered porch of an abandoned shed, protected from the misty rain, there it was, the purest of white, bluest of eyes. Aidas, in his cat form, smiled at her.

He raised on all fours, swish his fluffy tail at her, indicating to follow him as he went through the crack between the wooden doors of the shed. Bryce looked around if anyone was watching. No one noticed her or the suspiciously clean cat. The doors weren’t locked, only a chain held them semi-closed, she stretched the chain and squeezed inside.  

The place was abandoned, some teenagers probably using it as a hangout, had staged it. Crates were arranged like furniture, there were half burnt candles on them, and a book. There was discarded alcohol bottles, an unsanitary shisha, blankets, throw pillows that had seen better days. At an attempt to decorate the place, someone had hung a tapestry, a hunting scene. Bryce moved closer to take a look, she realized they were Faes hunting humans. “What the fuck!” Bryce backed away.

The cat, Aidas chuckled, “Don’t like the Prythian art, Bryce? It’s an antique, an old Spring Court piece, once very prized by it’s previous High Lord.”

“Not a fan.” Bryce grimaced.

“Has no one mentioned to you, how rare your kind is here?” Aidas asked.

“What do you mean?” Bryce dusted off some crumbs off a crate to sit.

“Human and Fae half-breeds, are a very rare occurrence in Prythian. You just might be the only one living on this continent. You are lucky to have appeared in the most tolerant court.”

“How lovely? I was told, they have humans living in this world. How is it, I’m such a rare phenomenon?” Bryce wondered, how much of her human heritage would be held against her.

Aidas hopped onto a crate close to hers. “No matter the world, Bryce. Faes and Humans never seem to get along well. Yes, Prythian has human lands, once bordered by a magical wall to keep them safe inside. It was decided by treaty about 500 years ago to end a very costly war between Faeries and Humans.”

“They were locked in, you mean?” Bryce looked at the tapestry in disgust. “What happened to the wall?”

“It was brought down by an eager King just a short while ago, he suffered from a lack of cheap labor, and a desire to expand inland.” Aidas told her.

“Assholes, you can find them everywhere.” Bryce dismissed the Prythian history like a rerun of her childhood TV shows. “So, you’ve been watching this world?”

“I have. Hel has a few ties here, old enemies, some friends. I don’t interfere in their politics, it’s just a hobby of mine to watch the power struggles. But I was mostly looking for you for many years, my dear Bryce.” Aidas settled comfortably into a furry loaf.

“I was coming to you, in Hel, when I jumped into the gate. I don’t know how I ended up here.” Bryce told him.

“I suspected that much. You were doing great, until Urd seemed to yank you sideways into Prythian.” Aidas told her.

Bryce jumped in surprise, “What, why?”

“Who know why Gods bother with any of us.” Aidas casually dismissed the occurrence.

“It’s just as well though. Keeping you safe in Hel would prove to be very difficult at the moment. My brothers have taken quite an interest in you. Where would you have crossed path with Thanatos? He’s completely paranoid, never leaves his castle, let alone his realm.” Aidas asked curious.

“He talked about me?” Bryce asked.

“In a most surprising poetic way, yes. Something about your sparkling Starlight stroking his darkest impulses and desires.” Aidas smirked. Bryce rolled her eyes.

“We went to the Astronomer, looking for the souls of Connor and the pack.” Bryce thought Aidas might cough up a hairball from the revulsion on his face. “I know, it was awful. We were all freaked about the secondlight. We believe Connor is missing from the Bone Quarters.”

Aidas cat eyes narrowed, as a mouse ran across the room, a piece of bread larger than its head in its mouth, it slipped below, disappeared between floor boards with its bounty. “Stay away from him Bryce, he’s betrayed more people than you can ever imagine. He works with the Asteri.” Bryce nodded, thought best, not to mention how she had Jesiba pay him off, when Ithan stole his rings.

“You knew, they feed on us. Why didn’t you tell me?” Bryce accused him.

“I was protecting you, as I always have, since meeting you on that park bench. You are still a child by most standards. You only made the drop last spring. Called the Starsword to your hand for the first-time last night. I’ve waited for you, decades. I will not let you fight this battle until you are ready, fully prepared.”

His tail was furiously swinging. “If I had known anything about this incursion into the Palace, I would have put a stop to it. It was extremely dangerous and brash. Although, hearing Bright Hands furious howl when you slipped out of his grasp, was the most beautiful sound I heard in decades.” Aidas smiled.

“How come your spies didn’t warn you?” Bryce teased.

“I do have my own realm to manage, you know. And, you are sneaky. When your plans are prepared, you are not easily discovered or deterred. Some of my favorite qualities about you.” He winked at her.

Bryce had put a lot of thought about what she was going to ask him. She took a long steadying breath, and asked “Aidas, I need your help. They have my mate and my brother in their dungeons.” Her voice started shaking. “I need to get them out of there. I can’t stand it.” No tears, she blinked her eyes quickly, couldn’t let him see the tears.

Aidas stretched his feline back, “They have an immortal life span, you have time. He won’t kill them. You are too smart to ignore the fact that he is using them to bait you back there.” He bumped his head against her arm, “Bryce, it’s trap. If you return, not prepared, he will catch you. The atrocities he will use you for, it will break you. It’s a fate far worst than death. Not to mention, you will jeopardize all our worlds if you get caught.”

Bryce pressed her sleeve to her eye lids, catching her tears before they spilled over on her cheeks. Not the answer she wanted, but had to admit he was right. That’s why Hunt and Ruhn had made her run. “So, what now? She asked him. She hated feeling helpless, vulnerable.

“Prythian is a good place to hide for now.” Bryce pointed at the tapestry, “Yes, I see how well I can fit in. And the High Lord, really likes me!”  

Aidas puffed, “He’s a prick, but at least slightly better than his father was. Just mind, your allies. You will train, hone your powers and skills to prepare. Perhaps, select a champion?”

“Yes, I got one of those.” Bryce nodded, “Just not sure how he will react, when he finds out.”

His cat head tipped sideways looking at her with a smile. “Let me guess, the Shadowsinger?”

At Bryce’s confused face, and, “The what now?”

He added, “The spymaster, very intense, brooding black haired winged male. Totally, your type. He wields the whispering shadows. The only one of his kind, here. They call him a Shadowsinger.”

“I don’t have a type, but good guess.” She confirmed, and asked. “How can he, be alone of his kind?”

“The only Shadowsinger, no other wields shadows in this world. Surely, you’ve heard the stories about how the Avalen Fae’s are controlling about their breeding. Those who choose not to follow the Avalen King into Midgard, were killed. They ended the bloodline in Prythian before leaving. Or, so they thought.” Aidas made his wispy eye brows jumped, like this was juicy gossip he’d been dying to share, “His ancestry likely comes from a secret, illegitimate pregnancy they missed.”

“Are you saying, he’s a half-breed Fae?” Bryce asked.

“Not half, but definitely part Avalen Fae. Which makes him, a suitable champion for you.” He told her.

“The High Lord and his Second, they pretend he’s Illyrian, but both suspect some Fae heritage. Probably to protect him from further trauma. You’ve seen his hands, right?” Bryce nodded sadly. His hands reminded her of what Rigelus had said about Ruhn’s arms.

Bryce sighed, “How am I supposed to travel back. Do they have gates here?”

“No, not marked like you have them in Crescent City. Here there are rifts, like the Northern Rift where Hel and Midgard connect. They are thin areas, from where you can travel towards other worlds. They have long forgotten about them, and lost the maps in Prythian. You will have to research them, but you also have the horn. The routes I use, lead to my world, Hel. And only in small forms, to fit in the portal.” Bryce nodded. He’d explained this to her before.

“And how am I supposed to activate the horn, without someone to power me up, I don’t have Hunt’s lighting with me?” Bryce hated asking this question.

“Easy, I believe you’ve just selected one of the three most powerful Illyrian soldier as your champion. He could power you up, as you call it.” Aidas confirmed he was talking about Azriel.

Then continued on, “They are the beta version of Bright Hands angels. Bred by the Daglan, not only for their fighting power, but for feeding purpose also. Back then, they called it the tithe, the donation of their power to their master. They made a bid deal about it. To feed a master was considered a great privilege, the Illyrian was held in high regards among his clan members, it provided him with position and respect.”

Aidas told her, “They are a brutish race, still have many barbaric customs, live in clans on the rugged terrain of the Night Court lands. Most of their existence evolve around war and fighting eachother. They like to think they’ve progressed from being no more than soldiers and slave. Especially with Rhysand being half-Illyrian, even if it’s only from his mother’s side. To them, they are that much closer to having a throne and their land to rule.”

Aidas sighed. “It may have been kinder to just exterminate the race when the Daglan were destroyed. But the High Lord at the time, thought it was a waste of an army, offered them to live on his lands in exchange for their fighting power. They have assisted the Night Court and their allies in every war since.” Bryce frowned.  

“Play it right Bryce, and you may have access to an army of soldiers, right here. The descendants of those who successfully rebelled against the Daglans under Queen Theia’s leadership. They were left behind, you could provide them purpose, maybe even a home of there own. Rumors are they are frustrated with the High Lord and his War General.” Bryce nervously started walking around the shed.

Aidas talked about them almost like grunts, canon flesh. If Illyrians didn’t belong to Prythian, would people think the same of Midgard’s angels? Bryce’s stomach growled. War was disgusting, she needed to think.

She looked back at Aidas, “I should go, it’s getting late. They will be looking for me by now.”

Aidas nodded, smiled, “Yes, Nuala’s informed me that your absence is discovered. There was a slight argument about a note you left to your champion. The two are scanning the streets looking for you.”  

“Shit, I’m going to head back.” Before leaving, she told Aidas, “Thank you, your Highness. I do, very much appreciate all you’ve done, and are still doing to help me.” He watched silently, until she left.

Chapter Text

She was gone. The shadows told him. They also told him about Lucien approaching his bedroom door in the hallway. He pounded twice on his door, “Get up, she left the house.” Lucien yelled. She’d gotten through Rhys’s wards somehow?

At full alert now, Azriel sat on the edge of his bed, and pulled his boots on. Something was different in his room. She left him a note, the shadows whispered to him. His eyes levelled with the nightstand, he stared at the crisp white paper folded in two. On it, she’d drawn a symbol, on each side large Illyrian wings. She’d smeared drops of black ink, vaporous shadows around the wings. It was simple, but an obvious attempt to address it to him. How she’d gotten it inside his room without waking him up?

The shadows reported, she was no longer inside the house. Her sword was still in her room, as promised. Her bed was made, her belongings neatly folded and put away. She’d used the paper, quill and ink on the small desk in her room to make this note. There was a discarded paper with ink stains and sketches in the cold fireplace. The small Illyrian blade, he left in the entry desk drawer, the one Mor gave him two Winter Solstice ago, was gone.

 Azriel opened the note, it was a series of vignettes that depicted her message. A female, Bryce, from the star she'd drawn on the voluptuous chest, waking up. Him on the next one, sleeping, on the figure in bed tiny wings, snoring signs above, little rays around the note on the bed-stand, as if it shined. Azriel frowned, he does not snore. Then, her again, outside running, from the position of her legs, her pony tail flying, little swoosh lines behind her feet, and an exercise hand band. On the last one, they were both in it. Him, sitting at a table with a warm coffee, he assumed it was by the dark liquid and little steam lines above it, looking still half-asleep with his hair falling on his face. At least she’d drawn his wings much larger on this one, but they were drooping like he was still sleepy. She was standing in the door frame, returning, wide-eyed and smiling. It was ridiculous. Probably meant to distract him from going after her.

They spent two hours in the rain, he flew above, streets after streets, looking for her running figure. Velaris had many intricate small streets, if she was on those, she could run into trouble. At least, she’d taken a knife. But his chances of spotting her, on those streets, were slim to none. It would be easier if he had a clue where she was heading, she didn’t know the city, hadn’t seen any of it before. She might be lost, and couldn’t find her way back to the house. He doubted it though, if she’d gone out, she had a plan on how to find her way back.

Azriel had mentioned the note to Lucien, because it said she’d return to the house, he wanted Lucien to stay back. They argued about it. Lucien didn’t understand how Azriel could read it, asked several times to see it. He’d finally told him they weren’t words, and still wouldn’t show it to him. They agreed to Lucien patrolling the streets around the house. He covered less ground, but searched the nooks and alleys more thoroughly close by, maybe he would be luckier.

Their search had been fruitless. The rain made it impossible to catch her scent. From the vision, he knew Bryce had a lot of stamina, she could run for a good while, there was just too much ground to cover for the two of them. But Azriel couldn’t bring himself to alert Rhysand, his wards had failed to keep her inside, and he’d failed to keep watch on her.

Lucien looked pathetic sitting at the table warming his tea with his hands. He’d steamed dried his hair and clothes by warming himself, but he looked uncommonly dishevelled. They didn’t have to speak, to know neither had seen her.

 Azriel wasn’t looking much better himself, his face was scruffy, unshaven, his hair wet like a stray. He wanted to go back to bed and forget all about Bryce.

He’d spent hours reeling about the encounter he had last night. It could have been deadly for him. He berated himself for assuming it was Rhys when he felt the mental poke. It had taken him too much time to remember the voice in Elain’s vision that sounded like Rhys but wasn’t. Too long to question, why he was cloaked. By then, it was too late, he’d been trapped. When the stranger revealed his appearance, it had shocked him, he didn’t just sound like Rhys, he could have been his twin brother. Unlike Rhys who wielded darkness, the stranger had shadows similar to his, but he could make his hard and much more powerful. It had made Azriel doubt everything, he thought he knew about himself.

A long time ago, when he was just a boy, hurt and lonely, his mother had shared with him a vision of this male. Years later, after she sent him to live with her friend, he’d assume it was Rhysand. The male, who would introduce him to his mate, provide him purpose, make him feel like he belonged. Except for the mate, he thought, he had found his family.

Azriel was drinking his second cup of coffee, his mind still mulling over how she’d left without alerting him, the shadows, and passed the wards. He was not looking forward to telling Rhys about Bryce's outing. Lucien seemed just as miserable. He’d made a half-attempt asking again about the note, but let it go when Azriel didn’t bother answering him.

The second Rhysand came in, and looked at them, he asked, “What’s happened?” Cassian and Nesta arrived at the same time.

Lucien gave Azriel a suffering look, expecting him to provide the explanation. Azriel remained silent. 

Lucien sighed, “She left the house for a run apparently. We’ve spent the last two hours combing the streets looking for her. We haven’t found her.”

’’Left the house?’’ Rhys questioned.

“Why’d you come back here?” Cassian asked.

Lucien pointedly looked at him, expecting Azriel to explain about the note, and her potential return.

Azriel shrugged, “She’ll return here. There was a note. And she left her sword in the room.”

Nesta seated herself at the table, was about to server herself a cup of tea, noticed the pot had gone cold. She slid it to Lucien, nodding to him to make himself useful by warming it. Lucien grudgingly wrapped both his hands around it for a few seconds, moreish steam floated from its spout. Cassian sat next to her, as she served two cups.

Rhys was still standing, he was upset, but trying to hold it together. “How’d she got passed you, and the wards, Az?” Of course, he was to blame for lowering his guard.

Azriel shrugged, “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Nesta suggested, “Maybe your ward didn’t work, because she’s not from our world? Or maybe it has to do with what’s made on her?”

Rhysand sighed, and sat down. “No, I don’t think that’s it. I made it when she was inside, it had markers specific to her.”

Azriel whispered to him, “Sorry Rhys. I don’t know why the shadows didn’t wake me.” Then he wondered, “How’d you notice she was gone? He asked Lucien.

Lucien frowned, “She snores. When I couldn’t hear her, I figured she was awake. I came down looking for her in the other rooms.” It wasn’t a lie, but he was hiding something, the shadows told him.

“The note, what did it say exactly?” Rhysand asked.

Lucien smirked at him. Azriel ignored him, “It just says, she’s went out for a run, she’d be back after.”

Rhys noticed the exchanged between the two, his brow raised, “She left it to you, Az? And you were able to read it?”

Azriel knew, at this point, he probably didn’t have a choice, he’d want to see it, but he still tried to keep it for himself. “She didn’t use words. They’re symbols.” He told them, like he’d told Lucien. They all stared back at him, all the more curious, about the note.

The front door opened, but it was Mor coming in.  Not Bryce.

She was just as beautiful as ever. But she looked thin, and tired. Her smile was strained, like she was nervous to be back here. Azriel felt sorry, she was asked to return on his account for not being fluent in the Old Fae Language. For not being able to tell what was true and what was bullshit.

“Hi, got in early. Figured I’d meet up with her now, get the introduction out of the way.” Mor’s voice trailed off as she looked at them, then around the dinning and living room area, searching for their surprise guess. “What’s going on? Where is she?” Her smile gone, replaced by a confused look.

“Welcome home, Mor.” Rhys said. “It seems Bryce went out for a run. Azriel was about to show us the note she left.” Rhys gestured to hand it over.

Azriel winced, pulled the folded paper out of the secret pocket of his breast plate. Maybe he should have put it in one of his outer pockets of his pants, where it would have been washed out by the rain. He was never going to hear the end of it. Still he handed the note over to Rhys, bracing himself for the ridicule his brothers were about to throw his way. Everyone leaned over Rhys to take a look at the note. 

Cassian was the first to tease him, “Those are very tiny wings she drew, Az.” Rhys, was snickering behind the paper. “It would seem, you haven’t made much of an impression, Brother.” Rhys took his turn. Azriel didn’t bother arguing, it was a symbol, he didn’t see how sleeping like a baby was any better than an Illyrian with tiny wings.

Mor added, indicating Bryce’s curves, “Yet, she was very generous with her own assets.” Cass, Rhys and Nesta confirmed the depiction of her curves were pretty accurate actually. Mor’s brows raised, impressed.

Before they got a chance to dish out more, the front door opened. They heard a thumping sound, music, the sort played at Rita’s for dancing. Bryce noisily pulling her footwear off in the entry hall. She came in, standing in the door frame, like her depiction, smiling. But, he didn't need the shadows telling him, she was sad. No head band, dripping wet, and nodding to the music in her ears. In her right hand, she held a basket, filled with pastries protected by a waxed cloth wrapping, still warm from the smell. She looked surprised to see so many of them. She pulled a small ear piece out. The music had lyrics, words in her language, they flowed rhythmically with the background beat. 

Bryce spoke loudly, in the Old Fae Language, probably half-deaf from how loud the music was in her ears. Rhys translated to them, “Hi, you’re all here, already! She hit a button on her phone, and the music went quiet.

“I see you didn’t take the phone from her, either.” Rhys said to him, mind to mind. Azriel winced. Right, he hadn’t gotten to telling him about that.

“You must be Morrigan, the cousin.” She said looking toward Mor.

Mor gave Bryce, her famous sunny smile, moved towards her. “That depends” she told her in fluent Old Fae Language. At Bryce’s confused look, Mor continued, “Are those fresh pastries from Arthur’s? And are you sharing?”

Bryce laughed, “Yes, they are. And yes, I am.”

Mor closed the space between them, “Then you get to call me Mor, like all my friends who feed me delicious food.” She threw her arms around Bryce. For a second, she braced for an attack, but quickly realized she was getting hugged by a laughing Mor. Bryce embarrassingly told her, “Sorry I’m wet, and smelly from my run.”

Mor stepped back, taking the heavy basket from her, breathing in loudly, “Please I’ve been living with smelly Illyrian warriors for the past few centuries. You smell very nice!”

Bryce smiled, “Must be the pastries you smell. Why don’t you get everyone started on them, while I go upstairs clean up a little. But, Mor, save me a chocolate croissant, please.” She started towards the stairs, but stopped after looking towards Azriel. “Why is he upset?” She asked Mor. “Didn’t he find my note?”

Mor looked at Azriel for signs of him being upset. She wouldn’t see any. Mor put the basket on the table, started untying the string, pulling the cloth open. She told Bryce, “Oh, he found it alright. But the others were teasing him about the tiny wings. You see, Illyrians are very sensitive about their wings.”

Bryce frowned, “It was a symbol. For sleeping like a baby.” Azriel’s shoulders raised, if he was a turtle, his head would have disappeared. Cass choked in his tea cup, Rhys laughed. Yup, not any better.

Bryce rolled her eyes, “Childish, the only reason they tease him, is because he, obviously, has the largest wingspan.” Nesta whispered, “Obviously.” Shadows blurred Azriel’s wings as everyone turned their eyes to them, he hid his smile sipping his coffee. 

On that, Bryce walked past the table, looking down her nose at Rhysand. While Cass gave Nesta a hurt look, to which she winked, and assured him that she was very satisfied with his wingspan.

Mor said to Bryce’s back, smiling, “We have a theory here, about a male’s wingspan being proportionate to other body parts.”

Bryce turned, walking backwards, wide grin on her face, “Oh, we have the same one, in Midgard, and you should see my mate’s wingspan.” Her brows jumping, as she gestured her hands moving apart widely. Mor’s laughter rang like a silver bell, happy and light. Then, Bryce was gone upstairs.

“I like her, she’s fun!” Mor said, “We should keep her!”

Chapter Text

The moment Bryce closed the bedroom door, she wanted to scream and burst in tears.

The meeting with Aidas had not gone as she’d hoped. She would not be charging back home with Hel’s army. Not anytime soon. Aidas suggested she turn Rhysand’s Illyrian army to her cause. It sounded so far fetched to her.

What did she know about waging war and leading an army? Maybe with Hunt’s soldering and war experience. But she could still see the damages those years had wrought on him. And, who knew what state he’d be in, when he finally came out of the dungeons. Bile rose in her throat at the thought of him there for longer than she could bare.

War had torn Midgard during her entire existence. Her parents had done everything to keep her as far as possible from its devastation. Bryce was well aware of how many innocent victims war destroyed. Could she plunge Midgard into such a carnage for reasons none knew about? To most Midgardians, the Asteri were benevolent stars keeping them safe, under their watchful guardianship they felt protected from Hel’s creatures. They would portrait her like a heretic, same as all the rebels before. Worst of all, if she declared war on them, people she cared about would be persecuted.

She couldn’t bring herself to even consider what would come after removing the Asteries rule. She was getting a headache from the speed her mind raced, and hit against more problems then she could consider at once. The tension in her shoulders, neck and jaw became painful. Bryce took long stilling breathes, like she’d learned to do after Danika’s death.

They were in her room again, the shadows. She felt them, hovering nervously. They brushed her shoulders, curled around her, inspecting her body for any injuries. She relaxed into their embrace. All they would find are blisters on her feet from the new boots. She’d promised them, she’d be safe alone outside. Bryce wondered if they told Azriel. Probably not, they liked secrets.

Aidas was right, she needed to build up her strength, her power. And come up with a better plan than war to take the Asteri down.

****************************

Bryce returned in the dinning room, with fresh clothes. Her hair had been dried, a few strands framed her lovely face, but all of its silky mass was pulled back into a ponytail. There was a gloss to her smiling lips, her lashes were long and dark, with a simple black line on her lids, and a rosy shade on her cheeks. But that could be from her run outside.  She looked amazing, healthy, and energized. Not a trace on her of the despair and sadness Azriel had sensed from her when she’d entered the house. She sat next to him. He didn’t just feel tired, he knew he looked it. He was in a foul mood, the shadows sat thick, and heavily on him.  

Mor slid a plate with the chocolate croissant towards Bryce. She’d been defending it from Cassian. She’d slapped his hand twice, told him to pick something else in the basket. He was doing it on purpose to annoy her of course. Azriel was certainly annoyed by his antics. Cassian served Nesta a cheese croissant from the basket, and took a blueberry scone for himself. Arthur must have known who she was sharing the basket with, he had packed all their favorites, except for himself of course. Azriel deliberately changed his order every time to keep him from guessing his.

Mor picked up the teapot, aimed it towards Bryce, “Tea?” She asked her.

“Oh Gods, please tell me there’s coffee in this world?” At Bryce’s horrified face, Mor put the pot back down.

“Azriel is the only one who drinks coffee.” Mor explained. Clearly hesitating to interrupt his brooding.

Bryce’s eyes drifted to the pot next to Azriel’s cup, “It’s ok. I’ll ask him.” She told Mor.

Bryce pulled her phone out of an inside pocket of her black leather jacket. The sight of the bright pink phone, another evidence of Azriel’s failure, further darkened his mood.

Rhysand’s mood, hardly lighter, said, “I thought that thing could explode, and it was best to keep it shut down.” Mor jumped in surprise, warily stared at the phone.

Bryce didn’t even look up at him, she brushed her finger sideways on the front of the smooth surface, as if turning pages of a book looking for something, she answered him. “That was before, Dec sent me…” She frowned, searching for a word, and continued on with, “a code. It blocks anyone from tracing my phone. So, it’s safe now. No explosions.”

Everyone around the table warily looked at the phone in her hands, not understanding its workings. Having no other choice than trusting her word. She tapped on the illuminated surface, then tapped again on a circle, spoke into the phone in her language while looking at Azriel. When she was done, she tapped on the surface again.

Her voice came from the phone in common Prythian. Her lips silently mouthing the words new to her. Bryce’s phone voice asked him. “Azriel, may I have some coffee? Oh please, pretty please? I don’t think I can survive a single day in this world on weak ass tea!” Azriel almost broke into a smile at the insult of their tea.

His name in her voice, vibrated his core. He kept his face blank, reached for the pot and filled her cup. The relief on her face, threaten his control again, almost broke his face into a smile. His mood lifted, the shadows excitedly whispered, “Offer her some milk and sugar.” As if he needed to be instructed in manners, he indicated the creamer. She whispered, a little unsure as she spoke in common, “Yes, please.” Prythian words she’d learned since yesterday. Everyone blinked at her use of their language, already.

Azriel poured the milk into her cup, added sugar. He was fascinated, but tried not looking like he was. He watched her sip, hands curled around her cup, her smile. The shadows happily whispered, “She likes our coffee.” He’d erased the horror from her face, she was looking slightly happy, the sadness was still there, but the coffee definitely helped. He didn’t feel so tired anymore.

She tapped her phone, and spoke into it again. Everyone, just looked on silently, watching. She was drinking from her cup, when her voice came on, and told him, “Thank you. I wasn’t joking, I don’t think I would survive without coffee. You can just tell me where you get the beans from, and I’ll buy you some more.”

Azriel was about to answer, but she signaled him to hold on, after tapping on her phone, she put it down between them, and nodded for him to speak. Wary, he said, “There’s plenty of beans in the kitchen for both of us. You don’t need to buy more.” He stopped for a second, she was about to tap the phone, the square with arrows going both sides, but he continued speaking, and she held off tapping it. “There no good coffee beans in Velaris. I buy them in the Summer Court.  It’s far, several days of flight.” Azriel stopped, he was about to start rambling, nodded to her that he was done. “No good coffee beans in Velaris.” Rhys teased, mind to mind.

She tapped the square.

His voice was low, it was his, coming from her phone, but it made sounds, words he’d never spoken. Her language wasn’t as strange as he first thought it was. He recognized the sound for the word coffee, the same word she had used.

Bryce nodded as she listened on, tapped and said to him, “Sun roasted beans are so much tastier than fire roasted. This is delicious, thank you.”

She reached inside the basket and handed him his favorite, an almond croissant. Surprised, he stared at it for a moment, while she hungrily bit into her chocolate croissant.

Chapter Text

Bryce left her phone on the table, next to Azriel. Letting him eye it, it was a risk, he could make a grab for it and teleport it away. Instead he tapped the circle, spoke to it. He hit the square button next, and his voice came from the phone in a low velvet tone in her language. He thanked her for the croissant. Bryce smiled, responded without use of the phone in Prythian, testing the new words she’d learned. “You’re welcome.”

“So how far is this library?” Bryce asked them.

Lucien translated. “This is not just a library.” Nesta said, “This is a safe haven for females, mostly priestess that have endured violent trauma. Rhysand donated it to them when their temples were raided during the war. They manage the library, but it is also their home. And mine. They come to the library to heal. No male is allowed inside, except Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel. You will respect them and their rules.” Or else was implied in Nesta’s warning, silver flames flashing in her eyes.

Bryce nodded. Whatever magic Nesta wielded it was like nothing she’d seen in Midgard. “Of course, I will.” Bryce assured her.

She looked at Rhysand, sprawled in his chair. Noticing his bored demeanor, it was likely an act, much like hers. She was seeing the male that transpired, not looking at the ruler. He’d lost a sister, Cerridwen had mentioned. Perhaps, he was dealing with his share of trauma also. Something, maybe from that war Nesta mentioned, definitely something made him scared of losing his people. Bryce knew too well how that fear could grip you, and make you irrational.

Bryce said to him, “I’m not here to cause any trouble. I’m just looking for a way home, so I can get back to help my people.”

Rhysand looked towards Mor, after a slow breath, he said, “I know how that feels. To be trapped away from your family. It took me fifty years to get back to mine.”

He paused, looking like he was shoving back down some difficult memories. “We will help you. But Bryce, you wrong or hurt one of mine. I will make sure you pay, and you’ll never see daylight again.”

The room felt suddenly too small. Filled with magic radiating from him, a thing of nightmares and pain pushing down on her. Bryce shoved her star down, refusing to let it shine and chase the threat away. Not now.

She stared into his dark eyes, told him, “We have that in common. I won’t let you hurt mine.”

She exhaled, letting his magic swirl around her, refusing to cower, she added. “I won’t. You have my word. I don’t have fifty years to spend here, I’m going to be gone as soon as I can.” She tried not to think about how many years her human parents had left. Rhysand nodded, as if he could read that very thought on her face. It was a truce.  

Her phone ran, and Juniper’s graceful figure illuminated her screen. Azriel stared at the picture of her beautiful friend in a dancing pose. Bryce excused herself, grabbed the phone and walked away from the dining table into the living room. She heard Mor ask them, “Who’s that?”

In the living room, Bryce sat in the velvet chair, answered the call. “Hi, June. I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry!”

“Bryce! Where are you? What’s happening?” Juniper’s voice was shaky, filled with worry. It both filled her heart with guilt and hope for their friendship.

Bryce’s phone was encrypted, but she couldn’t risk Juniper’s safety if they were tracking hers.

Her dear and smart friend guessed why she hesitated. “Fury put this encryption file on my phone. She said speaking with you could get me in trouble. Bryce, please tell me what is going on? Are you okay?” Juniper earnestly asked.

She felt such love, Bryce let her tears run down her cheeks. “I’ve missed you June. I’m fine and safe. I used the thing. You know what Danika gave me, to get away.”

Juniper whispered, “Fuck.” Then it occurred to her, that Bryce might not even be in the same world as her, not in Midgard. “Someone is listening to you right now? Who are they? Are you in Hel?”

“I’m not alone. It’s best I don’t say the name, they are listening.” The shadows were lurking behind her chair. “They don’t understand our language, but they would recognize the name.” She got a sense, because she knew her friend so well, June was nodding, understanding the danger. Bryce could hear Syrinx’s loud breathing, as if he was listening in on the call too.

“What is it like, there?” Curious, June asked.

“Imagine Pangeria, fifteen thousand years ago with slightly better hygiene conditions.” Bryce told her.

“Ah, so not your dream vacation spot?” June laughed. “Are there at least a few handsome males to look at?”

Her friend knew her well, it made Bryce smile. “Yes, maybe one or two. But they are a lot like the Fae ones back home, total alphaholes.” This felt like before their fight. June’s soft laugh was healing her sore heart.

“June, I am sorry for what I did. I had no business making that call. Especially without talking to you first.” Bryce apologized, because her friendship to Juniper was her lifeline.

“I know you are, B. I was angry, and I’m sorry I overreacted. Let’s put it behind us. I know you love me, and you wanted to help. It’s just that I feel like, you and Fury, see me like this fragile female that can’t defend herself. Like, it doesn’t occur to you that I am fighting my own battles, the way I want.” Bryce was nodding repeatedly.

She whispered, emotions choking her, “I know you are. You’re fucking amazing. I’ve missed you so much.” Bryce whipped her cheeks, relieved they would get pass her mistake.

“Anyways, now I’m just angry that your call worked. They care more about the politics, than the talent and hard work I’ve put in. That’s why I agreed to take some time off, and get away with Fury. I’m not sure what I want to do now.” June sighed, sounding a little lost herself.

June continued with, “Fury thinks I should start my own companies. I don’t know, it sounds crazy. I don’t know how to run an entire ballet. It would be a lot of work. And costly.” Bryce heard Fury in the background say, “I told you I have the money, you can have it.” Bryce’s heart softened at her friend’s insecurity, even with the beautiful love she had with Fury, she wanted to know her thoughts on the subject.

Bryce told her, “It sounds like a good idea. I think you know more than you realize. You’ve never been one to shy away from hard work. I believe you can accomplish whatever you dedicate yourself to achieving. I’ve seen you do it for every solo you’ve ever danced. You could start with a small troupe. Create one based on your values. You’d get to choose your choreography. I would definitely support you, if that’s what you want to do.”

“That does sound nice.” June whispered, “I could put on the Requiem for Thunderbirds, that music is so devastatingly dramatic.” And more excitedly she said, “And mine would be inclusive for all dance lovers, from all races and body type.”

Bryce recognized her friend’s beautiful soul, and wished she could hug her, “Well, count me in.”

“Well, I am. You better hurry back home Bryce, I don’t want to do this without you.” June said. Syrinx whined in the background. “Someone else is missing you, Syrinx has been worried about you.”

“I’m working on it. Give him an extra treat for me. I love you June.” Bryce said.

“I love you too, Bryce. Is there something we can do to help?” June asked.

“Just stay safe. That’s all I need.” They said their goodbyes for now, and Bryce hung up.

Bryce texted Fury, “Did you know? What Danika found out from the Palace archives?”

Fury’s text came in instantly after hers, “No, she never said. But I suspected what it was about when you mentioned it. The world is fucked, Bryce. It was a long time before Danika and you came along in it.”

A second text came in from her, “Leave June out of it!”

Bryce texted back, “Of course!”

“Come home" We’ll figure it out, and find a way to keep you safe.” Fury texted a last time.

“Not so simple. Love you, Fury. Keep our girl safe.” Bryce ended the text conversation.

Everyone in the dinning room were getting antsy about leaving for the library. They told Bryce, the priestesses would be waiting for Cassian and Azriel to start their daily training session.

Chapter Text

They all stood at once when Bryce finally put her phone back into her pocket. Pressing her to leave because they were already late for training. The priestesses knew better than just stand around waiting, if Cassian found them idle, they would be paying for it during the drills. They would start on their warm-up exercises until they arrived.

The logistics were a little more complicated than usual this morning.

Cassian was flying Nesta. Which meant someone else had to meet Emerie to fly her to the House of Wind, it was usually him.

But Azriel didn’t think it was safe for Mor to winnow and drop with Bryce, a half-human, onto the training platform. He suggested Mor bring Emerie over. To which, Nesta got angry, and thought it was hardly a better plan to drop Emerie instead of Bryce. To which, Mor got offended, because she had never dropped anyone, and she wasn’t going to start today.

By then, Rhys was running his hand in his hair.

Bryce looked confused trying to understand what all the arguing was about.

And Lucien smirked, guessing Azriel’s motives had more to do with flying Bryce himself, than her safety with Mor.

Rhys declared, he would bring Emerie over, while they all figured out the rest. Obviously trying to get away from all of them for a moment of peace.

When they started toward the door, Bryce looked over to Lucien who remained at the table, digging into the basket for a pastry. No one had offered him one. At Bryce’s frown, Mor told her, “He’s staying here.”

“But, isn’t he part of Rhysand’s inner circle?” Bryce asked. Azriel wondered, if she felt bad for him, maybe getting passed her initial wariness. True, Lucien looked pitiful, especially disheveled like he was at the moment.

“He’s more like Feyre’s friend. And Elain’s mate.” Mor told her.

“Her mate?” Bryce asked brow raised.

Of course, he heard, but he ignored them and tore into a cheese croissant.  

“Long story. Come on, we need to get going.” Mor tugged on her arm. Bryce looked back to Lucien, and wished him a good day.

“You too, Bryce. I hope you find what you are looking for.” Lucien answered back. He waited for them to exit. To Azriel, he said, “Keep her out of the dungeons, for Elain’s sake.” Azriel walked out of the house.

Bryce and Mor were waiting for him outside. Cassian and Nesta had already taken flight. Mor told Bryce, Azriel would fly her over, explained there was a drop, a big one, to land on the training pad, but not to worry they did it all the time.

To Azriel she said, “Try not to drop her.” And Mor winnowed away. Bryce blinked as if searching for Mor.

Azriel moved closer to her. She looked nervous. He couldn’t be sure if she was worried about him or flying. He gave her a moment, letting her get used to him this close while she chewed her lower lip.

She was tall, but he still towered over her. Azriel tried to soften his face to look less intimidating, they really needed to get going.

She pulled something out of her pocket. The small buds, she had in her ears before. She raised on her toes. Her hand pressed on his chest. Her thumb brushing his Illyrian stone. His power rumbled in his chest, swirling in the stone at her touch. He supported her weight while she leaned into him, and put one bud in his ear, the second in hers. She tapped on her phone, the voice translation activated, he heard her question in his right ear. “Have you ever dropped someone in flight?”

Azriel smirked, “Not unintentionally.” He knew he wasn’t helping her nerves. Maybe she’d appreciate his honesty.

She removed her weight against him, his balance tipped him a little closer to her. This close, her freckles seemed to shimmer like gold flecks.

Her hand on her hip, she held back her laugh, she saw it for what it was, his snarky humor. “And what are your intentions looking like today, in regards of flying me over there?”

More seriously, he answered her, “I will get you to the library, safe. You have nothing to worry about. We should go, we’re late.”

Bryce took a deep breath, bracing herself, she said, “Fine, let’s just get it over with.” She shifted a little sideways.

He touched her gently, and pulled her up into his arms. Her hand gripped the leather strap on his front, his sword sheath strap like she had done yesterday, her knuckles whites. She probably thought she’d have a chance to hold on if he dropped her. He could tell how much she hated being this vulnerable, having no choice in trusting him. In her other hand, she held her phone.

He told her, “Don’t drop the phone. It’s going to be pain to find.”

She nodded, “Right.” She tapped on it and put it inside her pocket. Beautiful music came on, two soothing feminine voices sang in her language.

Azriel stretch his wings and flapped powerfully, lifting them off the ground. Bryce tensed as the ground moved away.

He told her, “We’re fine. Don’t look down, look ahead where were going. It helps to forget how high we are.” She was staring at his lips again when he talked. That’s how she was learning to speak their language. Once her phone finished translating, she turned her head away, looking forward.

“Are we going into that red mountain?” She asked him, still looking ahead.

“On top. It’s called the House of Wind. Down below is Hewn City.” He told her.

She was humming to the music, her fingers tapping to the beat. She’d put the music on to avoid an awkward silence while she was in his arms. And, not forcing conversation on him.

The music was good, he didn’t understand the lyrics but the beat was uplifting. He dared a little more speed, matching the music’s tempo. Bryce didn’t seem to mind, she kept focusing ahead and breathing very intentionally, her grip still very tight on the strap.

“Didn’t you say your mate was a winged male? Did he take you flying?” Azriel still wondering if it was him or the flying that made her nervous. It was something about her, he couldn’t stay quiet. She was a puzzle and he felt far too curious for his own good.

“He is a winged male. A malakim, an angel.” Bryce’s smile was sad, she hesitated. “He has great feathered wings. It took him a while to convince me, but he did take me flying. In my city, it’s not peaceful like this. The sky is much busier with all kinds, flying to and from everywhere. The angels fly the highest to get away from the crowd. It was nice, especially when the city is slick with rain, the Fae lights make everything shine.” Maybe it was him then.

“They probably cut his wings off by now.” She said more to herself. Azriel shuddered.

“Wouldn’t that kill him?” He asked.

“No, they grow back. But the pain is excruciating. The depression of being grounded is debilitating. And if the wounds aren’t treated by a medwitch, the wings are likely to regrow with defects that will make flying impossible. It’s the worst punishment. They call it the angel’s death.” She was trembling, he tightened his grip on her. “It’s horrible. They did it twice to him already.” She was struggling to keep her breathing calm.

“Then, the third time will be easier on him.” Azriel told her. “The thing about pain, is that we get used to it. When we know what’s coming, we can prepare for it. It hurts more when we are afraid.” Bryce was watching his mouth, her eyes focused, slowed her breathing. “That’s why torture methods are so creative, it’s to keep the victim guessing and scared.” Bryce frowned. Shit, he was saying the wrong thing. “I’m saying, it won’t hurt him as much, because it’s been done to him before.”

Bryce swallowed thickly, said, “I hope you’re right.”

They were approaching the drop, already.

Ahead Bryce saw Cassian holding Nesta drop on the training pad, his landing sounded like a thunder clap. Azriel heard Bryce swear under her breath.

A moment later, Mor winnowed above the pad, she dropped, her blond hair floating upwards as she fell down, her boots hitting the stone echoed.

Azriel felt her muscles tense, every part of her body rigid. “Breathe Bryce. I do it all the time. I’ve got you. It’s scary the first few times. But after a few drops, it’s actually fun.” She looked at his mouth, trying to focus but he could tell she was debating with herself.

“Can’t we just descend normally?” She asked him.

“No, the House is warded. It’s very old, even Rhys can’t get through it or change it.” He watched her brows furrowed, still debating. Did she think she could pass through this ward? Like she had at the Town House?

“No going back, Bryce. We are doing this. You can thrust me. I won’t drop you.” He was hovering above the opening of the ward, waiting for her to give her consent. She tightened her grip on the strap, wrapped her other arm over his shoulder, her breasts pressed against him, her heartbeat drummed into his chest, and her cold hand held his neck. She nodded once.

Azriel stopped flapping his wings. He kept them slightly open. Breaking their speed, just a little for Bryce. When the ground approached, she pressed her face in his throat, not able to look at it. Her face soft and cool from the wind made him wish he’d shaved this morning. His stubble was probably rough against her skin.

Her breath whooshed out of her when his boots hit the stone. The impact resonated through their bodies. Azriel stood still, held her tight until he felt her muscles relax, and she inhaled. She looked around, and he lowered her to her feet. Her hand remained on his arm as if her legs were still shaky.

“Thank you, Azriel.” She said, raised on her tip toes and took the bud out of his ear. The music stopped. She walked away adjusting her jacket, heading towards Mor smiling at her.  

Chapter Text

Hunt was laid on the wet ground of his cell, wet from his own blood he realized. He’d passed out from the pain, and couldn’t remember being dropped back in his cell. He couldn’t tell how long he had been in the dungeons. The pain pulsed like an endless ticking clock. Breathing hurt. Moving impossible. He was freezing cold.

Pollux had strung him up in the small interrogation room. He’d beat him in a frenzied rage. He didn’t even bother asking him any questions, this was not an interrogation. The sick bastard had taken his pleasure on feeling superior. Hunt swallowed as many grunts and cries of pain he could. Refusing to give him the satisfaction he was seeking. Once he’d exhausted himself from the beating. The smell of Pollux’s sweat and Hunt’s own blood in the small room made him hurl, but his stomach was empty, it only painfully contracted with nothing to vomit.

Then Pollux cut his wings off. He’d taken his time, gliding the dull saw back and forth, back and forth. Hunt cracked his teeth biting down to keep from yelling. One wing, then the second. He’d passed out before the second fell off.

Pollux must have continued, because he couldn’t remember him cutting off his fingers. Yet, they were missing now. His hands were itching, the fingers starting to grow back slowly.

He wasn’t facing the door, it made it hard to listen to the coming and goings in the corridor. He tried listening for Ruhn or Bastian, but he couldn’t hear either of them. He did hear shoes, running shoes squeaking. Keys jingled outside the door of his cell. Hunt closed his eyes, feigned to be unconscious.

“This is the one.” Someone said. And the lock to his cell clicked loudly.

“Is he conscious?” A male asked.

“Doubtful, he was in bad shape when we dragged him back. Pollux did a serious mess of him.” Another male said as the door creaked opened. They were three.

“Hurry up, get him on the gurney.” Hunt heard one of them say before a cart was rolled by the door.

“Just hold on!” He heard running shoes squeak closer, someone bent close to his body. Hunt tried to move, but the pain was too excruciating.

“Keep calm. This is just a painkiller. You will sleep off the worst of it, while we move you to the medic lab.” Hunt felt the sting on his neck, the liquid injected was cold at first. Then he felt light, like he was floating away. Someone pulled his eye lid open, a person with a big nose and very small eyes was smiling at him. Talking very slow, or maybe his brain was functioning very slowly. “Feeling better already, aren’t you? This is some powerful stuff, don’t get used to it.”

He was having a hard time concentrating on what they were doing to him. Everything looked distorted, his mind felt like mush, but the pain was gone. The big nose one, directed the others to grab his legs, while he picked him up by the shoulders. They laid him face down on the gurney. Hunt felt the cold breeze of the corridor.

They moved him. He was bleeding. The blood droppings echoed loudly. The floor moved like waves. Hunt stared at the two orange fishes swirl to avoid his blood drops. Or maybe they were running shoes shuffling. “Fuuuck.” Hunt fought to focus, but his eyes grew too heavy.  

When he woke up, he was in the medic lab. Laid on his side, in a bed, warm under blankets. He was handcuffed and chained. His mouth was dirt dry. They had patched up the wounds on his back where his wings used to be. His fingers were regrown, his nails still growing back. He tried moving, but the pain in his back shot up and down, pulsing through his head to his feet.

Hunt heard a gurney roll in, along with squeaky shoes. And a smell of burnt flesh. “Dana, he’s back. Again. He flat lined on the way here.”

Hunt looked at the lucky bastard who’d almost escaped this place, feet first, but still. It was Bastian. He was laid face down, his wings charred. Most of his face, the skin was gone. Melted off. Only a few traces of the scar Hunt gave him on his throat was still there.

“Bloody hell! Couldn’t they give him twelve hours like I said.” Dana, in light pink scrubs went to Bastian’s gurney. The malakim female laid her hands on him. Bright, white light shinned through her gloved hands for a second. “Put him on bed two.” She ordered.

“You’re awake, and looking a little better.” She told Hunt pulling the latex gloves off. Her bare cool hand touched his forehead, then reached for a drawer in the cart. She brought a small vial of liquid to Hunt’s lips. “Drink up.” She ordered him. It looked exactly the same as the ones Bryce gave him last spring when Micah punished him. Hunt drank.

“Bastian, is he?” It was all Hunt could say with the little moisture in his mouth.

Dana looked back to the gurney, where two males were moving Bastian to the bed. Even through the painkillers, Bastian wept in pain.

Dana’s eyes were sad, lined with age and pain. “Traitors have it very bad down here. But they won’t let him die.” She turned her back to him, and went to work on Bastian.

Hunt’s eyes became heavy, he listened until he fell back to sleep.

The next time he woke up. All the lights were turned down low. Bastian was on a bed next to him, facing Hunt. His face was covered in a pasty white ointment. His wings were tied to a support frame, suspended above his back. They were also covered in that white ointment. He smelled strongly of medications.

“Hey, you finally awake?” Bastian’s voice was muffled by his pillow, trying to keep the right side of his face immobile. The ointment cracked at his smile line and forehead, the skin beneath was pink.

Hunt’s mouth was better this time, he wet his lips, “You look like shit.” He told Bastian.

Bastian frowned, “Fuckers, won’t let me die.” Then said, “You don’t look so great yourself, Hunt.”

Hunt chuckled, pain shot up, but not as bad.

Dana was sitting at a desk with nothing but her lamp on, her pen scratched paper as she worked her case notes. They stayed quiet for a while, listening to her scratches and each other breathe.  

“You just hang in there. Bryce is coming. She’s never backed down from a fight, this isn’t the one she gives up.” Hunt said it, but even to him, it was forced. Hard to believe Bryce would be back soon enough.

“Just like Danika.” Bastian told him. “I overheard them. The guards are terrible gossips here.” He said, “They are saying Bryce is not in Hel. They’ve been sending their mystics by hundreds to comb Hel looking for her. Apparently, they’ve lost dozens of mystics because they’re getting attacked by demons, but no sign of Bryce yet.”

Dana shushed him to keep quiet. She came over to Hunt, gave him another vial. She checked on Bastian, touched up the ointment. “Both of you need to keep quiet.”

When he woke again, Bastian was gone. The male nurse with the bright running shoes, pressed the controls to his bed, moving him into a sitting position. Then he pilled some pillows to cushion the small stubs growing on his back. The itching started.

The nurse said, “Not much we can do about the itching. Let’s try to get you distracted with some yummy blob, they call food here.” Dana gave him a warning look, not to fraternize with the prisoner.

He placed the tray on the small table in front of him, and made a flourish of revealing what was underneath.

“The roasted chicken.” The nurse exclaimed happily. The smells of roast chicken, buttery potatoes, a warm bread bun wafted up to Hunt. His mouth watered. His stomach growled.

“You’re a lucky one. The chicken is rare. I’d say they are trying to mellow you.” He told him.

Before Hunt could ask, mellow for what. Dana ordered the nurse to quit the chitchat and get back to his work. He nodded, and said to Hunt, “Go slow, it’s been a while you’ve eaten anything. This is not a meal you want to throw up. Enjoy.”  He smiled and he pushed his trolley away.

Hunt flexed his new fingers, relaxing their stiffness, he wrapped them around the fork. Wondering how painful it would be to ram it in his heart, or maybe through his eye and into his brain. Neither would be a clean, painless death.

Dana noticed, and warned, “Mess all the work I did patching you up, and next time you wake up, you will have your dick regrown on your forehead.” Hunt smirked, she probably meant it.

He was shaking so much he had a hard time skewing a potato. Dana came by, and took the fork from him, loaded it and gave it back to him. She watched him raise it towards his mouth, corrected his aim a little to the left.

She said, “Chew, and chew some more.”

The flavor was amazing. Hunt didn’t want to wonder about why they wanted to mellow him. Not just yet.

When he finally swallowed. Hunt asked, “Where’s Bastian?”

“Back in his cell. I was asked to stabilize him. He was, stable, so they took him away.” She looked frustrated. “I told them to give him five days before they start working on him again. Maybe he’ll get two.” She said mostly to herself while loading his fork for another bite.

“What they ask for me?” Dana frowned, watched him as he aimed the fork towards his mouth alone this time.

“You are to be made presentable.” She finally said in a low voice.

Hunt swallowed. “Am I meeting someone?” He asked.

“You will. But not for a few more days, eat your meal, Orion. Once you’ve regained some strength, we will try to get you up and walking.” She said, and moved to another patient.

“Only my mother calls me Orion.” He told her.

She turned, “I know, we picked it together. She would be sad that you’re using Hunter. It’s not what she wanted for you.”

They didn’t speak again that day.

Hunt watched Dana’s dedication to giving all of them the best treatments possible. She ran the lab in a calm and efficient manner. She was here most of the time, clearly the most experienced of the healers. She got all the very damaged patients, almost dead prisoners, to heal them for more questioning.

He also noticed how she looked pained to see her patients returned to their cells. How she negotiated the guards more time for their healing, trying to delay the moment they took them away. She hated what this place did.  

By the next day, Hunt’s wings were mostly formed and itching like crazy. The feathers were starting to grow, piercing through the new layer of skin. Dana scolded him whenever he tried scratching. She allowed him out of bed, still handcuffed, but moving around the room to stretch. He was sure she was distracting him from scratching.

He finally worked up the courage to ask her when the lab quieted down. She sat at her desk eating her lunch.  

“How did you know my mother?” He asked her.

Dana looked up at him, hesitating to answer, fraternizing with the prisoners was against her rules. “We were both young, newly stationed at the Palace when we meet. We became friends, trying to figure out how to survive this place.”

“You hate this place. Why do you stay?” Hunt bluntly said.

“You say that, as if I have a choice.” She answered. “They’ll come for you probably tomorrow at the rate you are healing. When you see her, be patient. She won’t know if you are real. Her mind has been broken too many times. She struggles with reality.”

The nurse rolled in a prisoner on the gurney, Dana was already out of her chair, lunch forgotten, before he could ask her who.

The next day, Dana padded him on the arm, before eight guards walked him out of the medic lab. Hunt wondered if he should be fighting. But Dana would be upset that he messed up all her work, and it wasn't a battle he could win.

They weren’t in the lower levels of the dungeons, these corridors were contemporary, air-conditioned and well lit. They entered a foyer.

Rigelus was standing there, said, “Finally.” He looked Hunt over, he was cuffed hands and legs. He signaled the guards to leave.  “I see, we’ve cleaned you up well. Wings are still a little prickly but good enough.” He told him.

“Walk with me. I’d like to show you something.” Rigelus headed through another door. Hunt had no other choice then to follow. The corridor was bright, on each side were large windows from ceiling to floor. Like aquariums you could look into individual cells. Inside were broken people. His trophies, Hunt realized.

Rigelus stopped at the third cell. Hunt stood several feet away from him, but could still see inside the cell. A petite female malakim was curled in the corner. Her dull white wings were folded around her body, the feathers twitched, many were broken, or damaged. Her hands were incased in large cotton mittens. Probably to keep her from hurting herself.

Rigelus pressed on the intercom, “My darling Shahar. I’ve brought an old acquaintance of yours. Won’t you say hello to him?”

At the sound of Rigelus’s voice, the female flinched. Her wings tightened around her frail body.

“The fuck, is this? Shahar died. I saw her body.” Hunt growled.

“We have ways of reviving the dead. She’s been here. All this time. Sandriel was ambitious, but so dull and predictable. Shahar was the genius of the two. So of course, I revived her.” Rigelus told him.

Hunt moved closer to the glass, trying to get a better look at the female. Desperate. For what, he wasn’t sure.

Rigelus pressed on the intercom again, “Hunt, say hello?”

Her head raised slightly at the mention of his name. Dirty brown hair peaked the wings. Fearful, brown eyes looked.

Hunt recognized his former lover, the female who’d picked him out of all the soldiers.

He burst, “You fucking monster! You’ve had her here, all this time.” Like a frightened mouse, she drew back into her cocoon of wings. More calmly, he asked, “Why tell me now?”

Rigelus smiled, his boyish mouth was a mockery, “I want you to know, because you can have her back, your first love. You give me Bryce, and you don’t have to be alone. You can have the life you wanted with Shahar.” Hunt was shaking, he’d never hated someone so much.

“You should have heard her cry when Bryce claimed you as her mate. You see, she believed you were hers.  You would save her from this place.” Rigelus said, “It’s not too late, Hunt. You can save her from here.”

Chapter Text

Azriel was distracted, he tried watching his group. One priestess was doing only halfway sit-ups, he let her get away with three before he called her out. His attention kept going to where Bryce was leaning against the railing, looking into her phone.

Mor was standing with Amren, who’d come ahead to give instructions to Clotho.

Whatever Bryce was doing on her phone, it ignited her anger. Her entire body tensed, she straightened into a fighting stance. Fist balled tight. The tension he felt radiating from her was intense and violent. The wind carried her strong scent of burnt nutmeg, it worried Azriel, yet he inhaled it’s sweet and spicy deliciousness.

Rhys must have caught a whiff of it as well. He called her out, distracting her from whatever had her riled. He tried to coax her into sparring with them. He translated, as he spoke to Bryce.

“I don’t fight. Unless I got something to win.” She answered him.

Rhys smiled at the opportunity, “What is it you’d like to win, Bryce?” Rhys was a gambling male. Azriel approached him, Cassian joined.

“Come on Bryce, what will it take for you to spar? Doesn’t have to be me, anyone from my inner circle.” Rhysand challenged.

Azriel whispered to him, mind to mind, “This is a bad idea, Rhys.”

“It’s a great way to find out her interests. Measure her skill. And get some real answers to my questions.” Rhys answered back.

Bryce’s eyes narrowed, considering her options. “What it takes to win?” She asked.

Rhysand smiled, “Who ever puts his opponent to the floor.”

“Who chooses my opponent?” She asked.

Azriel could tell, it wasn’t her first deal with a High Fae. Bryce was outlining all the details, leaving no room for loop holes.

“You choose.” Rhysand answered.

“What do you gain, if yours win?” Bryce asked.

He was prepared for her question, “Three questions answered, fully and truthfully.”

“What is it you want to win Bryce?” Rhysand taunted, smiling, knowing he was getting his way.

“You’re rich, right?” She asked him, and he nodded.

“An entire day shopping spree, twenty-four hours all expense paid.” Rhys brows raised, not what he’d expected. But Bryce wasn’t finished, she put her arm around Mor’s shoulders, pulled her in closer, “For me, and my new friend, Mor.”

Mor grinned happily.

“Mor has her own fortune. She can buy whatever she wants.” Rhysand negotiated.

“I’m sure she does. She’s a kick-ass independent female. But spending yours is more fun!” Bryce smiled broadly.

To which Mor nodded repeatedly, confirming, “It is. So much more fun to spend yours, Rhys.”

Rhys’s eyes narrowed on Mor, “Who’s side are you on?” He asked her in common.

Azriel watched Mor shrug, “Its free shopping.”

He rolled his eyes, “She’s not going to win.”

And agreed, “Fine, you win the spar. I will pay an entire day shopping spree for you and Mor.”

Bryce nodded to him, while Mor told her she knew all the great spots for shopping.

“If yours win, I will answer three questions. Fully, and truthfully.” Bryce agreed. The deal was made.

Rhysand’s hip twitched. He swallowed a grunt of pain. Then, Bryce swore. Pain filled her beautiful face. Azriel flinched at the sight.

Bryce removed her jacket. Pulled the sleeve of her shirt up her left arm, where a new tattoo was branded.

“What is this?” She yelled at Rhys.

Amren explained that deals, bargains, oaths were sealed magically in this world, until paid.

“This isn’t my style.” She frowned, flashing the inside of her arm to them. A black inked seven-inch knife was tattooed on the inside.

Azriel recognized Truth Teller, the exact details. The Mother had tattooed his knife on her arm. The blade aimed downward toward the inside of her hand.  A symbol of strength, protection, and readiness to confront obstacles with precision and determination.

“What did you get?” Cassian asked Rhysand.

He opened his pants, pulled them low, exposing the soft black hairline trailing from his navel down towards his privates. Everyone leaned in to look more closely at the tattoo on his lower abdomen.

“It’s purple?” Amren said. “I’ve never seen a colored one.”

Azriel remembered last nights Rhys look a like, he had plenty of colored tattoos from his neck down his arms. It was from Bryce’s world.

“What is it?” Nesta asked.

“Looks like one of Helion’s Pegasus.” Cassian said.

“It’s Jelly Jubilee.” Bryce told them.

Rhys looked down at himself, asked her, “What’s a Jelly Jubelle?”

“Jubilee.” She corrected. “She’s just the greatest toy of my childhood. A Half-Pegasus and half-Unicorn pony.” Bryce told him.

“I have a children’s toy next to my crotch?” Rhys yelled. Everyone tried not to laugh.

“Well, I’m not thrilled about mine either. I look like a thug.” Bryce yelled back.  “So, let’s get this over with.”

“Yes, let’s. Who are you fighting?” Rhysand asked.

Amren assuming Bryce would pick her for her small stature, moved towards the ring and stopped mid-step when Bryce declared.

“The big one, that likes to laugh a lot.” Everyone stilled. The priestesses gasped at her bold choice.

Azriel considered her opponents. Bryce didn’t have any easy choices, but Cassian was certainly not the obvious one to floor. His weight alone had to be close to double her own.

“His name is Cassian. And he’s my War General. You do know what that is, right?” Rhysand questioned her.

Bryce, hand on her hip, looked at Rhys like he was the stupid one, “I’m just making sure you get your gold’s worth. Because it’s going to be an expensive day for you.”

Rhys rolled his eyes. While Mor leaned in to give a few tips to Bryce. She didn’t look like she was paying attention, she moved towards Azriel. Handed over her jacket.

Mor translated to him, “It’s very important to me. It belonged to my best friend. Would you mind holding it for me, while I put Cassian on his ass?” Azriel smirked, and took it.

Bryce pulled her sleeved shirt off as well. She was wearing a low-cut camisole underneath her shirt. Azriel found himself starring at her chest while her arms were raised, the eight-pointed star starring back at him. Truth Teller hummed, and his power rumbled deep within preparing for a fight that was not his. Azriel swallowed loudly.

He grabbed the ribbon of cloths, needing the distraction to ignore the turmoil he was feeling. He took her hand, ignoring the exposed tattoo on her arm.

Her hands were graceful and feminine, his were hideous next to hers. The callouses reminded him she was experienced with a sword, she was trained. Cassian was a good choice. She’d lose, but he’d be careful not to injure her.

He pulled the many rings off her fingers, lingered at her nails. They were shaped, he realized like claws. Strong, the pointed tips could easily draw blood. He warned Cassian.

Bryce slapped his hands away, took the ribbons from him. She turned her back to him, and when her pony tail swayed, he noticed another tattoo peaking up from her back toward her neck at the collar. Cerridwen hadn't mentioned it.

She walked away, talked to him over her shoulder, while finishing the wrapping on her hands in the fashion ring fighters did. “When you’re done snooping in all my pockets. Make sure you put everything back where you found it, Azriel.” Mor repeated what Bryce said to him.

She stood on the mat, waiting hip out, looking relaxed while everyone starred at her chest. Rhysand eyes sparkled at the sight of her scar.

Cassian told her to take a few minutes to warm up while he finished up wrapping his own hands.

Bryce said to Mor, “Does he have eyes? Look at me, I’m always hot and ready.” Mor laughed, and translated.

Rhys rolled his eyes. Cassian snorted, but his eyes traveled her figure. Azriel held in his growl at how his brother’s eyes lingered a little on her curves.

Cassian said, “Tell her to secure her hair up.” Indicating a style like Nesta’s.

Bryce eyes traveled on Cassian, like he’d done to her, “I don’t take fashion advise from someone who can barely groom himself.”

Mor repeated it to Cassian, who then explained, it was to avoid getting grabbed and pulled by her hair. Forever the teacher.

Bryce smiled, twirled the length of her silky red hair around her wrist and laid it on her shoulder. “Touch my hair, and you will get hurt.” She warned.

Cassian let it go, and walked onto the mat to meet her. The priestesses gathered around, excited to watch their teacher in action.

They circled each other a few times, assessing. Cassian let Bryce set the pace. It was slow at first.

Azriel dug into the side pocket of her jacket for a distraction. She’d practically given him permission, which wasn't as much fun, but he was still curious. He pulled out a small pink vial with a stick in it. Her lip gloss, it smelled sweet and delicious.   

Bryce threw the first punch at Cassian. He easily blocked it. Then he threw one at her. It didn’t connect, she side stepped it. She kicked low, and Cassian stepped back, avoiding her. She was testing. Cassian was letting her take the lead. Watching her technique.

Azriel moved on to another pocket. He pulled out a polished white rock. This female and her stones. He was wary, as he turned it over, feeling it's smoothness.  

“Hey, do not lose that. Put it back.” She yelled at him from the mat. Everyone looked at the egged shaped opal in his hand.

“What is it?” Nesta asked.

Rhys said, “It’s charmed.” 

"For what?" Nesta asked. 

"For joy." Rhysand answered.

Bryce used the distraction, landed a series of punches on Cassian’s body, her hair swaying with each movement. He contracted, absorbed the hits, slightly surprised at the power she delivered, but undamaged. Cassian nodded, appraising her tactic. He tested her defense. Bryce moved fast, avoiding and blocking.

Azriel went back to digging in her pockets. Phone. Metal keys like he’d never seen. Two stamped gold coins with an insigna of a crescent moon. And the pink quartz stone, he didn't pull out.    

“She’s trained in combat. She knows how to move.” Rhysand said. Mor nodded.

Amren commented, “She’s fast too.” Mor nodded some more.

Azriel added, “And smart. She’s already figured Cass’s weakness.”

Rhys asked like it never occurred to him, “Cass has a weakness?”

“We all have them.” Amren stated.

“When’s the last time Cass let you anywhere that close to his body?” Azriel pointed out to him.

Rhys swore, and called out, “Defense Cass!” Cassian threw him a look.

Bryce pounced, landed several hits. Cassian got her swinging pony tail in his eye. He had to blink several times to calm the stinging in it. She landed a kick at his ankle, strong enough to push his foot back. He corrected his balance. Bryce picked up her pace. Attacking in short spurs. Hair swinging with each.

Cassian switched from defense to offense. Delivered a combination of punches and kicks. Bryce moved fast, but caught a hit on her shoulder. His shadows leaped towards her, rushing to conceal her. Azriel pulled them back too late. Rhys threw him a side look.

Bryce two-stepped back from Cassian, rolled her shoulder to check for damage and ease the pain. He could tell Cass was holding back his power. But Azriel’s muscles tensed, primed to leap in front of her. He breathed the alarm in his nerves to calm down, it was just a sparring game he reminded himself.

Bryce smiled at Cassian knowing he was holding back. She leaped back into a rapid attack. It took all of Cassian’s concentration, to block her punches and kicks, but also avoiding her sharp nails whenever her hands flared open, and the whip of her hair. She was fast and pushed his defenses. Both were slippery with sweat by now.

“She’s taunting him to grab her hair.” Rhysand noted Bryce's strategy by deliberately staying close enough for him to catch it.

Before Amren had time to say, “It’s a trap.” Cassian had a hand full of the red silkiness.

Bryce threw Azriel a look, making sure he didn’t miss it. Azriel's foot moved onto the edge of the mat, readying him to step in when Cassian tugged Bryce backwards. She moved with him, backing into his front. Close enough, she launched her attack, swung her elbow twice, and fist once.

The first elbow hit high, it connected with his nose. The crunch was loud and blood spurted quickly from his nostrils.

The second elbow hit, slightly lower, caught Cassian in the throat. Hurting his airway. He lost a little balance and leaned slightly forward.

Her final hit, straight arm down, her fist hit him in the balls. Cassian folded his weight over Bryce’s back, his grip on her hair loosened. His eyes still watering, trying to catch his breath, off balance, she grabbed hold of his hair bun, and tipped him forward. Rolling his heavy weight fast over her back. Cassian landed in a loud thud noise on the ground. His wings flared, he was trying to recover, but Bryce moved fast to catch his arm. She twisted it at an angle to snap it out of his shoulder, wrapped her legs around his body, her heel digging in his crotch. Probably pinching his balls against is muscled leg. She smiled at Azriel, letting him know she had him. Azriel breathed. The priestesses whispered their shock.

“Yield, or I’ll will snap your arm out.” Bryce victoriously yelled. Cassian was wrestling her, painfully trying to pull himself out of her grip.  

Rhys was shaking his head, unbelieving. With more time, Cassian would tire her and overpower her grip, but that wasn’t the deal. It had gone down fast, Rhysand recognized his lost.

While Amren told Bryce, “Illyrians never yield.”

Rhys called it. “He’s done.”

She released Cassian immediately, winked at him. “Thanks, that was fun.” He returned fast on his feet, probably feeling sore.

Bryce gave Rhys a smug smile, and said, “I take shopping very seriously, it’s a sport.” She high-fived Mor and both laughed.

Rhysand sighed. He’d have some explaining to do with Feyre.

Bryce came up to Azriel took her garments off his arm. Looked at his waist, as if only now realizing the tattoo was his knife. She asked, “I won, how come the tattoo is still there?”

Mor told her, “It won’t leave until the debt is paid.”

“Ah, so Feyre will have some time to get acquainted with Jelly Jubilee.” Mor laughed at that. She slipped her arm around Bryce’s waist. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to Clotho in the library.”

Azriel watched both walk away toward the staircase alcove. A little envious Mor was on Bryce babysitting duty.

Cassian shook his head, apologizing for letting Rhys down.

“She hustled both of us.” Rhys told him.

“It could be worst.” Azriel comforted them. Rhysand raised his brow inquisitively.

He told him, “She could be shopping with Amren, that would be much more expensive for you.”

Amren shrugged, while Nesta puffed out a laugh.

Azriel moved to the center of the mat, quizzed the priestesses on what Cassian had done wrong that cost him the fight. It was payback for teasing him about the tiny wing drawing.

Chapter Text

Rigelus walked away, “Take a few minutes to get reacquainted. You don’t have to decide now, Hunt.” Then he was alone in that bright white corridor.

All this time. She was alive. Tortured, trap down here. Everyone had told him to let her go. He hadn’t until Bryce. He was going to be sick, the nausea made it hard for him to breathe. Hunt tried to do the math even if his mind was spinning.

How long had she been in here? Sixty-six years.

His stomach turned, he was sweating profusely, breathing hard, trying to keep his breakfast down. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass. He’d barely survived seven years in these dungeons. Another two years in Ramuel’s dungeons. Nine years before he felt the wind on his feathers. Then there was Sandriel’s dungeons.

“Oh gods!” The scrambled eggs and toast came up. Hunt vomited on the pristine white floor his breakfast. Shame and guilt twisted his insides. Her sister, Sandriel. He’d killed her for Bryce. Without a thought of revenge for Shahar’s death. Head bowed against the glass, his tears fell, leaving droplets on the glass and floor. His body shaking. Of all the terrible things he’d done this had to be the worst. He’d moved on, and forgotten about her while she waited for him in here. He was choking on his breath, but still heard the soft ruffling of her feathers.  

Small, dirty naked feet appeared on the other side of the glass. Hunt raised his eyes to look at Shahar, or what was left of her.

She had always been petite, but now she was rail thin. Her clothes hung on her frame shapeless, dirty. Her cotton mittens looked very large compared to her slim arms. Their shape stretched as if she’d tried to pull them off with her teeth. Her once white wings looked beige against the bright white of her cushioned cell walls. Her right one was crippled. Hanging at an odd angle on her back, likely impossible for her to fly with it. But her eyes, those were the same rich brown, and they searched his. Her delicate brows frowned, unsure if he was real.

The intercom was still open. He could hear, in a low voice, “Are you real? Is it you?” She was speaking to herself.

Hunt swallowed hard. He didn’t know what to say to her. All he could come up with is sorry. He was pathetic, she deserved so much more.

“It is me, Shahar.” He whispered finally. He spoke softly like he was talking to a scared animal and didn’t want to frighten it away. Her eyes focused. Her cracked lips stretched into a painful smile.

“They told me you’d left. You served my sister. You had found someone else to love, and you weren’t coming back for me.” Her voice was changed, like her vocal cords were frayed from screaming, “They lie. They always lie.” She told him. 

Yes, they did lie, but they hadn’t about that. He had served her sister, unwillingly. When she’d tired of torturing him, she’d sent him on the battlefield to fight her war. He’d fought on the wrong side of what they had once dreamed of. And later, he had found another love, Bryce. One who embodied what Shahar had dreamed of. Bryce didn’t respect or recognize any of the hierarchy, she had accepted who he was, even loved him.

They had lied about Sharhar’s death. And now, they were lying about letting them have their lives back.

Hunt looked at the tray of untouched food. She was starving herself. It was pointless, Rigelus wouldn’t let her die. Not even, from such a long excruciating death. No, he had found a purpose for her. She was his bait. He couldn’t free her from this place, he wouldn't promise that to her, but he could offer her some comfort.

“Sandriel is dead. I killed her. She’s gone forever, no one can ever bring her back.” He spoke slowly to her. Shahar let out her breath, relief in her eyes. She leaned her head against the glass where his chest was, as if to hug him. Her greasy hair smeared the glass.

“Thank you, Hunt.” She whispered.

It was the only kindness he could offer right now. The killer of her beloved parents was dead. Her heart could be free of the vengeance she had craved so much so many years ago.

The door at the end of the corridor opened.

“They are making me leave.” He told her.

She raised her face up to look at his. “I don’t know if I will see you again. But stay alive, I would like to see you again.” He said.

“I’d like that too.” She smiled at him, there was a glimmer of the Daystar she was once. “Don’t believe any of their lies.”

He nodded, and walked back into the foyer where eight guards waited to escort him back to his cell.

Back in his cell, he sat on the cold hard floor, silent. He listened to the guard’s footsteps move away.

“Athalar, is that you? Are you back?” Bastian’s voice carried across the corridor. “Just knock your cuffs on the door, if you can’t talk.”

“Hey Bastian, missed me?” Hunt answered back. Trying to make light of the mood, when he was feeling like his world had just tipped over. His stomach was still swirling.

Bastian snorted a laugh, his face probably still crusty and painful from the burns. “Well, you know this place isn’t the same without you.”

“Danaan not keeping you company?” Hunt asked.

“No, they took him a while ago. Almost as soon as they drop me back in here. He hasn’t been back since.” Bastian’s voice was worried.

Hunt thought about Bryce's brother. Their bond was strong, she'd be crushed if he was broken in here. It wasn't like last time. Hunt wasn't scared for himself down here. He was scared for everyone else, who they could lose.

“Shahar is alive.” Hunt needed to say it. As if still trying to convince himself she was real.

“No. She died. I saw it, we all did.” Bastian said, who’d also been on the battlefield that day.

“They have some way to revive the dead. Rigelus had her down here, all this time. Even Sandriel didn’t know.” Hunt told him.

“Fucker!” Bastien sighed. “Is this your way of telling me not to bother dying, because the fucker is going to revive me?” Hunt could easily imagine Bastian’s smirk.

They were silent for a little while, until Bastian asked, “Fuck, is he trying to mess things up between you and Bryce? You were pretty serious with Shahar. Did you see her?”

Hunt regretted saying anything now, “Yes.”

“How’d she look?” Bastian asked.

“For someone who’s been here this long, she looked good.” Hunt sighed. Remembering what he’d once shared with Shahar.

Hunt knew, he was fucked. He would be facing some tough choices he didn't want to make.

Chapter Text

The priestesses shuffled their way down to the library, a few checking in on Cassian to offer some healing if he needed it. He laughed, asking if they had anything to soothe his bruised ego, but he was otherwise undamaged.

Nesta kissed him and joined Gwen saying her goodbye to Emerie. Cassian would be flying her back to her shop. 

“I’ll do a border patrol today, and report back later tonight.” He informed Rhysand.

He was ready to leave when Cassian called out for him to wait up.  

“Az, what’s going on with you and Bryce?” Cassian asked in a low voice.

Azriel gave him a confused look.

“Don’t do that. We both know you were primed to charge me when I was in the ring with Bryce. If she’s the one, your mate I mean. I’d understand. Is she?”

Cass was back to this again. An awkward silence stretched, Azriel debated what to tell him. He didn’t really know what it was himself.

Cassian sighed. “Look, I know how fucking confusing it is in the beginning.”

He said, “Just be careful. I don’t think she’s a threat to us, but she is mixed up with some dangerous people. That necklace of hers, I’ve seen that symbol before, Az.”

He hadn’t payed much attention to the delicate gold chain on Bryce’s throat with the star-shaped scar staring at him that closely. But he remembered the pendant of three interlocking circles.

“Where did you see it.” He asked.

Cass shifted on his legs, “When Feyre and I went to the prison to ask the Bone Carver to join us in the battle against Hybern. He drew it in the sand, on the floor of his cell. Identifying each circle, one as his sister, the Weaver, a second for himself, and the last one for his brother, Koschei. Called him, the most powerful of them. That’s some pretty dark stuff.”

Azriel frowned, “Did you tell Rhys about it?”

“No. I’m telling you.” Cassian said, “If she is your mate, brother. I’ll help. We’ll get her out of whatever trouble she got herself in.”

He sighed. “I don’t know what’s going on. She already has a mate. You heard her bragging about his wingspan this morning. Ever heard of someone with two mates?” Azriel asked him.

Cassian frowned, looking at Nesta talking with her friends. “No.” He whispered.

He stared at his feet for a second, exhaled through his nose. “I don’t think the amulet is an allegiance. I think it’s a ward against them. Daemati powers come from dark magic. It might be what’s protecting her against Rhys and Feyre’s mind reading magic.” He told him, fairly certain of his guess.

Cassian nodded, “Might also explain how she was able to walk through Rhys’s ward at the Town House.”  

“Whatever it is about Bryce, I’m on edge when she’s in danger. Sorry for distracting you during your fight.” He apologized.

Cassian shrugged, “It was all my doing. I was always going to yank her ponytail, if not to prove my point. Then just to see how she was going to get out of it.” He added, “Someone taught her well.”

“If you’re in trouble, I’m here for you, brother.” Cassian padded him on the shoulder and walked to Emerie to fly her back.

Azriel hoped the long flight towards the human border would ease his nerves. He had a few spies keeping eyes on the borders, if anything had changed since his last visit, they would have sent word to him immediately. He enjoyed the song of the wind, and quiet tranquility of the open sky. Cassian was right, he wasn’t himself since Bryce arrived. He needed to get away.

But found the more distance he’d put between Bryce and himself, the more time passed, he felt anxious, eager to go back. He made all his usual stops. He checked on everyone, he didn’t linger or stay any longer than necessary. Getting away hadn’t helped.

It was dark by the time he returned at the House of Wind. He looked for her, she wasn’t in the library, and neither in the housing quarters. He went knocking on Cassian’s and Nesta’s room, didn’t wait a second to open the door, even at the risk of finding them in a compromising position.

Relieved, Cassian was standing by the mini bar pouring some drinks, he stood bottle and cork in hand. Alert, he asked, “What’s happen?”

Nesta closed her book, stared wide-eyed at him panting in the doorway. “Are you okay, Az?”

He took a breath, asked “Where’s Bryce?”

Cassian threw Nesta a smile, said, “Returned to the Town House. Elain insisted. She wanted to have supper with her.” He finished pouring the drinks. Added pouting a little, “We were not invited. Actually, informed not to show up, there wouldn’t be any food for us.”

“Come in Azriel, you look like you could use a drink.” He held out a whiskey for him.

Azriel looked at Nesta if she’d mind the extra company, she looked like she didn’t care either way. So, he did.

“I didn’t think he’d let her go back since the wards aren’t working.” Azriel said sipping his whiskey.

“Feyre commanded it, so I don’t think Rhysand had much say in the matter.” Nesta told them. “They think through Elain they might find out more so she allowed it, so long someone was there for her protection, Lucien and Mor are there tonight.”

Cassian settled in the chair next to Nesta’s, both facing the fireplace, their fingers interlaced on the armrest. This looked like something they did regularly, sitting like this, together to talk about their day.

For a second, Azriel felt like he was intruding, wondered if he should have declined the drink.

Cassian asked him, “How were things at the border?”

“Pretty much the same. Autumn Court have soldiers posted along the Spring Court borders. They haven’t made any moves. Lots of chatter about Tamlin being in worst shape. The human border patrols are organized and regular.” Azriel hated polite talk, he regretted coming in.

“How are things with the clans?” He asked him before taking a big gulp of his drink.

“Difficult, they’ve lost many. But, interesting. Remember old Kratill’s daughter, Audata?” At Azriel’s baffled face, Cassian added, “The big one, we thought she was a male.” Nesta hit him on the arm, “That’s not kind.”

Azriel smiled, nodded, remembering the very large female. “In his defense, her arms are probably as big or bigger than Cass’s.” Nesta’s brows raised in surprise.

 “That’s her.” Cassian confirmed.

“Well, most of the males in Kratill’s clan died in the war, including himself. The neighboring clan, the Lugari, came over to pillage and take the females.” At Nesta’s shock, Cassian informed this happens a lot to weaker clans.

Then he continued, “But turns out, old Kratill had been secretly training his daughter. She kicked dirt at the Lugari clan leader, drew a line in the ground and declared herself Kratill clan leader. And she wasn’t having any of it. They left with their tails between their legs.” Cassian laughed.

“Are her wings clipped?” Nesta asked.

“Naw, Kratill threatened and complained about it. But he never did it. I don’t think there was anything he loved more than his daughter.” Cassian told her.

“The other clan members accepted her claim?” Azriel wondered.

“Yes, even old Rupert. Although, he might not have realized she was a female until I mentioned it. Apparently, it was mostly her running the place for years. Kratill did some posturing, but let her deal with most of the clan business.” Cassian smiled.

“When I asked her if they needed anything from their Lordship, she asked for battle training for their females and weapons.” Cassian was grinning.  

Azriel smiled, “I never thought I’d see the day. To Audata, the first Illyrian female clan leader.” He raised his glass. Cassian and Nesta joined in, raising theirs.

Azriel finished his drink and was about to excuse himself when Cassian asked looking at Nesta like he'd missed her all day. “How was your day at the library, Nes?”

“There was some drama today. It seems someone gave Bryce one of Merrill’s books.” Nesta told them.

“We don’t like Merrill. She’s self-important and a bully.” He informed Azriel.

“And, she is mean to Gwen.” Nesta added. Azriel straightened.

“Did she cause problems with Bryce?” He questioned.

“Not today. Clotho sent her back to her office. Merrill was not happy.” Nesta smiled.

“And Bryce still has the book?” Azriel asked.

Nesta nodded, “I think someone is messing with Merrill, and using Bryce to do it. Probably someone who saw her floor Cass, and thought she wouldn’t be easily intimidated by Merrill.”

Cassian shook his head, “Well, if anyone can give her a dose of humility it would be Bryce. I know I got mine.”

“Do you think Bryce found anything in the books she was looking for?” He asked Nesta.

“Hard to tell. She spent a good deal of time on the Prythian maps. And seemed very interested in everything about our history and wars. She’s coming back tomorrow to continue.” Nesta told him.

He left then, and returned to the Town House. The moment he entered the house, Truth Teller hummed. Only realizing now, it had been silent since he’d flew away from her.

Chapter Text

They were all still sitting in the dining room, Elain, Mor, Lucien and Bryce. Happily talking. Their plates empty, but their wine glasses still mostly full.

Even silent, nothing but a shadow, Bryce looked his way. He felt her gaze, his nerves calmed. Silent in the archway, his body fully formed but mostly hidden in shadows, he stood still. She was the only one who noticed him, he let her scan his body, as if inspecting him for information. He pushed the shadows away, letting her look at him.

Sitting crossed legged, wine glass in hand. His eyes traveled the long length of her naked legs down to the black rhinestone slippers. She was wearing his shirt again, but like a dress off her shoulder and a slim belt. It was short, landing mid-thigh, exposing part of that long scar. Her hair waved down her back and shoulder.

The others noticed her lack of attention to the conversation, and finally looked his way. They all greeted him. Elain invited him to joined them, they’d finished eating she told him, but there was plenty of food left if he was hungry. Azriel confirmed he’d like that, but first he’d go upstairs to clean up.   

Lucien had warmed the house for the females in dresses. He removed his armor, changed into clean clothes. Black slacks and shirt, similar to the one Bryce wore. It exposed some of his ceremonial tattoos at the base of his throat and arms. He kept his leathers on his hands, he liked how they cover some of the scars. And he was never without some of his Illyrian stones, just in case.

When he returned to the table, he found a plate pilled with warm food and a glass of wine next to Elain’s chair. Whoever had chosen his seat, had positioned him for Elain’s protection. It was just as well. He’d have a hard time not starring at Bryce’s legs on the other side of the table. And from here, he could watch her face as she chatted with everyone. It would be easier to tell if she was lying, he told himself.

Bryce made a comment, which Mor translated to him. “She says, you clean up well Azriel.” He gave her a shy smile, and started eating while they continued talking.

The conversation flowed easily between them, Lucien and Mor taking turns translating to Bryce and Elain. Not that Elain needed a translator to speak with Bryce. So, whatever this evening was for, Elain was deceiving all of them. Leading Feyre on about any relevant information being revealed from this supper.

Azriel interrupted the conversation, asked, “Did Bryce speak with her mother like she said she would?” Everyone stopped speaking. He’d broken their easy mood, his question sounded like an interrogation. He looked at Mor, either to translate or answer his question. She should know.

Mor gave him a tensed smile. “I haven’t seen her use that thing to speak to anyone.” She translated his question to Bryce.

Bryce assessed him, smiled and answered him, “I could hardly forget, she messaged me twice to remind me to call her back. I did from my room when we got back from the library.” Lucien translated her back to him. Mor looked surprised she’d missed it.

“What lie did you tell her about me?” Azriel watched her through his fringe of hair, while he kept eating. Convinced her mother had asked her again about the stranger she’d seen.

“I don’t think I lied. I told her you work here. You’re a little curious snoop, who struggles with respecting personal boundaries. Am I wrong?” Bryce grinned at him while Mor translated her back to him.

“I’d say she didn’t lie.” Mor teased.

Azriel leaned back and sipped his wine to avoid smiling. Bryce was a smartass. He really liked that.

“Are you a mama’s boy, Azriel?” Bryce asked him. “Worried I’m upsetting mine?”

Azriel didn’t react or answer. 

But Mor did, “Oh, he is. A mama’s boy. He visits her once a month, every month. Never skips. Never lets her worry. Always makes sure she is safe, and runs out of nothing.”

Bryce said, “Well, that’s kind, and adorable.” Azriel leaned back over his plate, hiding his blushing face.

“I’m more of a daddy’s girl myself.” Bryce told them. He let the evening resume in the same relaxed mood, and kept his questions for himself.

After tea, Elain said her goodbyes, he was about to offer to fly her back to the River House, but surprisingly she’d already arranged walking back with Lucien. He let Rhys know mind to mind, she was on her way home. Informed him he had nothing new to report about the borders.

Mor and Bryce moved to the living room for a nightcap. Bryce played music from her phone. It was smooth, relaxing. Azriel tended the fire, without Lucien, the house had become cooler. Mor was laying on the sofa, her head resting on the armrest, her long hair spilled over it. While Bryce had removed her slippers, curled her legs under her on the velvet chair. He grabbed the throw blanket, laid it over her naked legs. She watched him stare at her scar for a second.

He offered, “The court’s medwitch is powerful, she might be able to remove it. If it bothers you.” Mor repeated it in the Old Fae Language.

Bryce shook her head and told him in Prythian, “No, thank you.” She continued in Old Fae which Mor translated for him, “I have someone back home who can heal it. I’m just not ready to let go of it yet.” He understood very well, he felt the same about his.

He sat at the end of the sofa. His legs stretched in front of him, his head resting on the back. He was really enjoying the relaxed, quiet mood, just listening to the music. 

He noticed a white pawn on the chess board had been moved into play. The only players were Rhys and himself, and they hadn’t played for a long while, before the war. With his shadow, he moved the black pawn forward. Closed his eyes, waiting for Rhys’s move, letting Mor and Bryce chat quietly.

Azriel was moving down the bridge. He was in his leathers. It was dark all around. Ahead there was an area rug, three chairs and a low table. Across, there was another bridge. He stood at the edge of his bridge and watched him.

The male, who could be Rhysand’s twin, he wasn’t cloaked either. He carried something, a colorful box in one hand. It was uncanny how he moved like Rhys. There were no signs of his shadows. His hair was long, only on one side, it swayed like a sheet of silk when he walked. He had silver jewelry on his pointed High Fae ears. The ring on his lip had returned. His clothes were simple, black pants and a black shirt. His colored tattoos showing on his throat and arms. He didn’t speak. He walked onto the rug, looked at the chairs, then at him.  

“I gave her back the crystal like you said.” Azriel told him. The male simply nodded.

“Then why am I here?” He asked.

“I don’t know. You reached for me.” He looked back towards his bridge. 

“I did?” Azriel didn’t know how.

He explained, “The crystal, it’s useful to form the mental bridge. Once it’s formed, your mind is able to remember the path. We don’t need the crystal to bridge with my powers. You’re relaxing? Sleeping maybe, and you were thinking about me?”

Azriel looked down his own bridge, his body laid heavy on the sofa, Bryce had covered him with the throw blanket. He was right, he’d dozed off while thinking about him. He debated leaving.

Instead he said, “I have questions.”

“I’m sure you do. But I’ve already been questioned for…” He paused, “Well, I can’t tell how long anymore. Long enough to pass out twice.” Rhys’s look-a-like, puffed out, “But I have a few questions myself. So, we are going to do this the civilized way.”

It felt familiar and strange. He behaved like Rhys. His arrogance, his assertiveness, definitely used to commanding and getting his way. Whoever this person was, he was a leader.

Azriel smirked, “What’s a civilized way?”

He deposited the box on the low table, it made a loud noise of glass bottles knocking against each other. “We take turns. One question, one answer each. I’ll go first.” He said.

“Wait, wait. Why are you going first?” Azriel moved off the bridge, stifling a laugh at how this conversation felt like many he’d had with Rhys as kids.

“Because I want to.” He shrugged like it was obvious, “Are we expecting some company?”  

Azriel’s brows furrowed, confused. Not a question he’d expected.

The male indicated the three chairs. “Why three? Is someone else joining us?” He asked.

Azriel recognized the chairs, they were the same from their lounge at the House of Wind. Cassian, Rhysand and himself spent countless hours in these, talking about all things from court business to their personal lives. He wondered why them, and said, “They’re a set for my brothers.” He thought about it, added, “It’s just wrong to break a set.”

The male nodded, as if satisfied with his answer. He sat, in Rhys’s chair. Leaned back, shifted in a comfortable spot. He lifted his feet on the low table, and let his head fall back. Azriel watched fascinated. He reminded him of Rhys in so many ways, but he was different.

The male flip his hand once, Azriel jerked, expecting shadows to make a move. Instead the space above twinkled with thousands of stars, planets and galaxies. It was vast and beautiful.  

The male told him, “This is really nice furniture.” Then tore the box open, pulled out two dark bottles, leaned forward to hand him one, “Beer?”

Azriel took the cold bottle, watched him make a show of opening it, as if to explain how to twist off the cap. The content made a fizzing sound. He leaned back in the chair, threw the cap in the opened box in a single perfect shot, and took a long gulp. He seemed completely at ease.

Azriel sat in his usual chair, leaving only Cassian’s empty. He opened the bottle, made a longer shot throwing the cap into the open box. The Rhys look-alike smiled, “Nice shot!” 

They were quiet for a short while, just looking at the sky. Assessing each other. Azriel kept watch for his shadows, but there were none.

So, he asked, “Who is she to you? Who are you? And why do you care about her?”

He stopped looking up and lowered his head, his hair spilled on part of his face, leaving only one eye staring straight into Azriel. He said, “I said no interrogation. One question each.” It was a warning.

Azriel sniffed the content of the bottle, it smelled like ale. He took a swig, swallowed a large gulp. It was cold, smooth and sparkling. Best ale he’d had in a long while. Decided to play by his rule. Then repeated only his first question.

“She’s my sister.” He said, “If you want to be technical about it, half-sister. Same father, different mothers.” Azriel’s shadows confirmed, it was a truth.

The male’s eyes roamed on his body, watching his shadows, then settled on Truth Teller at his waist. Azriel cloak his knife with shadows indicating he wasn’t willing to discuss it. The male flip the ring on his lip.

“Tell me one thing about her day?” He asked.

“You’re assuming I know how she spent her day.” He answered.

“You're a spymaster. What else would you do with those whispering shadows? Don’t bother pretending you’re not curious and watching her.” He was pealing the label off the bottle, looking at him, challenging him to deny it.

There was no denying it. “She spent the day at the library, doing research.” He answered. “Shadowsinger, that’s what they call my kind. I’m the only one with shadows. Yours, they’re different. They were hard, and stronger.” Azriel paused.  

“I’m waiting for a question.” The male smirked.

“Are there others with shadows like mine?” He asked.

“Shadowsinger, It’s a good name for them. Whispering shadows are rare. Many don’t survive coming into their powers, partly because the voices make them insane. Yes, I’ve known others. My cousin is... was one.” He sighed, “I suppose it must be lonely to be the only one. I was alone for a while, but then I learned and trained with my cousins from my mother’s side. All assholes, but at least I wasn't alone to figure it out.” He shared.

He coiled shadows in his hand into a tentacle, it pulled another bottle from the box. It forked into a second tentacle, the new one came over to Azriel taking the empty bottle from his hand, while the first offered the bottle from the box.  Azriel uncapped it and threw the cap into the box. Scoring two for two.

Chapter Text

Mor had left for her room a short while ago, probably thinking Azriel was on watch. Bryce was sure he'd drifted into deep sleep. His breathing was so slow and soundless, she had to watch him very closely to make sure he was breathing. His wings laid open on the sofa, relaxed. His shadows curled tightly around him.

It was the first time she’d seen him out of his leathers. He was handsome, seemed quite comfortable in dress clothes. He wore them like she did, another kind of armor. She wondered about the leathers on his hands. He didn’t go out of his way to hide his scarred hands, but he also avoided displaying them. She was pretty sure, he kept the leathers for the blue gems. She’d asked Mor about them, she explained they channeled Illyrian power into weapons and shields. The quantity of gems was a testament of how much power one warrior could wield. Only Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel wore a total of seven each.

She’d noticed his tattoos, wisps of black ribbons curled at the base of his throat before tonight. But now, the V neck shirt revealed they spilled down to his chest. Ceremonial tattoos Mor explained, given to the initiated warriors for luck and glory on the battlefield. Azriel had likely fought in the wars she’d read about in the library.

She removed the empty tumbler from his hand easily. Draped the throw blanket over his chest. The shadows finished tucking it around him. The fire was dying out, the room was getting cooler quickly. She let him sleep.

Before going up, she instructed his shadows of her next move on the chess board. Happily, and quietly they moved her second pawn, two squares forward. Making an opening for her queen and bishop pieces. The queen’s opening was her favorite strategy. It was an aggressive play to dominate the center of the board by sacrificing one pawn, the gambit. Forcing her opponent into an early decision. Would he capture her gambit, ensuing an early fierce, tactical battle? Or, would he patiently maintain a solid position, giving her the advantage of controlling the board?  

Upstairs, she sat on her bed, put her ear pieces in, and video called Declan. He’d set up a camera and his laptop on the living room T.V. She had a full view of all of them, Ithan, Declan, Flynn, and the fire sprites, sitting in front of the screen. No Tharion present.

Ithan jumped on his feet the instant he saw her, scanning her face. He looked strained. His hair was ruffled like he’d been running his hands in them repeatedly.

“Bryce! Gods, it’s good to see you. Are you safe?” He choked on his breath.

All their faces revealed some degree of relief at seeing her.

“Hey! I’m ok. Safe enough. Where’s Tharion?” She asked them. They looked at each other, clearly debating who would tell her.

“Where is he? Bright Hand said Cormac exploded himself, and one got away. Tell me!” Bryce tried to keep her voice low, not to wake Mor who’d taken residence in the room next to hers. Trying to avoid her hearing the conversation even if she wouldn’t understand her language.

Flynn answered, “We don’t know where he is.”

Declan added, “We got a single coded message from him saying he got out. He’s laying low to keep the heat off of us. He didn’t say where.”

Flynn continued, “There’s been no more communication since then.”

“But he’s alright?” She asked.

“That’s all we have, B. He got out, that’s a Hel of a good start.” Ithan told her.

“Is there any heat? I mean, you are all sitting at home like any normal day.” She looked at the drinking cups and cans on the low tables, everywhere really. There was bright red female underwear hanging on the lampshade, a matching bra on the back of the sofa.

They looked at each other again. “Surprisingly, everything is very quiet. So, we tried to keep things normal.” Flynn told her they reported to the Aux barracks as usual, told the crew Ruhn was away on special training. The Autumn King showed up for a surprise inspection and speech.

“He definitely knows something. His speech was a veiled warning that we are under surveillance. He requires the Aux to perform at their utmost best. He thinks the Wolves, Sabine is about to make a play for more power now that the Prime doesn’t have much time left. The Fae Aux have to be irreproachable in their duties to maintain order and peace. That was the message.” Flynn blew out a breath. Dec frowned.

Bryce didn’t trust it. If anything, she knew just how manipulative those monsters were, this could be part of their game.

“He didn’t question where Ruhn had gone to. Like he already knew.” Flynn added.

“It’s going to require some additional discretion. But we can handle the heat, B. We need to focus on a plan to get our boys out of there. You got the proof of life videos I sent you?” Dec asked.

Bryce was shaking at the memory of the videos. All she could do is nod at Dec. She’d been enraged at seeing her mate and brother fighting for their lives, alone, unable to help.

“They are still in the fight. We are not quitting on them now. You saw their hands, right?” Dec told them. Both had made the obscene hand gesture. A signal to them, they were still the Fuck You Team.

“Of course, I’m not quitting. It’s just… I can’t risk more of you.” Unable to hide the fear, the guilt she felt.

“We are in this. Always were. It’s our fight too Bryce. We’ll come up with the plan to get them out. You are not going back in there.” Flynn declared.

“Excuse me! Who made you boss of this operation?” She burst.

“Ruhn did, when he made me his second in command.” Flynn informed her.

“I’m second too.” Declan said.

“You want to argue this?” Flynn challenged. Rithi, Malana and Sasa shinned a bright orange clearly on his side too.

“No. I agree, she’s not going back in there. But she will be our bait, our distraction to keep them busy while we do the rescuing. We are not shutting you out, B.” Dec added, “But Ruhn made us promise, if he wasn’t around, we’d keep you safe.”

“You’re not just our brother’s sister. You are our Fae princess. You are also Luna’s Horn. You are ours to protect.” Flynn added.

“Bunch of Fae Alphaholes! I’m not your anything, Lordling.” She said, still her eyes watered at not being alone in this mess.

Ithan walked up close enough to the camera that she could see only him. “None of this is your fault, B. They are the monsters. It was a trap. Like it was for Danika and the Pack. None of us are safe. Let us go in, get them back. We’ll keep you out of the Palace, but not out of the game.”

Bryce gave him a watery smile, “Are you giving me a Holstrom famous peptalk?” He sounded like when he was captain of the CCU sunball team in the middle of a difficult game with his teammates.

He gave her a snarky smile, “You looked like you could use one.” He backed away from the camera, letting her see the rest of them.

“What’s your status Bryce?” Flynn asked.

Bryce sighed, “I’m stuck…” Movement caught her eye. A female rolled in the living room in a wheelchair, she banged it against the sofa.

“Who the fuck is that?” Bryce asked them. The female was slim and pale. She was dressed in male clothes too large for her, a T-shirt wet from her dripping hair with the CCU logo in front, and sweat pants.

“Busted pup! I guess now is when you have to tell her.” Declan told Ithan.

Ithan ran his hand in his hair, nervously looking at the floor. But Bryce already recognized the black-haired female as the Astronomer’s favorite mystic. “Why would you steal her from the Astronomer now, with everything going on?”

“He didn’t steal me. I choose to leave.” The female told her.

“She’s a Fendyr, Bryce. An alpha. She could be Prime. But Sabine overheard me asking about her. Then Amelie came sniffing around. I put her in danger, I couldn’t leave her in there.” Ithan explained.

Bryce knew Ithan’s heart was good. She understood, he hadn’t just lost a brother and friends when the pack died. He’d lost the leader he’d dreamed of for his kind. But this was really bad timing, Bryce wished they had more time to talk just the two of them before he did this. “Making her live in the frat house is hardly saving her. What’s her name?” Bryce grimaced. “And what are you having her wear?”

“She wouldn’t wear the underwear. Said they were too tight and pinching her.” Flynn clarified as if they’d tried.

“She doesn’t have a name. Or doesn’t remember having one. Seems her friends called her the Defender.” Ithan told her as if this fact was more evidence of her bloodline.

“You need to hide her better. The Astronomer works with the Asteri. If they find her in your place, it’s going to cause a lot of trouble.” Bryce suggested, “Take her to my apartment. She’ll be safer, and more comfortable.” Then asked, “Why is she in a wheelchair?”

And because the female was tired of people talking about her, instead of to her, she responded, “I haven’t used my legs since I was a child. I never needed them until now. They don’t seem to work when I’m in humanoid form, but on all fours, they’re fine.”

“I was going to take her to the clinic to have her checked out. But they’re going to ask questions, we can’t answer.” That explained why Ithan looked how he did, she couldn’t be Prime if she couldn’t walk. The wolves would never accept her if she couldn’t defend herself in humanoid form.  

“Get her to my apartment unseen. I’ll ask Hypaxia to come over to take a look, maybe she can help.” Bryce offered.

“You’re the Starborn Princess, aren’t you? You’re the one who needs help. They are all looking for you.” She said, “Many mystics are being attacked looking for you in Hel, getting devoured by the demons.”

“I’m not in Hel.” Bryce told them.   

“Where are you?” All of them asked at once.

Chapter Text

Azriel didn’t know if any of this was real, perhaps it was a trick. But his shadows were just as fooled as he was if it was a manipulation. The male seemed like himself, unaware of how much he looked and sounded like Rhysand. All he cared about was information about Bryce. His questions were about her well-being. None about Prythian, their courts, their people, their politics.

He asked, smug, if he’d found her phone. Like he already knew the answer

Remembering he’d been the one to talk about searching for it. Azriel tensely answered back, “No, but I think I figured out where she hid it.”

He’d search inside because they all believed the ward prevented her from going outside. But it hadn’t, she’d likely opened the window in her room, hid her phone outside. It still didn’t explain how his shadows had missed her doing it while they were in the same room.

“Then you can be sure it won’t be there anymore.” He laughed at him, flipping his lip hoop back and forth. Obviously confident his sister would outsmart him.

His shadows continually confirmed he was honest at every question he answered, even if he was cautious with information about Bryce. Not that Azriel could blame him. He wasn’t giving up any private information either.

He confirmed she wasn’t born with the scar on her chest by a simple, no. And when he asked if it shined Starlight. He answered, you would know if you seen it shine. Arrogantly pointing out he wouldn’t be asking that question unless he’d seen it.

“Was it shining at you, or for you?” He asked.

“Is there a difference?” Azriel questioned.

He shook his head, frowning “Answering a question by another question, is not an answer. I thought we’d already covered that?”  

He didn’t seem like a stickler for rules, unless it got him what he wanted. Another trait like Rhys. “I don’t know. She was unconscious, sleeping. She didn’t know I was there. It burst into light, chased my shadows away.” He told him, “At me, I suppose.” He just nodded.

He asked for his name, told him it was, Ruhn. The name Bryce had called out when she’d seen Rhys the first time. Azriel told him his own at his turn.

They continued talking while sipping their second beer. But Azriel could tell, Ruhn was in pain, it was getting more difficult for him to keep it under control. He had a fit of coughing, and his lips were stained with blood when he recovered. He quickly wiped it away, but worriedly looked down his bridge as if checking on the state of his physical body.

“I should go.” He announced. “I need my beauty sleep before next round.” He got out of the chair, holding his arm as if his shoulder was in pain.

“Keep my sister safe, Azriel. That’s all that matters.” Ruhn disappeared on his bridge.

Azriel woke up on the living room sofa of the Town House. He laid there, going over everything. Her brother was captured just as she’d told them. Did she know what they were doing to him? That she just might be too late to save him? He recalled how it had felt for him when it was Rhys trapped under the mountain. Rhys never talked about what he endured during his time there, but Azriel suspected.  

His shadows whispered, informing him Lucien was returning as the door squeaked open.

“Why are you back? Wasn’t your apartment closer?” Azriel’s question purposely letting him know he wasn’t welcomed here now that Mor could translate.

“I wasn’t relieved from my duties by Feyre.” Lucien informed him, “I’m staying here until I get new ones.”

Avoiding Lucien at the River House was much easier. He watched him stroke the fire, as if trying to chase a chill coming off from Azriel himself.

“I guess I’ll turn in too, if everyone is gone to bed.” Lucien poured himself a drink, headed towards the stairs, glass in hand.

“What’s going on with you and Elain?” Azriel questioned.

Lucien stopped mid-step, sparks flaring in his eye when he turned his head towards him. “That’s none of your business.” He told him.

“She my Highlady’s sister. It makes it my business to make sure she’s safe.” Azriel sat up, fully awake now.

“You warned Rhysand I was walking her home.” Lucien shook his head, “That’s why I got called in his office when I got there. Well, if it is your business, then ask your High Lord. I already explained it to him.” Lucien walked away knowing Azriel wouldn’t discuss Elain with Rhys.

“Prick.” Azriel whispered alone with his shadows.

“Asshole.” The flames seemed to hiss back to him from inside the fireplace.  Azriel smirked at them, that was a neat little trick he didn’t know Lucien could do.

He noticed another white pawn on chessboard had been moved into play. Azriel moved closer to the board, studied it for a while, surprised at such an aggressive opening from Rhys. Not his usual style. He debated taking the gambit, or not. He didn’t. He was a patient male. He’d play for position, until he could take the white queen.

Then he moved to Bryce’s door. Her soft purring snores assuring him she was fast asleep inside. He entered in shadows, surveyed her room. She seemed to be sleeping more peacefully tonight. Curled around a pillow.

Her phone was on the nightstand. It felt like a test. Why would she risk it?

Azriel took it. The front face lite up the entire room in bright blue light, his shadows rushed to cover it.

He poked Rhys’s mind, “Still want me to take her phone away?”

“You have it?” Rhys whispered. Azriel smiled, Rhys was likely trying to get Nyx to bed, keeping even his mind quiet in fear he might start crying again.

“Yes, she left it out in plain sight.” He told him.

“She’s testing us. See what you can find out from it and put it back. We’ll try to build some thrust, and see what that gets us. Rhys instructed.

“I don’t know how this thing works, but I’ll see what I can do.” Azriel moved out of her room with the phone, only once in his own room, did he remove the shadows from the front light. The faces of a black-haired, dark eye male and a golden furry animal smiled broadly at him. It was strange to see them, immobile, a perfect portrait. 

He was so engrossed in that image. He barely heard the soft knock Mor made on his door. She didn’t wait and came in. “Rhys said you grabbed her phone. You might need help.” She sat on his bed, next to him and peered over at the image. “That’s her mate, Hunt, and her pet, Syrinx. She showed them to me.” She told him.

When he touched the image, it changed into a number dial. He’d seen her punch in a code.

“There’s something inside. Look there’s a piece of paper there. That’s just a covering, a case of some sort. Give it to me.” Mor tried to grab it.

His shadows caught it before it fell to the floor.

“Let me.” Azriel pushed the case off, the paper fell on his lap. Mor grabbed it immediately.

There was another light tap on his door, Lucien came in. Azriel frowned. “Can you stop sending everyone to my room?” He asked Rhys, “I said I would look into it.”

Rhys laughed, “You didn’t sound confident, I thought you could use the help.”

Lucien sat on his bed, next to him. Sandwiched between both, Azriel mentally rolled his eyes at Rhys.

“What did you find?” Lucien asked Mor.

“Holy shit, she has an Amren. Look.” She showed them a very realistic portrait of three females with Bryce. All young, beautiful, and smiling happily. The one on the far left, had long black hair and almond shaped eyes like Amren’s. The one next to her was the pretty dancer she’d talked with.  

Lucien leaned over to take a better look. “That one must be her wolf friend who died.” He pointed at the silvery blond haired one with colorful streaks.

“She has a friend who died?” Azriel questioned.

 “Danika. How can you tell?” Mor asked Lucien.

“Her features, their wolfish like Andreas and the others had.” Lucien showed her.

Azriel went back to the number dial on the phone. He’d seen her punch a series. He did the same. The image changed again. This one he’d seen also. It was colorful with lots of symbols on small boxes. He recognized the one with the music note, she’d played music with.

The phone vibrated, all three of them jerked. Azriel almost threw it across the room, expecting it to explode. A message box appeared.

Mor jumped behind him, “Can he see us?” Obviously, feeling guilty for snooping in Bryce’s phone.

“No, it’s just a note.” Azriel told her. “Like the ones she received from Declan. This one is from the wolf that was in the vision, her friend Ithan.”

Lucien looked over Azriel’s shoulder, he had to spread his wing further out to avoid him, his cinnamon and warm apple smell was overwhelming. “Can you tell what it says? He asked.

Mor was pressed against his arm, her cheek touching his shoulder. Also smelling of cinnamon, with a hint citrus. Azriel wished he could have done this alone.

“No, it’s in her language.” He sent the image to Rhys, and added, “You think Amren can try to decode her language?”

“I sent it to her. She’ll take a look, says it’s actually similar to ours.” He responded, still whispering. Probably still trying to put Nyx to bed.

The image closed, and a long list of images and he assumed names appeared. Azriel pressed on one he recognized, Declan’s.

It changed again, into a series of worded notes exchanged. Among them, there were two small images with a symbol, a triangle in the middle. He touched the first one.

It was a vision, like Elain had showed them. Except it was on the phone for all of them to watch together.

It was a fast-paced fight. Her mate, Hunt, Mor called him, was a seraphim. He was large, his grey feathered wings wide. Impressive wingspan indeed. He fought four of his kind. Even in handcuffs, he over-powered them. He was wild, a great warrior. He twisted the chain of his handcuffs under the chin of the white winged male. With his powerful wings, he swept him up. Chocking him with his own weight. Even with his useless kicking, Hunt moved him closer in the view. Until their faces came in very close, they were all they could see. The blonde’s lips were turning blue, his eyes bulging from the strangulation. Hunt’s grin was wide, satisfied. On his right hand, his middle finger stuck out on the blonde male’s blueish cheek. The hand gesture unmistakable. The image froze.

“He’s a very good fighter.” Lucien commented while they watched it a second time. Azriel paid attention to the surrounding, trying to see more information. Another seraphim, a dark skin, black winged one farther in the back was also fighting. Bryce had never mentioned him.

After he figured out how to close that image. He pressed on the second one. It was another vision of a fight. Azriel immediately recognized Ruhn, Bryce’s brother. He was further away in the view, the angle different. But he was sure, it was him. Long black hair on one side of his head. It covered a lot of his face while he was fighting three. Silver jewelry shinning on his High Fae ear. It was the same black shirt, colored tattooed arms, also in handcuffs, and the same black pants.

“Is it just me, or he looks like Rhysand?” Lucien commented.

Azriel ignored him. They couldn’t see the features of his face, or the color of his eyes like he had. He was a skilled fighter. His shoulder was hurt, but he still managed to knock out all three seraphim. He turned facing the view, half his face covered by his hair, but his arrogant side grin visible with the hoop on his lower lip. Both hands at his hips gave the middle finger gesture. The image froze in that moment.

“That must be her brother.” Mor said sadly.

Azriel watched it several times when Mor and Lucien finally left his room. It was all true. It was the male he’d spent the evening talking with. He was as he’d presented himself.

He was sure, watching these was what had enraged Bryce the morning she sparred with Cassian.

Chapter Text

They waited after dark to make their way to Bryce’s apartment. Using Flynn’s sporty car might rise interest. She and Ithan decided on walking, both in their wolf shape because it was the only way she could walk. She refused to let him carry her on his back as he suggested. The wheelchair would attract too much attention, not to mention it would have been a major pain to roll through the city’s ancient streets. He worried about leaving it behind, but she was happy to have it out of her sight. She’d resigned herself to using the wheelchair because the odors of too many parties assaulted her wolf senses inside the ramshackle house. The disgusting smells forced her to switch into her humanoid shape. But she hated the clunky chair, it made her feel weak and broken. She was neither. Her body had just not experienced the physical dimension in such a long time. She hoped her legs only needed to adapt to its new conditions.

After walking a short distance, she broke into a run. It was exhilarating to feel the wind in her fur, the cold-stone pavement under her paws. To feel the scratch of her claws on the hard ground. The sensations of her physical body were new experiences to her. Running in the astral dimension was a mental agility and strength, there she was fast and light. But here, running was difficult. The exertion made her lungs pump in more air, her leg muscles burned as she pushed her paws faster and harder against the ground. With the weight of gravity, the strength of her muscles were challenged, and with momentum of movement, she thrilled at the sensation of speeding. The smells in the air were complex, her mind constantly looking to identify their source. And the sounds were omnipresent, clear and loud. No longer muffled by the water. It was like discovering a new world. Still the Midgard she knew, but her experience of it completely transformed.

Ithan easily kept up, running along her side, cuing her on the directions toward the apartment complex. By the time they reached Bryce’s street, she was panting so hard her tongue stretched out to the ground, and her heart was pounding against her rib cage like it was going to burst out. She had to slow to a walking pace. Ithan casually shifted to his humanoid shape as they reached the lobby doors, not looking the slightest exerted from their run. That feeling of being weak was creeping in again.

He cleared their access with Marrin, Bryce’s doorman looked her over suspiciously, but still indicated the way to the elevator. Not only did Ithan have a key to the apartment, but the finger pad was configured to grant him access. He held the door open, motioned for her to get inside. She had never been inside Bryce’s apartment, only seen it from outside through the large windows. Danika warded it very well to protect her best friend, and the trove she had tattooed on her. The protections ensured astral, ethereal, ghostly or any kind of otherworldly forms couldn’t get inside. Bryce was correct, it was the safest place for her to hide.

The apartment was more spacious than she’d imagined. Danika’s wolf shape had probably been even larger than her own. It made sense she would have wanted a large open space to feel comfortable. Everything was clean, soft and welcoming.

Ithan gestured towards the guest room. Before he could speak, she told him, “I’m staying in Bryce’s room.” She moved across the kitchen, her claws clicking on the pale wood flooring down the corridor towards her bedroom. She pushed the door open with her paw, and looked inside.

Ithan mumbled something, then asked. “Are you hungry? There’s a small deli close by. They make really good chicken kebabs on rice and there’s an amazing yogurt sauce with it. Or I can get something else too, if you don’t like that.”

“I wouldn’t know what I like. I was feed goop through a tube most of my life.” At Ithan’s horrified face, she kindly added, “But I’m curious to try kebabs, if you think they’re good.” He seemed relieved and made a quick exit after telling her to make herself at home, he’d be right back.

Bryce’s room was feminine, and smelled nice. It was hard to imagine the Umbra Mortis in this decor. Surprising how few of Hunt’s things were in this room considering she’d claimed him as her mate. His scent was all over the bed and pillows. The handgun on the dresser was likely his, but that was Danika's sword she recognized leaning against the wall in the corner. All the drawers were filled with Bryce's stuff. Her things were all over the place. Sunglasses, lip gloss, and jewelry in a decorative dish on the dresser. On the bed-stand, there was a small decorated wood box. When she opened the lid, a soft music played and a tiny ballerina in a pink tulle skirt twirled in front of the mirror inside the lid. In the box were mementos. She looked through old recital pamphlets, some with Juniper’s name, some older ones with Bryce’s, and several used show tickets. Next to the box was a very nice smelling jar of body lotion. An assortment of colorful leashes for Syrinx hung on a rail at the back of the door. Shoes, many shoes were on the floor. Some along the wall, the dresser and at the foot of the bed. How Bryce managed to walk in the city with such high and slim heels, she could not imagine.

She raised on her hind legs, snooping inside the closet and drawers until she found some stretchy fabric pants and a soft t-shirt to change into. She climbed on the bed, and shape-shifted to change her clothes. Her legs laid on the bed, nothing but dead weights. She tried wiggling her toes again, but none moved. She laid back, strained to lift her hip with her hand, pushing the waist of the large male sweat pants past her hip one at a time. She wiggled. Then had to push her torso up with her arms, back into a sitting position to move the pants further down her legs. By the time she had the pants around her ankles she was out of breath again. Reaching her ankles was such a long stretch, she didn’t have enough strength to pull the garment off. She slid it off her feet, by pulling herself toward the headboard, the friction of the fabrics enough to leave the pants behind at bottom of the bed. She leaned back on the headboard, pausing to rest her arms and looked at her useless legs.  

She’d made a mistake by leaving the water vessel. In the physical world she was useless. She’d become a burden to Bryce’s friends who already had too much to worry about. Then, with the sensation of her eyes blurring from water swelling in them, a very old memory came back to her. She blinked and felt the warm wetness spill on her cheeks. She lightly touched the drip on her face, rubbing her finger tips over the wetness. The last time she’d cried was when her father handed her over to the Astronomer. Crying had been useless then, and it was useless now as well. There was no going back. She got busy figuring out how to pull Bryce’s emerald green wide legged pant on. By the time she was changed into the new clothes, Ithan had come back with the food.

Eating was another challenge she hadn’t planned on. She’d seen plenty of people eat, seemed simple enough. She figured out easily how to hold the fork by looking at Ithan eating his own dish. But when she pushed the chicken off the wooden skewer it slipped and sent rice flying all over the table and floor. Ithan offered to help her, but she growled at him, mostly in frustration at herself. But he sat back into his chair, telling her not to worry about the mess he would clean it up. Then there was all the chewing, it was exhausting. The reward was the tasty juiciness of the meat and refreshing yogurt sauce in her mouth. She ate a third of the dish in silence, realizing she like chicken kebab, but she wasn't hungry anymore, and too tired to finish the entire meal.

“It’s ok if you can’t finish. You can leave it. I’ll save the leftover in the fridge for later.” Ithan told her, obviously noticing she’d stopped eating. She nodded her thanks, rolled off the chair as she shifted back into her wolf shape. 

“I’m sorry!” Ithan told her while she walked back towards the bedroom. “Sorry, I made you leave. I’m…” She looked back to him, he was standing at the table, gathering their trash. He exhaled his breath, looking unsure what he meant to say next.

“You didn’t make me do anything. No apologies are necessary. I made the choice to leave the water vessel.” She didn’t need to explain herself, but she still added. “I didn’t leave because you asked. And I didn’t leave because I was afraid of Sabine Fendyr killing me.” At this she grimaced, sure it would be difficult to fight her in the physical realm. “I left for my own reasons. And that’s all I’m going to say for tonight. Goodnight Ithan.”

"Goodnight D." Ithan has shortened Defender to it's first letter. She didn't hate it. She left him to clean up, and continued to the bedroom.

She jumped onto the bed, slipped under the covers. The bed was comfortable but her body ached from all the physical activity it wasn't used to. She couldn’t remember ever being this tired. Today had been a difficult day, but she had one more thing she wanted to check on before sleeping.

Her astral body detached from her physical one. The separation felt slow, it stretched like something sticky. This was also a new sensation, unlike when she was in the water vessel, but once she was out. She was free, light and fast. Feeling more like herself again, and with one thought she was in Prythian.

Chapter Text

Elain was surprised how quickly they reached the River House. Lucien entertained her the entire way with stories about places he’d traveled. He was a good storyteller. He’d been great all evening at keeping the conversation flowing, easily sharing the translation with Mor. If she was honest, she felt slightly disappointed the evening was coming to an end.

“Well, here you are.” He said. “Thank you for including me, the evening was lovely. And that dessert was decadent, I’ll be dreaming of it.” He smiled warmly, “I’ll wait here until you are safe inside.”

They were standing in front of the main entrance door to her home. Lucien didn’t make any move to touch her, or kiss her goodnight. His behavior was friendly, without any hint to court her, or sway her affection. Maybe he really meant it when he said he didn’t want to marry either. Perhaps being just friends was enough for him.  

She nodded, “It was a very lovely evening.” She pushed the front door open but didn’t go in yet. She hesitated, wondering if it would be appropriate to invite him inside for a nightcap. She wanted to hear more about the city of Adriata. But something, a phantom, a silver tail swished in the stairs, catching her eye. Someone, not from the physical dimension, was climbing the staircase leading to the rooms on the second level, where Nyx slept.

Lucien noticed her frown, the tension building in her chest. “Thank you for walking me home. Goodnight Lucien!” She said hurriedly and went inside. She barely noticed he caught the door before it closed, and asked her if something was wrong.

She said over her shoulder still climbing quickly the long curving staircase, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Lucien was standing in the foyer, concern on his face when the office door opened, and Rhysand called him inside.

When she reached the landing, Nuala was there, both said at the same time. “Someone is in the house!” Cerridwen joined them seconds later. Elain told them, “I saw a furred tail, a large animal.”

“I reminded Rhys just last night, we need those metaphysical wards on this residence. We are getting more and more visitors.” Worry tensing Cerridwen’s beautiful face.

Nuala took charge as she usually did. “We’re going to search from top to down. Cerridwen, you take the third floor. I’ll take the second floor. Elain, you stand guard in Nyx’s room.” Nuala always had a plan. “Signal, if you see anyone. And we do check-ins at every ten minutes.” She instructed them, then they headed out to search the house for the intruder.

Nyx’s cry rippled down the corridor. He sounded so frightened. Elain flew as fast as she ever did the length of corridor, leaving her physical body standing there. She didn’t hesitate to pass through the door. She used to brace herself whenever she had to pass solid matter, as if her mind still thought of it as barriers. Not tonight.  

Inside, she found Rhys leaning in the crib picking up Nyx in his arms. He must have winnowed from the office directly to the room, hoping Nyx didn’t wake Feyre up. “Shh… A scary nightmare my little dreamer?” He whispered gently to his son. Elain searched the room, no one else was inside.

Fatherhood had changed the High Lord. Elain found it endearing watching him bounce Nyx in his arms. Walking circles in the room, soothing him with soft words. Rhys touched his forehead several times, checking nervously, as if unsure if the baby was hot from his sleep or fever.

Nyx stretched his arms out asking Elain to take him. Rhys unknowing Elain was in the room, misinterpreted the gesture. Thinking Nyx wanted to play the flying game like he did with his uncle Azriel.

He was young enough to be able to see the metaphysical realm. Which is why strangers floating inside his room scared him so. In a few months, he likely would lose the sight like most children. Unless he had the true sight gift.

It lasted over an hour. All the while, Cerridwen and Nuala reported every ten minutes not finding anyone. It took Rhys five tries to lay Nyx down. Which wasn’t bad.

Elain often smelled fear laced in Rhys’s scent. She knew there was more than worry the baby would wake again when he tried to lay him back in his crib. Even if it was almost comical how stiff Rhys became, he held him like a fragile porcelain, and barely breathed while laying him back on the bed. She knew Rhys’s fear ran deep. It came from his trauma of losing loved ones, from feeling like he’d fail them. She could hardly blame him for being scared for his son and his mate’s safety.

Nyx did finally get back to sleep. Elain return to her physical body just in time to pretend going to check on him, when Rhysand looking exhausted came out of Nyx’s room.  

“He’s finally down. Hopefully for the night.” He whispered to her. “Goodnight Elain” He headed to his bedroom.

Elain slipped back inside Nyx’s room, physically through the door this time. She didn’t have to wait long for the appearance to manifest itself. But it wasn’t an animal. It was an elderly woman. She looked ancient, her spine was curved, her legs were bowed, her shape was short and round. And her clothes worn. Elain signaled the twin sisters.

“Now, now, little one. No need to be frightened.” She whispered in a scratchy voice as she approached Nyx’s crib.

Elain blocked her path, “Who are you? You have no right to be in here. Be gone, now!”

She looked Elain over. For an elderly she moved fast, she circled Elain. “Calm down, girl! I’m just looking.” She said standing by the crib. “He’s a cutie, this little one. All that beautiful starlight dust flowing in his blood.” Her gnarly fingers tapped silently on the crib’s railing. Nyx stirred, and started fussing. The wrinkles on her face deepened to dark ridges as her face scrunched, and her lips turned into a rotted smile.

“I said, leave!” Elain ordered.

Nuala flew through the wall, her mouth unnaturally elongated, her hair floating wildly around her wailing face. Her shriek rippled toward the old women. The frequency so high, physical ears couldn’t hear it. Cerridwen flew in from a different direction, fingers stretched into long claws aimed at the old women, also shrieking. Although the hag’s form looked old and fragile. She moved quickly away from their powerful attacks, and the crib. Nyx sat up, and started crying at the sight of the old hag.

Elain repositioned her body between Nyx and the hag to shield him. Moving through material matter was common, but moving through a living being was very unpleasant and potentially dangerous. Most astral beings avoided it. Elain slipped out of her body, the twin sisters floated on each side of her, both chanting. Together, they formed a line of defence and there was no clear path to Nyx.

“No need to be savages!” The old hag complained from her side of the room. “I’m not here for the child.  I just want information. I’m looking for a half Fae, half Human, female. She has red hair, long red hair. Goes by the name of Bryce. She’s Starborn. Meaning, she also has that beautiful bright starlight inside. You might have seen her? She has a star shaped scar on her chest from where the starlight shines. Have you seen her in your world?” The hag asked, the room filling with the stench of her rotted breath.

Nuala and Cerridwen’s usual sorrowful chanting didn’t seem to be working against her. Normally, the pitch of the sound caused enough disturbance to make them flee. But it didn’t affect this one like other astral beings.

Elain lied, “There’s no one like that here. Now, leave.” She reached for her power until the small markings, on the inside of her astral arms, running down into her palms glowed. Her hands vibrated so much from the power she channeled. Their shape blurred. Her hands were her weapons. A small burst of her energy could rip a hole in the astral form, even injure the physical body attached to it. A touch of her hand could kill. At the hag’s raised brows, Elain knew she recognized her power.

“I said, leave. You are not welcomed here.” Elain warned one last time. Slowly advancing, pushing her to retreat further away from Nyx.

“How uncivilized you all are in this world.” The hag spit out at them. All the while still moving slowly, circling instead of leaving. A flash of silver hit her.

It happened so fast. Elain backed away to return to the defence line. Stunned, they watched the old hag’s eyes widen first in shock, then in pain as a powerful wolf sunk its canines deep into her shoulder. Its angry growls vibrated her into a shapeless form. The wolf’s head swung from side to side violently, shaking the hag like a doll until her form dissolved into nothing.

The silver wolf stilled a moment, its nose raised, scenting. Its brown eyes searching for traces of the old hag or others in the room. They didn’t find any.

Nyx stopped crying. Unafraid now, he pressed his wet face against the bars, reaching his arm through, calling the wolf closer. This person, this creature was not a stranger to him.

Elain was reminded of the male in the Crystal Palace looking for his stolen friend, the Defender, he’d called her.

Effortlessly the wolf jumped, floating and landed lightly, soundlessly inside the crib. It laid next to Nyx. Nuala was about to charge, when the wolf spoke to Nyx in a soft and warm female voice.

“Time to sleep, little Twinkle. Lay down, and close your eyes.” And he did, he laid close to her immaterial shape. His small hand curled over her paw, as if trying to hold it. Not quite understanding it wasn’t physically there, but still feeling safe in her presence.  

“Are you the one they call the Defender?” Elain asked the silver wolf.

She made a sound like a choked growl. “Who gave you that name?” She asked.

“A male with a charming smile I meet. He was looking for his friend a silver wolf. The Defender, he called her. She’s been stolen he said.” Confident the wolf didn’t mean any harm since Nyx was already drifting back to sleep. Nuala and Cerridwen left to make a final round of the rest of the house.

“Spider?” She asked. Elain told her she didn’t know the male’s name, but that would be fitting for him. “Chatty fellow?” Elain nodded.

“I wasn’t stolen.” She sighed. “I left to join the fight. But… it’s not going how I hoped.”

“Does it ever?’’ Elain smiled encouragingly at her.

She chuckled, and nodded. “The Defender. It’s not my name. It’s a title. I inherited it when the mystics who raised me died, and new ones came.” She shrugged, “It doesn’t belong to me anymore. And, I don’t have a name.”

Elain asked, “What did the mystics who raised you, call you?”

“Furry tail.” If a wolf could blush, she might have. “I was very young.” She explained.

“Well, don’t use that. Maybe choose something else.” Elain suggested. And they both laughed.

“You can go to bed. I’ll watch over him until the sisters are finished the round, and can return to watch.” She offered. 

Nuala informed Elain, Feyre was awake and coming to check on Nyx.

Feyre opened the door gently, came by the crib light footed to look at her son. “He just went back to sleep. I think he’s settled for the night.” Elain whispered to her tired sister.

“I thought I heard him crying again, he was whimpering in fear. He has the scariest nightmares. There was an old, ugly, festering women staring at him.” Feyre sighed. Her hand gently running over Nyx’s unruly black curls, then she went perfectly still as she stared at his tiny hand curled.

“Elain, is there a wolf laying with my son in his crib?” Her sister’s voice rang sharp in Elain’s mind. Feyre likely looking in Nyx’s mind and seeing what his little hand was holding.

“Yes, in an astral form. She’s a friend of Nyx.” Elain told her the truth. It was happening all fast, but it was time to reveal more information to Feyre for their safety.

“And the old women, was she in here?” Fear and anger tightening Feyre’s voice and face.

“Yes. She was a scout of the Asteri. They are searching Prythian for Bryce. She thought she could get information from him.” Again, Elain didn’t spare her sister. “Young children have the ability to see the metaphysical.”

Rhys threw the door open, “What’s wrong?” He demanded, looking alarmed. Feyre and Elain shushed him before he woke Nyx. He moved closer, searching in crib. The wolf’s ears perked, then stilled like the High Fae did. Both, High Lord and High Lady, stared through her. Neither could see her.

“How long has this been going on?” Rhys asked.

“There were many visitors the first few weeks when Nyx was born. They were mostly curious, and eager to meet him.” Elain remembered those weeks as the busiest. She met so many people with powers similar to hers from all kind of worlds.

“This house is not warded against metaphysical beings to keep them out. So, Nuala, Cerridwen and I, monitored the visitor and made sure he was safe.” She added.

“You’ve kept this from us since he was born?” Rhys yelled in her mind. His brows furrowed over his sparkling eyes.

The wolf raised, “What’s happening?’’ She asked Elain. ‘They’re upset and it’s troubling the baby.” She could not hear the mind to mind conversation.

“Rhys, don’t yell at my sister!” Feyre defended. “Cerridween and Nuala have asked and reminded us to add these wards many times.”  

“They never said we had a problem. Or that our son was in danger!” Elain could smell it. Laced with his anger, it was his fear. Rhys could not protect against something he didn’t know, understand, or see.

“He wasn’t in danger.” Elain assured her sister. “Not then. But now, it’s become a problem. The Asteri will send hoards of mystics to search for Bryce in Prythian. We won’t have a quiet moment in this house.” She told her.

“Is there such a place, where he’d be safe?” Feyre asked.

“The Town House is warded against Metas.” Elain told her. Feyre gently lifted Nyx out of his bed, and held him close to her chest.

“Will you thank the wolf for watching over Nyx.” She said to Elain. She repeated Feyre’s thanks to the wolf.

“Nyx, Elain and I will stay at the Town House until you can figure out these metaphysical wards on our home.” Feyre told Rhys gently touching his face, and kissing him softly. “No harm has been done here. We will talk in the morning. Right now, I’m exhausted.”

Elain took Feyre’s hand and they winnowed directly in the master bedroom of the Town House. They settled in the same bed. They were quiet. Well, she was. Maybe Feyre was still conversing mind-to-mind with Rhysand.

Elain couldn’t help it, she giggled, looking at Feyre on her side of the bed, and the baby in the middle. She’d missed this. Sleeping with her sisters. “This reminds me when we were young girls.” She whispered.   

“But much nicer without the freezing cold.” Feyre whispered back.

“I wouldn’t know. You always gave me the middle.” Elain smiled at her.

Feyre giggled, “That’s because I preferred being cold, then getting kicked in the middle of the night by Nesta.” They both laugh.

“Can I ask you a question?” Feyre said seriously. Elain nodded.

“Why were they curious about him?” Curious, but also worried as she always was for her son, Feyre wondered why they came for Nyx.

Elain looked at her nephew, how perfect he looked at the moment. “He’s very special. Not only for his powers, but his brave and kind heart. He will become a good person, and play an important role for Prythian’s future.”

“You can see the future?” Feyre’s brows raised even if her eyes seemed to be too heavy to stay open.

“Sort of. The future is a living thing. It’s not set. It’s shifts and moves.” She thought about it a moment. It was difficult to explain the currents, and undercurrents. “It’s difficult to see what’s to come. Like there are always missing pieces in a puzzle.” It was the best she could explain it. Not that it mattered, Feyre had drifted to sleep.

Chapter Text

Bryce woke up to the sound of a baby crying. Confused, she pushed some of the drowsiness away. Baby? Was this Hunt’s latest prank? Maybe he had changed the alarm on her phone for the most annoying sound he could come up with. He’d promised to get back at her after she’d changed his ringtone to the longest flatulence sound ever. She chuckled remembering how good she got him when she called during his daily report meeting with Celestina and the other triarii. She shook off the slumber fog, remembering where she was. Not home. No Hunt to prank.

Bryce opened her crusty eyes, looked at the nightstand where Azriel had returned her phone last night. Relieved he hadn’t taken it away for good. It been a huge risk to let him snoop her phone’s content, but she needed to build some trust. The trouble with being such a good bullshitter is that people don’t trust your word on anything. She was still a long way to convincing him to power her up.

A sharper, louder, baby cry sounded. It was coming from another room at the opposite end of the corridor. This was a “I’m bored and maybe hungry” sound. It was a frustrated cry. She stretched, wondering who had a baby in the house. The crying changed to a happy gurgle because it had convinced someone to rise. Bryce was too curious to go back to sleep. Babies among the Fae were rare. She hopped out of the blankets, threw her bedroom door open to take a look who was in the corridor, not caring what she looked like. Her mouth dropped open.

Nothing had prepared her for the sight of Azriel, bare chested, hair disheveled and a loving smile on his face. He was cooing to an adorable baby version of himself in his arms. The baby, tiny black wings draping his back, gave Azriel a drooling smile around the fist it was chewing. Bryce closed her mouth before she started drooling herself. She was pretty sure her ovaries sighed, while her eyes trailed down from his tattooed chest to his very defined abs and where his leathers hung on his hips. The front not fully closed as if he’d rushed to put them on before the baby woke the entire household with his crying. Shit, was Azriel a parent? Because she wouldn’t have picked him. Or dragged him into this as her champion knowing he was a father to a young baby.

“Is that your baby?” She asked him as he passed by to reach the stairs. The translation program on her phone wasn’t turned on, he couldn’t understand what she asked.

He said something in his language, but she was too distracted to punch the translation button on her phone. The baby’s head twisted in her direction, and his huge violet-blue eyes were staring at her curiously. His eyes so like her brothers. Or like Rhysand’s she realized. Bryce followed them down, and towards what she assumed was the kitchen door since that’s where all the food came from.

Inside Azriel spoke to someone, Bryce pushed through the door and found Elain in an apron working dough on the table.  

Elain spoke in Midgard’s common tongue, “Good morning, Bryce.” She indicated her flour covered hand, and pointed her chin in Bryce’s direction while she continued speaking to Azriel in their language. Azriel didn’t look at her, and balanced the baby in one arm while he fetched the kettle on the counter.

“Good morning! What brought you back here this early? And who’s baby is that?” Bryce asked in her language. She pulled a stool out from under the table where Elain worked. She sat and tapped the translation button on her phone. Not wanting to leave Azriel out of the conversation.  

Elain looked back at the fussing baby on Azriel’s arm while he tried pouring water in the kettle.  “That’s Nyx. He’s our nephew. Feyre and Rhysand’s son.”

So not Azriel’s baby, although she could tell how important Nyx was to him. The baby softened his face, his smile came more easily when he spoke to him, and his voice was patient and caring. Nyx stretched his arms out, wanting out of Azriel’s, flapping his tiny wings and whipping him repeatedly. Azriel tried avoid getting hit in the face and aim water in the kettle, successful at neither.

The translation program told Bryce, that Elain explained to the baby she couldn’t hold him, her hands were busy making croissants. To Azriel, she said in a commanding tone to hand Nyx to Bryce before he made a mess in her kitchen.  Although he mumbled something her phone didn’t catch about the twins, he reluctantly still did as he was told instead of risking a mess. He came around the table, warning her to take care with his wings.

“Relax, I’ve held a baby before.” Bryce assured Azriel. She wasn’t going to mention that they were mostly wolf shifter pups.

Before Azriel was close enough to hand him over, Nyx excitedly threw himself at Bryce. She easily caught him. Holding him in mid-air while he wildly flapped his wings. He giggled carefree, and Bryce couldn’t hold back a laugh at the joy on his face. Bryce was in awe, Nyx was beautiful. This is what it would be like having Hunt’s winged babies she thought while watching him pant from the exertion of flapping his small wing quickly. They weren’t strong enough to carry him, but he seemed happy in the air, looking at her with a huge proud smile. When his wings tired and lay spent on his back, Bryce sat him on her lap.

“Why are you back here?” Bryce asked.

Settling him a little sideway so he could still see both, Elain working and Azriel preparing his breakfast. But Nyx didn’t look their way, he kept starring at her. His small hand tapping on her chest.

“We had some unwanted visitors at the River House last night.” Elain said. Azriel tensed and drop the kettle a little abruptly on the stove when her phone translated. He already knew, but it still upset him.

“They disrupt Nyx’s sleep. He’s still young enough to see them.” Elain said while pounding the dough a little more roughly.

“See what? Who visited your house?” Bryce asked.

“An Asteri’s mystic.” Bryce froze at Elain’s answer. Azriel furiously rotated the handle of the hand crank coffee grinder.

“Oh gods!” Bryce exhaled looking down at Nyx. “He can see them?” Nyx hand tapping continued on the center of her chest. Could he sense her starlight? Was that why he kept tapping on her scar?

“Yes, he can. Nyx, like many young ones, can see the metaphysical forms. Most lose the ability by the time they learn to talk. They don’t harm him, but some he finds scary, especially when they try to talk to him.” Elain explained.

“You should have told us. Allow us to protect him.” Azriel reproached. His body radiated tense energy. He was holding his anger tightly in control Bryce realized.

“He was protected.” Elain snapped at him. “And is still protected by Cerridwen, Nuala and myself. We reminded Rhysand to ward the house every chance we had.”

Azriel widen his stance, his hand gripping tightly the crank, his shadows darkened his face. He wasn’t accepting any blame on Rhysand for what she had kept from them. Bryce could see the cold rage swirl in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry for bringing this trouble to your house. Why bring him here, is it safer?” She asked Elain to distract before the argument escalated.

“Yes, this house was warded against metaphysical beings by Rhysand’s ancestors a long time ago. It keeps them out except Cerridwen and Nuala since they are part of his inner circle. We will stay here until Rhysand can figure out how to ward the River House.” Elain explained.

At that moment, Nyx grabbed a fist full of her shirt and pulled it down her front.

“Whoa!” Bryce grabbed the collar, pulling upward to keep herself decent. Nyx moist hand slapped her scar. Bryce felt a mild spark. A tiny sliver of power swirled, like wings of night butterflies flapping in the dark. Nyx had powered her with a tiny amount of his magic. Shit, she didn’t want it. Bryce wasn’t desperate enough to take from a baby. Or was she? 

Still holding her shirt Nyx pressed his forehead to her scar, as if looking inside her chest. When he threw his head back, his skin glowed. Like starlight treads, his veins shinned through his skin in a white light, similar to her own starlight.

Azriel moved so fast, he likely teleported next to her. “What did you do to him?” He demanded harshly. He made to pull Nyx off her lap, but he was still holding tightly to her shirt, laughing happily and pressing his soft face to her scar again.

“Calm down, she didn’t do anything to him.” Elain said to Azriel. She was smiling at her nephew. “It’s him. He’s sparkling the starlight dust in his blood for her. It’s a Starborn heir shinning for another.” She explained.

“He’s shinning for her. Not at her?” Azriel said so low, her phone barely sounded the translation.

The joy in Nyx laughter was contagious, so much, even Azriel couldn’t keep his lips from smiling widely. And because Bryce wasn’t ready to let Azriel’s smile disappear so fast, she let her star glow softly for Nyx. It was well worth it when it set Nyx into another riot of laughter, the glee on his face brighter than any starlight, it made everyone in the kitchen burst out laughing loudly. And waking everyone else in the house.

Chapter Text

Mor was the first to come in the kitchen. Her messy hair bun drooping off the side of her head, and blond frizzy strands sticking up from her head, she was tying the front of her red silk robe, her eyes barely open. “Why is everyone up so early? And being so loud?” She asked as she sat on a stool next to Bryce. She gave her a lazy smile and lightly kissed Nyx on the top of his head.

Azriel put a warm bowl of porridge in front of her, after testing it wasn’t too hot for Nyx. Her Fae reflex were put to the test to pick it up before Nyx plunged both hands in the warm cereal. Azriel smirked when she threw him an annoyed look, he’d done it on purpose. Apparently, a game Nyx played every morning to see who was faster Mor explained, as she hand-combed her hair and put it back up into a new bun on top of her head.

Lucien came in the kitchen next, dressed in an expensive silk pajama, a matching robe casually hanging open, the first button undone on the shirt showing off a hint of his muscular pecs underneath. He looked like he’d came out of a photo-shoot for a fashion magazine. It was rude looking that put together this early in the morning. His hair was loose, the red-silky length as shinny as his stupid pajama. Not a single hair frizzy or out of place, it made Bryce want to ask what product he was using to get it so smooth.

Lucien’s eyes were on Elain first, no sign of surprise. They didn’t linger, only making sure she was well. He wished Bryce good morning in the Old Fae language as he made his way to lean against the wall facing Elain’s work table. His smile looked sincere and it unnerved her, Bryce mumbled a good morning to him. There was a time, she had hoped for such a smile from the man who’d fathered her.

Everyone seemed to know about the unwelcome visitors at the River House, and how Elain, Feyre, and Nyx had sought refuge at this house late in the night. Bryce tried not to feel envious of Rhys’s inner circle information privilege, while shoveling porridge in Nyx’s mouth and fending off his grabby hands away from the bowl. His appetite was as voracious as the wolf pups she used to babysit with Danika.  

Bryce was considering what to do with the tiny fluttering magic Nyx had given to her, only partially listening to Elain explaining astral projection. Though traveling to other worlds was possible, astral beings left most of their powers back in their home world. Just like world-walking through rifts left Prince Aidas without his, Bryce realized. Astral beings mostly used this to communicate, to explore, and educate themselves Elain explained.

“They are spying on us?” Azriel asked.

Elain nodded slightly, “Our worlds have interconnected in the past. Creatures with world-walking abilities once traveled between worlds for good and bad reasons. Prythian has been isolated for centuries, but it wasn’t always the case. Some, like Midgard and Hel are still connected.” Elain said.

“The Daglans?” Mor asked.  

“Known as the Asteri in Midgard, yes. They travelled for power and conquest. Which is why many worlds, like Prythian have secured their rifts with powerful magic. But there were other creatures as well. Some for good, they brought flora to cure deadly diseases. Gingko is from the world of Shanxi, it’s a plant to treat troubled minds. It was gifted to Prythian long ago when a terrible darkness took over the minds of many soldiers fighting powerful creatures in the dead lands.” Elain told them.

“Dead lands?” Lucien asked. “It goes by another name now.” Elain said.

Everyone grew quiet considering the complexity of what Elain implied while she put the rolled croissant dough into the oven.

It was Lucien who asked, “What happens when the Midgard Asteri’s mystic find out Bryce is here, in Prythian?” Bryce threw him a look over her shoulder. Wondering why he cared and what interest he had.

Elain looked at Bryce when she said, “They will form an alliance, a partnership with someone powerful in Prythian to do their dirty business.”

At that moment, Rhysand opened the kitchen door looking confused at finding them in here. He didn’t speak, not out loud. Bryce feeling wary, didn’t look in his direction. She scrapped the last of the porridge in the bowl nervously, and spooned it into Nyx’s mouth. He’d slowed down, having his fill, but still finished the last of it.  

How much of the conversation did he hear? Bryce wondered. Had he seen Nyx’s and her starlight shinning to each other? Or worst, could he sense the tiny power Nyx gave her?

Rhysand came to stand next to her. Bryce felt a radiant heat in her back, Lucien moving closer she realized. She finally looked at Rhysand. It was not the resemblance to her brother’s features she saw. His face reminded her of Ember’s fierce love. Bryce knew the immense luck, and burden of such powerful love.

“Careful Bryce, you are holding my everything. My wrath will have no end if he gets harmed.” Rhysand said quietly in her mind.

He tousled Nyx’s hair who gave him a wide grin. “Good morning little dreamer! You look like you had a good night sleep.” Bryce scooped the porridge dripping from his mouth to his chin. Then wiped his face clean with a wet cloth Azriel put in front of her.

“He’s beautiful.” She said, “A true gift from the Gods.” Bryce let her star shine softly to which Nyx excitedly laughed and shined in return. Bryce saw Rhysand’s eyes shine with proud unshed tears as well as a thousand tiny stars. It made Nyx burst in a happy laughter that set off another round of loud laughter from all in the kitchen.

Elain said to Rhysand, “Feyre is still sleeping upstairs. Why don’t you join her? I’ll look after Nyx, and bring up a tray of croissant and tea when it’s ready?” He nodded to her tiredly.

Everyone left the kitchen to get dressed, after Rhysand made his way upstairs. Back in her room, Bryce considered once again how to best use the power. It was too little to activate the horn. Teleporting once was possible, but maybe not twice for a return trip. Memories of Cormac’s voice complaining that she relied too heavily on Hunt’s ability to power her up and quit being sloppy, gnawed her.

She didn’t know how much power Azriel wielded compared to Hunt. Or if his power was compatible, although Aidas seemed to think it was. In a fight, she couldn’t afford to deplete her champion only to leave him weak, and have to protect him. Cormac was right. She needed to build her efficiency to use as little power as needed each time she teleported.

Once dressed, she teleported downstairs in the living room. She still had an itsy-bitsy, but she could barely feel the power.

She found Azriel leaning over the chess board, his shadows whispering at his ears. Bryce threatened his knight with her bishop on G, five. Her bishop being out of her pawn chain, she was dominating the center of the board and he seemed annoyed about it. He would likely pull out his knight to C, six. They hadn’t traded any pieces yet, a few more moves and the battle would start.

Chapter Text

Rhys made his way to the master bedroom of the Town House, his steps heavy, he was so exhausted. Last night, Feyre stopped him from yelling at Elain. But after they left, he had yelled for a good while at Cerridwen and Nuala.

Embarrassingly, the twins had seen through his anger the fear and panic that gripped him. Strangers had come into his home, haunted his son, he needed to yell. The twins had waited patiently, silently, while he exhausted his energy. Then, they had answered all his questions. Although questions about the other world, where the visitors came from, they told him were best for Elain since they had never traveled outside of Prythian.  

This is how he found out, his gentle sister-in-law, who looked so disinterested in world politics was far more involved than she allowed anyone to know. She had the ability of traveling through astral projection. She had gone to far and strange worlds according to the twins.

Cerridwen assured him, “We have always been helping and supporting your family. If we believed Nyx was in any danger, we would have immediately informed you.” Rhys didn’t doubt Elain and the twin’s loved his son.

“Remember how much time she spent in her tent during the war, while marching towards the final battle? She was relentlessly travelling Cretea, spreading your request for help, looking for Drakon and Miryam so they would join their forces to ours.” Nuala told him, “She is quite good, and powerful at what she does.” Rhysand realized that was the reason Drakon had received the message in time.

Then, they had talked a while about the wards needed on the house. In truth, Rhys’s only excuse for not getting them by now, was that he didn’t know how to make them. And he’d put off the research thinking they weren’t a priority with everything else going on.  

Feyre didn’t even stir when he came in the bedroom. No one ever prepared you for the reality of having a baby. It was joyful and rewarding, but also very scary and exhausting. He smiled thinking again at Nyx’s burst of laughter when they glowed with starlight, all three of them. He was too tired to think straight about what Bryce’s starlight meant. But he recognized how careful she had been with Nyx, he suspected she’d kept her true power dimmed, only sharing a soft glow.  

He stripped down to his brief, and slipped under the covers. He laid on his side, spooning Feyre. She shifted closer, her hand touching his arm, her warm feet coming to rest on his legs, and her sexy ass nestled on his front. He bent his head until his nose buried into her hair, so he couldn’t smell anything but her. He warded the room to shut-out all the noises everyone was making in the other rooms, and drifted to sleep.

He was sleeping when Feyre started moving her backside against his huge hard-on.

“Are you still sleeping?” She whispered in his mind. Rhys smiled, they had so little time alone together lately. Their lovemaking was often hasty. He was immediately awake, trilled, but he’d let her wait a little. Let her ask for what she wanted, he pretended sleeping.

Feyre twisted in his arms to face him. “Rhys, won’t you play with me?” Her soft lips pressed against his throat, her tongue playfully moving on his skin. Her hands were roaming on his chest, down his ribs and stomach. Like a lazy cat he turned onto his back to give her more access, “What you want to play, Feyre Darling?” He gave her a knowing smile.

Feyre sat on top of him, her messy hair sticking up made her grin look even more mischievous. “Oh, I can think of a few fun games.” And she pulled the top of her pajama off, exposing her beautiful breasts.

Rhys’s breath caught at the sight of her taut nipples starring at him. He’d respectfully left her breast out of their love-making when she was breast-feeding, but that was over. Nyx was eating solids now.

He licked his thumb, “Oh, you know I love this game.” He moistened one nipple making it glisten while rolling it gently between his fingers. He cupped the other one and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“And you are so good at it!” Feyre threw her head back and rolled her hips against his erection looking for more friction. Rhys groaned matching her hip thrust, while capturing as much as he could of her breast in his mouth.

He moved his tongue against her nipple and was rewarded with her breath gasping. Feyre leaned into his face, eagerly pressing her breast against his mouth, his tongue roamed from one to the other, his teeth scraping ever so lightly. His hands stroking her back and ribs. He couldn’t get enough of the taste of her skin and smell of her arousal. Her hands pulled his hair back so she could watch his mouth devour her. Her pants came faster, as he pushed his hard cock against her core. He could feel her moist heat through his brief.

She impatiently pushed the blankets off the bed, exposing all of him. Feyre looked him over, her eyes hungry as she lifted her hips and tugged the bottom of her pajama off. Fully naked standing over him, his mate was breath-taking. She moved to kneel between his legs, brushed her breast against him to kiss him on the mouth first. Then she trailed her mouth down on his chest while her naked body brushed against him. She continued to lower her mouth down to his mid-rift. He was still amazed at how much she desired him. Her hand rubbed and squeezed him over his brief, while her other hand grabbed the waist band. That’s when he remembered, like a prude virgin he grabbed his brief, and tugged back at them. Too late.

“Rhys, what is that!” Feyre asked, “Is that a bruise? It’s purple.”

Worry knitted her brows. She made to pull his brief lower as she sat back between his legs, her face close to his crotch, yet he resisted and held on to his brief. “I should explain first.” He told her.

“Please explain faster. You are wasting precious alone time.” Her face went from worry to curiosity. “Is this my surprise Mor mentioned?” Rhys rolled his eyes, of course Mor would have dug his hole deeper.

“I…” There was no good way to say this, without looking like a fool he realized. Feyre made a rolling hand gesture, indicating alone time was wasting.

“You see, I thought of making Bryce answer our questions.” Rhys thought so far it was a good start, until Feyre’s brows frowned.

“I made a sparring bet with her.” Rhys said quickly.

“So, this is a bargain tattoo. Who did she fight?” Feyre asked.

“Her choice. Cassian.” Rhys lifted a shoulder, so far it wasn’t sounding that bad. Until Feyre’s face was relieved, and she nodded, “Ok, so you won!”   

Rhys winced, tipped his head to the side, “Actually, we didn’t.” Feyre’s eye grew wide in surprised.

“To be fair, she hustled us. You know, how she looks, and she was wearing a low top.” His hands were doing strange things indicating her breast, and Feyre’s brows were frowning again.

“And Cassian is a little too careful fighting females. Not, that it’s his fault. I mean we didn’t see it was a trap, until it was too late.” Feyre was shaking her head. This wasn’t going so good anymore, she’d let go of his brief. She was sitting back, moved her face entirely too far from his crotch.

“Are you saying Bryce floored Cassian?” Feyre asked, “And won?” Rhys nodded.

“What did you lose Rhys?” Feyre asked looking more worried now.   

“Just money.” Rhys smiled. “Bryce goes on an all-day, all-paid shopping spree with Mor.” Rhys said as casually as he could. Their fortune would survive two females shopping for a day, but he knew Feyre liked to control their budget and was frugal with money.

Feyre sounded suspicious, “That’s all?”

“That’s it. That’s what she asked for.” Rhys said relieved the worst part was said.

“You don’t find it strange, picking Cassian to fight and not asking for more?” Feyre warily asked.

“It’s not like she expected me asking. She was unprepared, probably didn’t think much about it. Also, she seemed distracted over something on her phone that made her upset.” Rhys shrugged. He wanted to get back to playing with his mate. He’d worry about it later.

“I want to see your bargain tattoo.” Feyre told him. Rhys nodded, and lifted his hips so she could pull his brief down which excitingly returned her face close to his crotch.

She licked her lips as his hard length sprung out. Her hand wrapped around, squeezed him lightly, she held him away from the tattoo while she studied it. “It’s so adorable.” Feyre said. Rhys grunted, moving his hips to get a little friction from her hand.

Feyre smiled, “I didn’t know they could be colored. It’s very pretty in purple.”

Rhys tried to remember the things name, but couldn’t make his brain function. “It’s a… Jelly something.” He breathed heavily.

Feyre traced the shape with a light finger, “It’s like one of Helion’s Pegasus. Large wings.” She kissed the wings near his hip, her lips warm and moist, her breath tickling. “But it has a long horn?” Feyre gave him a long stroke from the base to the top, making the tip drip and running her thumb over it. Then, sucking her thumb.   

She was driving him mad, Rhys watched her mouth, envious of that thumb. He pulled her hair away from her face, “Could we talk about the tattoo later? I want to play, I need to play, Feyre Darling.” Leaning forward to pull her on him.

She pushed him to lay back, chuckled, “Oh, this is me playing with you Rhys.” She squeezed him, and slipped him deep inside her mouth, her lips wrapping around his throbbing cock. Rhys’s mind was going to explode in a thousand stars at the sight of his cock disappearing into her mouth.  The tip bumping in the back of her throat.

Feyre slid her mouth up and down repeatedly, gently sucking, her tongue stroking. Her soft hand following the motion. Rhys couldn’t stop himself, hips thrusting with every stroke, tugging lightly her hair to look at her. Her moan almost undid him.

“You’re so beautiful.” Rhys told her, barely holding on to his poor mind. Reaching down touching her silky wet core. Feeling her tremble, he asked her, “Come on top. Come ride me.”

They returned to where they had started this game, Feyre sitting on top of him. She glided on his length wetting him with her silkiness, then guided him to her entrance. At this point, they were both over-excited, she lowered herself, and Rhys slid home. Nothing felt this wonderful. Feyre bounced on him, while Rhys meet each of her thrusts with his own. He could tell the pressure was building from the glow in her eyes, he leaned back and touch her with his thumb rolling her bud of nerves.

Feyre’s panting grew louder, her mouth slightly open. Riding him faster, her thrusts turned a little uneven. He loved watching her when she was lost in her pleasure this way. It caught him by surprised when she squeezed him tight, pulsing. She rode her waves of pleasure, her moans turned into wild, “Yes, Oh yes.”  Her climax was loud, her smile glorious. Rhys bucked, fingers digging in her hips, he rammed himself into her reaching for that spot. He exploded deep inside her, a shout escaping his lips as he spilled himself, his cock throbbing.

Feyre laid on top of him, their hearts pounding against each other. His hands smoothed her hair, kissing her softly. How he loved his mate.

“Jelly Jubilee. That’s the name of the tattoo.” Rhys finally remembered. Feyre’s chuckle vibrated against his chest, “I like it, I hope she never goes shopping so we get to keep it.”

Bryce wouldn’t be so cruel, would she? Rhysand would have to start pushing for a shopping date.

Chapter Text

“Are we going?” Bryce said to Azriel. He jumped slightly at the sound of her voice in the living room. He turned around, looking her over, then at his shadows in the staircase. Likely wondering, why they had failed to inform him when she came down, but she hadn’t used the stairs. Bryce smiled. She really enjoyed messing with him.

Mor came bouncing down the stairs, Azriel’s brows frowned. “Ready, let’s go!” She said to both of them.

Mor gave Bryce a brilliant smile, threw her arm around her shoulder and pulled her along towards the front door, leaving Azriel to follow.

Outside, Mor asked her, “Are you winnowing with me, or flying with Az this morning?”

“What’s winnowing?” Bryce asked. Mor teleported to the opposite side of the street, waved at her, then teleported next to her again. Bryce jumped in surprise at her sudden reappearance.

“Oh wow, you can teleport. That’s what you call winnowing?” Bryce asked.

“Yes. Don’t High Faes in your world winnow or teleport?” Mor asked.

“First, we don’t call them High anything. They’re arrogant enough just as plain Faes, no need for more pompous titles. Second, I’ve only known one who could teleport. So, no, it’s not common at all.” Bryce shrugged, she left out the fact, that the Fae had taught her how to teleport. “If you don’t mind, I’ll fly with Azriel. I’d like to hold on to my breakfast a little longer.”

Mor laughed, spoke to Azriel, likely informing him of her choice, “I’ll catch up with you in the library than. I have a quick stop to make.” And she disappeared again.

Bryce moved closer to Azriel, expecting him to pick her up as he’d done before. But instead he pointed at his ear, saying something she didn’t understand.

“Right.” Bryce handed him one of her ear buds, and put the other in her ear. She turned her morning hustle playlist on, and watched Azriel’s head nod to the beat. He picked her up as if she weighs nothing, and flew upward in a powerful wing flap.

When the first song ended, he spoke over the next song, “Watch your back today at the library.”

Bryce lowered the volume, and frowned at him, “Why? Can you be more specific what am I watching out for?”

“Just stay away from Merrill.” He said.

“I don’t even know who that is?” Bryce told him.

“She is Clotho’s right-hand. Brilliant scholar, arrogant, but also a bully. All I know is that someone gave you a book she needs for her research. Not sure if they are messing with her hoping she causes you trouble. So, stay away from her.”

“Who’s they?” Bryce asked.

“I don’t know who, likely another priestess. Mor and Nesta will have your back if anything goes down.” Azriel assured her.

“Okay, thanks for telling me.” Bryce raised the volume on the music, it was a catchy club song she liked to dance to. Azriel seemed disappointed she wasn’t chattier, but she needed to think because she knew exactly which book Merrill wanted.

They didn’t expect her to find anything in the library, because someone, likely Amren, had vetted a list of books before she ever got there. On her first day, piles, on piles of books were brought to her table by many priestesses. Quickly, Bryce found herself facing mountains of books.

They likely hoped to overwhelm her and waste her time. Little did they know, she was top of her class at university, because she had perfected her research methods. Many students were too lazy and limited their papers to online information, but Bryce cross-referenced with multiple publications and was able to get into the details and history of the subject.

She’d gotten fast to work with sorting the books into new piles by categories. That’s when one book stood out from the rest, likely because it wasn’t on Amren’s list. That was Merrill’s book.

Bryce had naturally delved into that one, and referenced the others for world maps, key people, and historical events. Prythian’s history went much further back than Midgard’s.

Another thing she was really good at, was negotiating. And the best thing about bullies, is that you could easily win them over, if you had something they wanted.

When she arrived at the library, she looked over her table. Someone had messed with her piles, obviously looking for that book. Bryce smiled to herself, that was another thing she’d learned at university, hiding your sources, because people who knew how good you were at research tended to steal your books to copy. She sat, shuffled the books around until Nesta walked away with her cart of books. Then she got up, pulled the book from the shelf where she had hidden it, and walked towards the offices she’d spotted before.

She slowed before reaching an open door, the ear bud was still in, the translation program told her someone inside was upset, or rather was berating someone else for wasting her time with the wrong publications. Yes, that definitely sounded like the bully she was looking for. A priestess came out with her arms loaded with heavy books. Her head lowered, coppery-brown hair hiding her face. Bryce noticed very few wore their hood down. She recognized her as one of Nesta’s training buddies. Her large teal eyes were silvered with unshed tears when she looked up. Her face was red and her eyes grew wider in surprise at seeing Bryce there.

“Is there something I can help you with?” The young priestess asked her in the Old Fae language.

“Nope, I’m here to visit with Merrill.” Bryce told her.

The priestess tried telling her something, but Bryce walked past her quickly, and slipped inside the office before the door slammed into her face.

For a moment Bryce hesitated, she had not expected a scholar to look so stunningly beautiful. “I’m busy, what do you want?” Merrill bite out as she returned her eyes to the page in front of her. Bryce smiled, of course a reputable scholar would speak fluent Old Fae language.

Bryce sat herself heavily into one of the chairs facing her desk. “I need a new book.” She told her, tapping her nails on the hard cover of the book in her hand.

 “You have plenty of books on your table.” Merrill’s eyes strained to read the book title in her hand, said without looking at her, “Stop wasting my time, and leave that one on my desk.”

Bryce leaned back, and put her feet on the corner of the desk. “This book. Oh, I didn’t say I was finished with this one.” She continued to tap her nails on it, “I may never be finished with this one. It’s the best one on my table.” Merrill’s face tightened. Her eyes shimmered. Bryce could have sworn she heard the wind howl, yet they were deep inside a mountain.

“You of all people, Merrill, know good research is not about the number of books you reference but the quality of the sources. So, we both know, all I’m gonna find in those books, on my table, is more of the same. I was led to believe this was the best library.” Bryce told her.

Merrill leaned back, assessing her, “I wouldn’t call it the best. Helion has the most expensive library, and Tamlin the largest. This one is usually the quietest, where we can do the most serious work in.” Merrill gave her a tight smile, “But not today!”

“Tamlin, that’s the High Lord of the Spring Court, right?” Bryce smiled back.

“Oh, so you have read some of the other books on your table?” Merrill said. “Where are you from? Amren wasn’t specific.” Merrill’s eyes studied Bryce some more. She had learned yesterday, that most Fae, that is High Fae’s that looked like her, originated in the Autumn Court. That was also where Lucien was born, according to last night’s diner discussion.

“I’m sure she wasn’t. Not specific like that list of books on my table.” Bryce told her.

Merrill exhaled loudly, blowing a strong wind that lifted Bryce’s hair, “What is it you want to research, Bryce?” Merrill finally asked.

“Rifts, world-walking and traveling to other worlds.” Bryce listed keywords she would have typed into her computer search engine.

Merrill rolled her eyes at her, “Such things are not documented in books.”

“Maybe I’m wasting my time, I was told you knew your way around this library. The best library Prythian has to offer according to Rhysand.” Bryce dropped her feet and made to leave, with the book.

“Sit down.” Merrill ordered. Then with a swift wind she pulled her door open, and yelled Gwyneth’s name several times until the flushed priestess came in the doorway.

“Yes, Merrill, you called?” Her voice was soft, controlled, even if her appearance seemed flustered. Bryce spotted Nesta, steeling a peak inside the office.

“Fetch this book, now, and be quick about it. The morning has been a complete waste of time.” Merrill handed a note to the priestess, “And tell Nesta to stop loitering around my office, I will make a complaint to Clotho and have her removed from the library’s employment if she’s going to be useless.” Merrrill reminded Bryce of Jesiba in many ways, and her heart went out to the brave priestess working for such a tyrant.

“There’s not much on the subject in this library. Only one book. Such subjects are usually documented in novels.” Merrill told her.

“I know, to protect the authors. They hide the information in novels to avoid heresy, or persecution. Hopefully, this one has a little erotica, it’s been a while for me.” Bryce winked at her. Merrill rolled her eyes as if she was above such reading material.

Because the silence was dragging, Bryce asked, “You don’t sound impressed with Rhysand’s library, why?”

“I’m not. Mostly because Rhysand thinks too highly of himself, I find that trait annoying.” Merrill smiled slightly.

Bryce added, “Ah yes, I noticed that too.”

When Gwyn came back, handed a book over to Merrill, quizzically saying she might have mistaken the reference she gave her. This was nothing like her usual books.  “Go away, Gwyneth. This is the correct book. I’m not going to explain myself to you.” Merrill dismissed her.

Bryce exchanged books with Merrill, and got up to leave.

“I’m told Tamlin has an extensive novel collection. His library may have more of what you are researching. Unfortunately, who knows what state his library is in, since he’s regressed into his beastly nature.” Merrill told her.

Bryce nodded her thanks, and left. She walked past Nesta and her piercing silver stare to make her way back to her table, new book in hand. Mor was sitting there, waiting for her.  

Chapter Text

Hunt couldn’t tell how much time had passed since he’d seen Shahar. But when the soldiers escorted him into her cell for another visit, she did not recognize him. She retreated to the farthest corner, huddled and shaking. Her heart beat so fast, Hunt worried it might burst. He stayed by the wall, slowly lowered himself to sit on the ground. He didn’t try to speak to her, he looked away and remained still. This visit wasn’t his choice. Whatever Rigelus was trying to do, he would not participate.

After a long while, she seemed to calm down. She started mumbling to herself too low for Hunt to understand her words. Warily her eyes darted to him, making sure he kept to his side. She seemed unsure he was real.  He remained quiet until the guard came to return him to the dungeon.

They kept bringing him here. After several of these visits, she wasn’t as agitated by his presence in her cell. Sometimes she stood and moved nervously around. Warily looking at him every so often. Her mumbling interrupted only when she bit at the wrapping on her hands, trying to pull her hands free.

Someone slid a single steel tray of food inside the cell. The smell of warm buttery bread and a stew made Hunt’s mouth water and his stomach growl. The tray laid only a foot away from him. He was starving but she was far worst off. He pushed the tray away, moving it towards her. Hoping she might grab it. How was she supposed to eat with her hands wrapped?  

She moved closer to the tray, kneeled on the floor and inhaled the delicious aroma. She took the bread roll into her mouth and pushed the tray to Hunt. She retreated to the opposite corner, drop the bread out of her mouth, nodded at the tray, “For you.”

“You need this more than I do.” Hunt told her.

She shook her head, “Eat. Your stomach growls too loudly. It’s like being caged with an angry beast.”

Hunt laughed softly, “Fair enough.” He smiled slightly, “How about we share? I’m sure that bread will be much better if we dip it in this sauce.”

 She looked at him and down several times at the bread roll on her lap. Assessing nervously. She finally squeezed the roll between her mittened hands, moved slowly closer until she could drop the roll on the tray.

He tore a piece, dipped it in the bowl, “This one is for you.” He said as he raised it to her mouth. She frowned, and shook her head. Whatever courage she’d found left her. She was shrinking away. That’s when he remembered, Shahar had always hated when people watched her eat. Hunt lowered his eyes, holding the bread up to her, while he busied himself stirring the stew with the dull spoon with his other hand. Then he felt her chapped lip brush on his thumb as she pulled the piece into her mouth.

He smiled into the stew as he scooped a small piece of potato with sauce, “This one is for me.” He said as he listened to her chewing and swallowing. They each took turn. If she noticed he kept his bites smaller than hers, she didn’t say.

By the time they finished, she looked exhausted. She retreaded to her side of the cell. She curled her wings around her body, the right one at an awkward angle. She ducked her head below. Hunt listened to her breathing. He was flooded with the memories of her. How he loathed himself.

******************

Every part of Ruhn’s body was pain. But it was Lidia’s delicate smell that threatened to break him, he knew the moment she came into the room. She walked around Ruhn’s battered body suspended by chains from the ceiling, “Oh Ruhn! I’m so sorry. I’m trying to find a way to get you out of this place.” She whispered in his mind.

She leaned against the wall, casually crossing her legs. As if unfazed with the smell of his charred flesh and the sight of his bloodied body. Pollux was in the middle of burning the underside of Ruhn’s feet. The last piece of his body he hadn’t cut, wiped, or battered.

“As he given you any names yet?” She asked Pollux in her cold, matter of fact, Hind’s voice.

“No names. But at least he’s finally shut his smartass mouth. He hasn’t spoken for the last two hours.” Pollux said with a satisfied smiled.

“Then you should have stopped an hour ago.” She pushed off the wall, “The point is to get information from him. Not kill him!”

She took the torch out of his hands. “Rigelus is asking where you are. He wants you in the throne room. You better get going. The meeting will be starting soon.”

Pollux smiled at her, “Time flies when you’re having fun.” He leaned in to kiss her.

“You reek!” She turned her cheek to his kiss. “Take a shower before you go in there.” She told him and watched him leave.

“How the Hel can you stand that sadistic bastard touching you?” Ruhn asked her.

“It’s part of the job. How I survive.” She answered in her soft voice. “I tried getting here sooner to stop him.”

“Doesn’t matter. You made it clear what your priority is. You keep playing your games.” He told her. “We are done.”

A fit of coughing shook his body, shooting pain in every inch of him. The black spots blurred his vision, and he was relieved to pass out once again.

When he woke up, it smelled of antiseptics and medication. He was laid in an infirmary bed. A female, a malakim in pink scrub was adjusting his IV. “Rest, Your Highness. He’s done some of his worst on you today.” Her cool hand pushed his hair away from his brow.

Ruhn’s heart squeezed, never had his mother soothed him like this after one of his father’s punishments. “Don’t.” His throat was scratchy, it was painful to speak. He shook his head, but the movement made him dizzy. She moved her hand away, misunderstanding. “I mean, call me Ruhn.” He forced out.

“This will help soothe your throat and ease your breathing. It’s all that smoke you inhaled.” She put a small bottle to his lips, and poured a honeyed syrup slowly. Swallowing was painful but the syrup relieved the scratchiness. He could feel it already, it’s cool silkiness inside his chest made his breathing easier. He suddenly felt very tired.

“Sleep, Ruhn. You will be safe in here for a few days.” He heard her soft voice whisper as he started drifting away. Only realizing it was in his mind when the Hind’s voice ordered, “No one releases him out of the infirmary without my permission. I’m in charge of this interrogation.”

Chapter Text

Bryce was engrossed in the novel for hours. Mor started fidgeting. Bored, she started listing places they should go for their shopping spree. Insisting they plan and set a date. The repeated interruption to her reading, brought on a flashback to Jesiba’s gallery and Lele’s constant chattering, and the home sickness carved a hole in her.

Old tricks always worked best. To get back to her reading Bryce pulled out her phone and earbuds. She started Mor on some Fang and Bangs early episodes. Quickly Mor got invested in the young female vampyr’s love triangle between a male lion shifter and a female draki. She binged episode after episode. Once in a while, Mor would talk to the screen trying to stir the vampyr away from the shifter. A few priestesses shushed her when she was too loud. Mor looked annoyed.

She pulled the earbud out, “Please tell me she doesn’t marry him.”

Bryce smiled, “Oh, he’s a total alphahole! But I think that’s what attracts her. You’ll have to watch the next one.” Mor frowned, and put the earbud back in.

The book was an origin story about two sisters sent by gods a long time ago to this world. They were on a mission to fight creatures claiming they were Gods, and protect its inhabitant from slavery and ultimately destruction of their world. But the sisters were not welcomed by the High Faes. They went undercover and blended in to thwart the creatures. Risky mission after risky mission, they killed the creatures, one by one. Until the sisters got separated. The eldest, named Pheranzia, which for an odd reason looked a lot like Fury in her imagination. She followed a group of creatures who moved into another world, and she was trapped there. Leaving her young sister to fend for herself in Prythian. From there and on, the book focused on the young sister’s battles.

By late afternoon, Mor insisted they go back to the Town House. Elain was making supper for all of them. She wouldn’t leave Bryce on her own in the library, and Nesta had gone already. It was forbidden to take books out of the library. Seconds before Mor teleported them, Bryce snatched the book from the table to finish the few chapters left at the house.

Mor teleported them in quick successions of places until they appeared in front of the house. When they entered, they were greeted with raucous noises of talking and laughter. All Rhys’s inner circle were present in the small living room. Bryce’s heart squeezed.

Rhys, Nyx and Cassian were on the carpeted floor playing some kind of tug of war game. The others cheered on Nyx. His scrunched-up face as he pulled all his might on the rope was adorable. Nesta called out Feyre as a cheater as she tickled Cassian’s ear with a feather. Azriel was the only one quiet. Leaning against the mantel looking on in his usual relaxed face. His eyes moved to hers. She wondered about what it was that made her think he was lonely even with all these people in the same room.

Bryce sat in one of the empty velvet chairs, Azriel brought her a glass of whiskey. She opened her book and continued reading.

Although it didn’t provide much information in the means how they moved from world to world, the missions were inspiring an idea about how Bryce might fight the Asteri without an open war.  The ending was pathetic. The young sister, mistaken for a monster was captured by the High Fae and imprisoned inside a mountain. Tragically, centuries past, she was forgotten by the Gods, and her sister never returned.

Everyone around had quieted down after Nyx had won the tug of war. He had dozed off on the couch, his head laying on Nesta’s lap. Her hand gently stroking his curls. Bryce had never seen such softness in Nesta’s face before. They were chatting in their language.

Bryce dropped the book on the coffee table, next to her untouched whiskey. Her mind was buzzing with the scenarios of how to take down the Asteries, one by one. Six of them, six plays. Each would become more difficult as they would be wary after they realized they were targeted.

“I’m going for a run. I’ll be back in time for supper.” She said to no one. Mor was well into a second glass of wine, she frowned and obviously complained about it as she started to get up. Azriel said something to her. Bryce ignored all of them and headed out of the house, her amulet warmed as it worked out the ward to let her pass.

If her champion was going to watch over her, she would put her music on. She put the earbud in, before she put the second, Azriel grabbed her wrist and put the earbud in his own ear. He was planning on running along with her she realized. Bryce punched on her running playlist, and started with a slow trot.  

If people looked at her curiously the first time she ran in this city. The sight of Azriel running had their eyes darting nervously everywhere looking for an undetected danger. Clearly running was not a common exercise in Velaris. After the first few uncomfortable minutes, her body settled into a rhythm, and her mind got to work.

******************

“Azriel hates running. You got lucky he volunteered Mor.” Rhys said, leaning back into the cushion of the sofa.

“I suppose if you don’t have wings, it might be fun to feel the speed of running.” Cassian said.

“You don’t run for fun. You run to get away!” Amren stated. She moved, wine glass in hand, to the coffee table where Bryce had left the book she’d been reading.

The room buzzed with her power, Rhys sat up, “What is it?”

“Why is this book here, and how did she get her hands on this?” Amren’s eyes glimmered, fierce and angry. Nesta’s hand covered Nyx’s ear to keep him from waking up.

Mor answered, “It’s just a novel she’s been reading all day. She grabbed it before I winnowed out the library. By the time I noticed she took it out, we were here.”

“It was not on the list.” She yelled at Nesta and Mor.

“I think she traded for it with Merrill.” Nesta told them about Merrill’s book being pilled in with Bryce’s. How she had seen Bryce in her office in the morning. That Gwen, after being chewed out by Merrill for bringing the wrong book, was asked to bring an unusual book. Gwen had been nervous about returning with the wrong book for a second time in the same morning.

Cassian mused, looking impressed, “So what we thought was someone using Bryce to mess with Merrill. She turned into an opportunity to get something for herself.” Rhys’s jaw clenched, Bryce was impossible to control. And, how had she just walked through his new ward, out of the house, again!

“Why does it matter?” Feyre asked Amren.

“It’s not just a novel. It’s a historical recounting.” Amren told them. “How did Merrill even know about it? I buried it in the library ages ago.”

“Maybe you aren’t the only one who read through that library. Merrill is a dedicated researcher. If it could be found, I’m not surprised she did.” Nesta conceding the only praise she would give Merrill. It did nothing to ease Amren’s anger.

“A recounting of what, Amren?” Rhys asked her.

“How I came to this world. How we hunted the Daglans.” Amren’s anger eased, replaced with something looking like self-consciousness.

“Did you write it?” Feyre asked.

“No, I didn’t! It’s pathetic and tragic." She said more mildly, "Not all that accurate.” But Rhys could tell, something about this book kept her from destroying it permanently. He’d never wanted to read a book more.

“Still I’d like to read it, if you will allow me.” Apparently so did his mate, Feyre asked gently.  

“Whatever, up to you if you have time to waste. You won’t find anything about the Daglans in there I haven’t already told you.” Amren dropped the book loudly back on the coffee table. Rhysand moved it into a pocket of nothingness before she changed her mind.

Chapter Text

Azriel hated running. Illyrians did not run, they flew. But he had to admit, once he stopped complaining to himself about how much he hated running, and his body fell into a rhythm, his mind cleared like it did when he flew. He realized this was why Bryce wanted to run.

He’d felt her churning when she came in the house, he’d seen it in her luminous amber eyes when she looked into his. He gave her a whiskey thinking maybe it would mellow her agitation. But it wasn’t nerves, she’d found something in that book. Whatever it was, she needed this run to process it. He knew that feeling well. When he was working out a puzzle he would take to the sky, flying always helped.

He kept pace with her, she kept pace with the music. He could tell she was only partly conscious of her legs moving, barely noticing her surroundings, her mind absorbed by her thoughts. He gently navigated her into a circuit that would lead them back to the house in time for supper.

The sun was setting slowly, the air was cooler, not that Bryce seemed to notice. When they took the last turn onto the street to the house, she looked in his direction, and spoke to him for the first time.

“Race you to the finish.” By the time her phone translated, she was already at a full sprint. But that didn’t stop him from moving his feet faster. He was seconds behind her when she stopped at the gate in front of the house. She was laughing, her cheeks bright and her chest rising rapidly with each breathe. Her eyes clear. She’d figured it out, her puzzle, he realized. He was insanely curious to know what it was.

Instead, he told her between fast breathes of his own. “That’s cheating.”

“With those long legs of yours, you owed me a head start.” She held on to the fence to make a few stretches. Her form looked like a dancer. He made a few stretches of his own to avoid staring at her.

“What’s with running, anyways?” He asked, when what he really wanted to know is what she had been thinking about, and did it mean she would be leaving. He couldn’t help feeling it was too soon.  

“Well, if Elain keeps baking like she does. I’m going to pile on too many pounds, and you just might drop me next time you fly me somewhere.” She shrugged and walked past the gate Azriel opened for her. He told himself it was stupid to feel disappointed she didn’t confide in him. That was Mor’s job.

“You don’t need to worry about that.” He flashed her a smile, “I’m pretty strong. I can handle a few more pounds.” Her laugh caused a soft glow inside his endless darkness. He made an effort to relax his face in its usual mask before entering the house.

Cassian teased, “Rosy cheeks. You almost look like you enjoyed running, Az!”

“Thank you, Az!” Mor said loudly, wine glass full again, “I know I would have hated every second of it.”

Azriel ignored both, he didn’t tell them, it was the most fun he had today. Instead, he followed Bryce upstairs to clean up before dinner.

When Azriel came back downstairs, Rhys told him about the novel Bryce had uncovered. “I want to read it.” He told Rhys. “Did she say why she hid it?”

“No, but probably some personal reason. First, Feyre will read it. She asked her permission. She’ll let us know if there’s anything we need to know.” Rhys said.

“Which one are you playing.” Rhys nodded down at the chess board.

“Haven’t decided yet. Don’t pressure, we’re not playing for time.” Azriel’s king was precariously stuck behind his pieces, and his queen was overly exposed after losing two pawns, a bishop and a knight. Not that he would admit any of it to Rhys. But he could read the board and see he was in trouble.

“No, I mean which color are you playing? Rhysand said.

“What the fuck? I’m playing black. Aren’t you playing white?” Azriel stared at Rhysand’s face, trying to detect if he was messing with him. 

“I’m not playing with you, Az.” Rhysand answered. He wasn’t his shadows confirmed.

“Please fucking tell me I’m not losing to Lucien?” Azriel begged, “Don’t ask him, just look in his mind.”

He could tell Rhysand was making an effort not to laugh, “Now, that would be very embarrassing losing to him.” Rhys sipped his drink casually. “Not him.” He confirmed.

“Then, who?” Azriel asked.

“Well, my guess would be the other red-head in the house. Not that I can confirm it.” Rhys told him.

At that moment, Bryce came down for supper looking stunning with her hair cascading over one shoulder, and the other side pinned back. She was wearing a soft grey sweater over her black tight pants. It was casual, but somehow, she made it look chic. She looked straight at him, but her eyes revealed nothing.

“Her scent is no where near the board. How would she have moved the pieces? Can’t be her.” Azriel said in Rhys’s mind.

“I don’t think we have even started seeing what this one is capable of. I wouldn’t count her out so easily.” Rhys said. They spent the next while analyzing his next possible moves.

Chapter Text

“You’re fucked.” Rhys told Azriel, mind to mind, for the fifth time after going over all the possible moves on the chess board. “There’s only one way out of this.”

Rhys picked up Azriel’s king piece off the board, “Bryce, do you play chess?” He asked showing it to her.

Azriel watched closely her face. He couldn’t be sure if he’d seen a flash of disappointment in her eyes. His shadows wouldn’t confirm anything more than a vague, maybe.

“Why? I thought you already had a game in play.” She said moving closer to the board.

“Naw, we’re done.” He told her while messing the board to set it back up.

“Who won?” She asked casually.

Rhys answered, “I did.”

Azriel’s shadows spiked up to his ears, “He lies, he lies!” They whispered. They said nothing about her.

“Want to play?” Rhysand pulled the chair out for her to sit.

“Okay. I used to play with my dad when I was a kid.” She said as she sat. “We had an old wood board. I’m not even sure I can tell which piece is which on this fancy board.” She told him while placing the queen on the king’s square.

Azriel agreed this board game was ridiculously extravagant. Each piece was made of white gold, encrusted in hundreds of small sparkling diamonds and a few royal blue sapphires. At the top of each piece a large black or white pearl was set to distinguish the team.

“That’s the queen.” Rhysand moved her piece over on the white square. “This is the king.” He placed it next to the queen.

“How can you tell? They both have crowns?” She asked.

“The king has a bigger crown, see.” He showed her the king and queen next to each other. Azriel stilled. The moment Rhys finished saying it, he realized she’d goaded him right into it.

Bryce’s smirk was exquisite, when a tipsy Feyre twisted her revolted face towards them, and exclaimed, “Well, that seems awfully chauvinistic!”

“Really, you didn’t see that one coming?” Azriel teased him. He hadn’t seen his High Lady enjoying a drink in a long while. He liked inebriated Feyre. She became a little snarky especially with Rhysand.

Mor staggered, and slumped on the arm of Bryce’s chair, leaning closely. A newly filled wine glass swaying dangerously in her hand, she said, “Chess is so boring. That’s why it’s predominantly male.” She complained.

“Feyre Darling, you may have as big a crown as you wish. For the purpose of this game, the crown is just a way to distinguish the pieces. It's not a political view. The queen has this fancy ruffled collar. See, very fashionable.”

Feyre and Amren made a soundly “Pfff!”

“More like a choker to silence her.” Amren retorted. Rhysand gave up.

“Shall we make the game a little more interesting? For those who think chess is boring.” Rhys said looking pointedly at Mor.

“I’m not in the market for another random tattoo if that’s what you’re suggesting.” Bryce responded while touching all her pieces, aligning them perfectly in the center of each square.

Rhys laughed. “We will keep it simple this time. It will be gone by the end of the evening.”

“I don’t have anything to bet.” She told him.

“Sure, you do!” He assured.

“The loser pays the winner with a story about her or his life.” At Bryce’s skeptical face, he added. “We will share a story that defines or explains something about who we are today.” 

“Seems a little arrogant you’d assume I’m interested in hearing one of your stories.” Bryce cheekily smiled at him.

“Yes, very arrogant on his part.” Feyre agreed where she lounged on the sofa. “But in his defense, he is a very good storyteller.” She told her.

“Thank you for that encouragement, Feyre Darling.” Rhysand smiled at his mate lovingly. “But you are right. To entice you, I’ll open it to any willing member of my inner circle.” And he added quickly, “To be clear, you get only one story if you win, but from the person of your choice who participates in the bet.”

Bryce sighed. Still seeming reluctant. She asked “How do we pick the story to tell?” Another indication that she was not easily deceived when making a deal with a High Fae.

“The winner could pick the topic? Like, let’s say I win. I could ask you the story how you got that star-shaped scar on your chest.” Rhys explained.

Rhysand looked around the room for volunteers. “Anyone else in?” Without hesitation Cassian volunteered, “I’m in. I guess I should make up for the other bet I lost.”

Azriel felt Rhysand’s eyes burrowing into him, “I’m not feeling overwhelming confidence from you I can win this chess game, Az.”

“Ok, I’m in too.” Mor cheerily volunteered with a raised glass. “She’ll probably win, but that’s ok because I’ve got plenty of good stories.”

“Thanks for your eternal support cousin!” Rhysand raised his glass to her.

Bryce smiled up at Mor. “I’m sure you have, and we don’t need a stupid bet. I’d love to hear everything you wish to share with me.” Mor’s eyes softened, and she nodded a silent thank you to her.

“Anyone else?” Rhysand asked looking once again at Azriel.

“I’m out.” Amren told them, “This game is still boring.”

Lucien, and Nesta remained silent. Elain was in the kitchen preparing supper with the twins.

“Ok, I’ll share a story too.” Feyre offered, “But, you will have to make it up to me…” There was definitely more his High Lady told Rhys mind to mind, because he shifted in his chair looking bothered.  Bryce noticed and laughed, but still shrugged unconvinced about this bet.

“Azriel, you need to close this.” Rhys told him.

Azriel rolled his eyes, sometimes his brother really didn’t know when to quit. “Ok, I’ll share a story.” His voice was so low and reluctant, he practically whispered it.

Mor almost fell off the armchair in shock. Bryce caught her in time to save her and the wine glass. “His stories are very rare. We've heard very few!” She told Bryce suddenly more interested in the game. She settled back on the arm, and leaned more heavily on Bryce.

“Yes, and those we heard are gruesome and very bloody." Feyre warned. " It might ruin your appetite.” Maybe his High Lady was trying to save him from having to play.

Bryce genuinely laughed at her comment, “Noted. I will keep that in mind when I win.”

“Do we have a bet?” Rhysand happily asked again. “The winner gets one story about that person’s life on the topic of his or her choice.” Rhysand extended his hand to her over the chess board. Bryce’s beautiful hand curled around Rhysand’s, “Agreed, we have a bet.”

They shook, and both pulled away quickly as the tattoo seared their skin. Rhysand hid his arm against his chest. Bryce on her legs under the table, holding it until the pain subsided, then she peaked down at it.

“What did you get?” Rhysand asked her.

“What did you get?” Bryce asked him.

Everyone gathered around the chess table waiting to see their tattoos. “Well, show us already!” Amren ordered.

They both laid their arm side by side, palms up on the table. About an inch above their wrist, they both had a small black eight-pointed star.

“Look at us with matching tattoos. Just like best buddies!” Bryce teased. Rhysand laughed.

“Let’s see if you still want to be my buddy after I win the game.” He teased her back.

Bryce started first. Her opening was quick, aggressive to control the center. Rhysand responded alike, fighting for control. Both taking multiple pieces at a dizzying pace. Even Amren remained standing on Rhys’s side to watch to game unfold. Lucien stood on one side of the table, in the middle, neutral. He took over the role of translating leaving Rhysand to concentrate on his game.

Rhysand protected his king on the last row behind three pawns and a rook defending their front. Bryce’s king was tucked in the left corner with a single pawn in front, but her queen was deadly. She’d taken many of his pieces, moving her queen easily across the center to parry each approach. While Rhysand’s queen advanced slowly accompanied by a knight to shield her.

The pace slowed to a crawl. Each studying the board on their turn. Bryce lingered a long while, tapping her finger on the table, deep in thoughts about her next move.

“Finally, she gets nervous.” Rhys boasted to him. But, Azriel’s shadows didn’t detect any nervousness, they told him she was very relaxed, maybe even sleepy.

Elain came into the living room, announcing supper was ready. But instead of interrupting the game, they choose to finish it first. The loser’s storytelling could be done at the dinning table while they ate. Elain sat in the sofa to chat with her sisters.

Azriel gave Bryce a little push to move the game along, it was getting late. Cassian complained he was hungry, and Feyre was now fairly drunk. “It’s your turn to play, Bryce.” He reminded her.

“Sorry.” She said, “I got distracted trying to decide which story I wanted to hear when I win.”.

Rhys chuckled. “Game is not over, yet!”

Bryce said, still staring at the board, “I think I might like to hear about your family, Rhysand. Didn’t I read somewhere you have a younger sister?”

He became very still. They all did. The lights in the living room dimmed slightly as if trying to hide him from the threat. Mor whispered, “Bryce, not that story.”

Rhysand’s smell shifted, he was nervous. As if it only occurred to him now, what he risked. Bryce could request a painful story from him. She was playing another game, a mind game on the side.

“Isn’t family what people ask about when they want to get to know someone?” Bryce lifted her eyes toward Rhysand.

Azriel watched Rhysand pull his bored mask on, as he forced himself to relax in his chair. He twirled his drink in his hand. “I don’t know. I like to think our chosen family says more about who we are, and what we value.”

Bryce moved her bishop three squares over. A move that seemed uncalculated while she told him, “Perhaps. But the family that was thrust on us, the good ones and the bad ones. They challenge and cut the deepest. Those stories. That pain, it forged who we became to survive it.”

The three sisters nodded. “Mine, did.” Mor whispered. Bryce gave her a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t let her get in your head, Rhys! Just concentrate on the game.” Azriel watched his brother’s grip on his tumbler tighten. He agreed with her, his certainly had. That was a story he didn’t want to tell her, not tonight, not like this.

“Well, you will have to win to know.” He drawled, then leaned onto the board to decide his next move.

Azriel overheard Feyre say to her sisters she hoped he won. Lucien did not translate their conversation. 

Azriel reviewed each piece, his shadows confirmed she was still very confident. After a mind to mind discussion if the rogue bishop was a trap or not. Rhysand moved to attack it with his knight. Her pawn could take his knight the next round, but it was a good trade. The next few moves were brutal. The bishop was intentional, and Rhysand was pressed to make a difficult choice. Sacrifice his queen in order to move his king for his protection.

Time dragged on. Bryce was inspecting the broken ends of her hair, unconcerned by Rhysand’s next move. She complained about the split ends, and mentioned to Mor to add hair products to their shopping day. She was also drinking her third glass of whiskey, without any apparent impairment to her game.

“Sacrifice the queen. Move the king. If you don’t, she will check with her rook. Then have your king running for his life.” Azriel told him for the second time. Amren had stated the same about ten minutes ago. Rhysand groaned.

He could see it now, her strategy. She’d put pressure on his queen, distracting him while she positioned her remaining two pawns and rook for the kill. Her own king, alone on her side of the board might have looked vulnerable, but it was well defended by her queen and rook, who could easily move from across the board.

“You really need to stop telling him to sacrifice his queen. It’s just pissing him off.” Bryce told them. Obviously very aware of the pressure on Rhysand.

“It’s just a piece in the game! The queen did her job. Now save the king, Rhysand. It’s not like you are sacrificing Feyre.”  Amren said brutally.

Rhysand sighed. He explained her next moves, mind to mind, seeing clearly her strategy now of squeezing in on his king. “Sacrificing the queen only buys a few more rounds. She still checkmate’s my king.” This, he said calmly out loud, a resignation in his voice.

“Yes, I will.” Bryce gently confirmed.

Rhysand tipped his king on its side, ending the game with finality.

“Well played, Bryce.” He leaned over to give her a congratulatory handshake. Bryce shook his hand, thanking him.

“Claim your story so we can eat, and be rid of these tattoos.” Rhys told her.

A beat of silence. Bryce’s lips pinched, her decision hanging in the air. She looked into Rhysand’s eyes, then her tattoo.

“I don’t know. I kind of like this tattoo, maybe I keep it.” Her eyes drifted to Azriel, on his hip. He ordered his shadows to cover where Truth Teller was sheathed. Then, her eyes lingered on his hands. He moved them behind Rhys’s chair, out of sight. Tense, his jaw locked.

“The story I’d like to hear is.” She paused. Everyone held their breath. “Is why, in the book Prythian’s historical recordings written by the One that shall not be named.” Bryce twisted on her chair towards the sofa, “Cassian’s personal name is under the list of public enemies of the Court of Summer with a note that he is banned still?”

Everyone roared in laughter. Azriel exhaled slowly, his body flooded with relief.

“At least we know she read one book on the list I made.” Amren grumbled

“Oh yes, that’s a good story!” Mor exclaimed.

“Really, you recorded my name in the damn book, Amren!” Cassian complained as they moved to the dining room table for supper.

“It’s a historical recording, it needs to be accurate.” Amren argued.

The evening was back to its joyful mood.

Azriel smiled at Bryce. “Choosing Cassian for the storytelling means he eats less.”

She smirked. “Exactly. We are getting seconds of everything tonight!”

Chapter Text

Dinner was boisterous. Cassian’s storytelling was epic, in the most exaggerated sense. Lucien did his best to translate what he managed to understand over all the noise and talking over each other. He was the least familiar with this story having heard about it mostly from the Summer Court people. Mor was far too drunk to do anything but laugh at Cassian's expense. Rhysand provided what he called context and accurate facts. Azriel occasionally added scoffing comments about everything Cassian did wrong that day. Feyre was much more fun drunk, especially when she teased all three males of being Illyrian babies. It didn’t matter this story had been told numerous times, everyone thrilled, laughed and enjoyed each other’s company.

Bryce rub her belly. Elain had moved the platters down to her side of the table all evening, she had eaten way too much of her delicious roast. She was full and her stomach muscles hurt from all the laughing. It was nice to see everyone relaxed and friendly even in her presence. She was surprised at how easily she was able to understand most of the story. Their language started making sense to her and the words becoming more familiar.

From what she gathered. The story took place during some boring diplomatic meetings in the Summer Court. The bat boys decided on some leisure time on the beach before the final evening dinner. It was the perfect sunny day. The three of them went to a remote beach area, they were enjoying some fruity drinks, warming their wings, and unsuspecting just how effective the girly drink was under the sun. Steadily getting drunk on punch, Cassian noticed a jelly blob in the sand with twin tentacle eyes ogling them. Normally Cassian wouldn’t mind, it happened all the time to him. At this Nesta rolled her eyes, “I was not one of those females.”

“Sure, you were. You were just not as obvious as the others.” Cassian teased her as he continued his story.  But the worm-like yellow eyes, they just felt icky. So, of course he went over there, tried to scare it off. And when that didn’t work, he poked it with a stick. Right into one of its eyes!

This is when Azriel, for the third time, pointed out one of Cassian’s many mistakes. The first being the bathing trunks he wore that day which apparently covered very little. The second underestimating how boozy the fruit punch was. The third was provoking a powerful unknown creature in an unfamiliar region.

It was an ancient Tamarean jellyfish-like soldier. The large gelatinous form buried in the sand whose eyes poked through the surface was a guard for the Summer Court. And it protected this remote beach area, it was known for being grumpy, liking his beach quiet and free of littering humanoids. When the blob form pushed itself out from the ground, it was enormous. Its tentacle legs stirred the sand purposely causing a small quake and awakening thousands of biting midge flies. At the mention of the bugs, Bryce’s skin started itching and she unconsciously scratched her leg. She noticed Azriel also scratching his rib.

At his command, the army of flies swarmed all three bat boys chasing them off the beach. But they targeted Cassian most of all and followed him into the street. Although the flies were no larger than a finger, their stinging bite left red itchy spots on the skin. Cassian’s tiny red trunks gave him very little protection.

“I couldn’t see shit.” He told them how their swarm formed thick clouds and he couldn’t see where he was going. He got disoriented. When he tried flying up to higher skies to get out of their range, he flew into several buildings practically knocking himself unconscious.

Panicked by their incessant stinging, he blindly blasted his power through both Illyrian red stones on his hands.  

“It was self-defense when I shot my power though their throng. I didn’t expect them to split open that fast. It was an accident I pulverized an historical naval building.” Cassian defended himself.    

“You can’t call it self-defense when you started the provocation, Cass.” Rhysand corrected. “After many apologies and a large donation, Cassian avoided prison but he was banned from their court and we left before dinner. We had to hear him complain all the way back home about being itchy and hungry!”

“I’d never been so itchy in my life. And I was a filthy street kid.” Cassian told them.

Bryce frowned a second, she leaned towards Azriel, “Street kid?” She asked thinking maybe it meant something else here.

“Cassian was homeless. Until Rhys’s mom took him in.” Azriel whispered in her direction. Of course, the others overheard.

“Don’t feel to bad for him.” Rhysand told her. “He was a bully and stole my lunches, my coat and boots more times than I could count. And it got worst when he moved in. That’s until Azriel came to live with us.” Rhysand said with a smile.

“You banded against Azriel. Why?” Bryce asked a little more forcefully than she intended. The thought of a young Azriel being bullied by these two. It upset her in a way she’d seen her mother go after the neighbor’s angry dog who always came after her. Yes, she’d swing a bat at them too.

Cassian laughed. “It was his fault. He was this sweet shy kid, quiet and well mannered. He got away with everything, or tricked us into getting blamed for his shit.”

Azriel chuckled, “Not my fault you were both amateurs at taking cookies out of the jar.”

Bryce laughed, clearly Azriel gave as good as he got, “Your mom sounds amazing, because she obviously had her hands full with the three of you.” Bryce told Rhysand.

All three bat boys nodded. Rhysand whispered a tinge sadly, “She was amazing.”

"I wish i'd meet her." Feyre said as she reached for his hand consolingly. His wrist was now bare. So was hers. Their tattoos had disappeared, and she couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed about it.

They were all silent for a long moment. The mood settling into something quieter, more intimate. The evening made Bryce homesick for her own friends. Several times she felt her phone vibrate with incoming messages. She worries and wanted to head somewhere private to read them. But she didn’t want to break the mood. She needed allies. A safe haven while she executed her plan, and maybe Velaris was a good place for that. 

It was Feyre who broke the silence when she asked everyone, “Do you know which story I wanted to ask Bryce if Rhys had won?”

Rhysand turned towards his wife with a curious smile. “Not the star-shaped scar?”

“No. I wanted something more personal.” Feyre’s cool blue grey eyes focused on Bryce. Looking sharper than they had all evening. This one was just as cunning as her husband, maybe more Bryce thought. She would not make the mistake of underestimating her. Perhaps she was coming for revenge on that mind game Bryce played on her husband during the chess match.

“Sorry for being unoriginal, Feyre Darling.” Rhysand said with such amusement in his voice. He asked, “Which story did you want to hear?”

“I wanted to ask who Jelly Jubilee is to her? Of all the symbols, why would the Mother choose her childhood toy to mark your bet?” Feyre’s smile was soft, luring her in. “It doesn’t seem random that this beautiful Pegasus has sparkling purple eyes like my mate.”

Bryce took a sip of her wine and smiled at the High Lady, “I see you got a real close look at it. Lucky Rhysand.” Bryce winked at him. Did he just blush?

“It’s a unicorn-pegasus by the way.” Bryce couldn’t resist making the correction to Feyre’s comment. When it came to JJ, she didn’t have much restraint as a kid, and apparently didn’t have much more as a grown female either.

“A half-bred. Like Rhysand.” Azriel connected another matching trait.

“Nothing the Mother does is random. It may seem like it, but she always has a purpose.” Amren stated as a fact. Like in Midgard, everyone assumed the Gods knew what they were fucking doing. But did they? Because she'd like to know why they pulled her here instead of letting her go into Hel.

Until now, Bryce hadn’t realized Rhysand was only half-Fae in a Fae dominated world. She’d never get used to calling them High Fae’s. Like herself, he’d probably grown up between both worlds.

She took in his pointy ears and leather wings, noticing the details that set him apart. “The Starlight Fancy series was the most popular toy when I was five. They were on every girl’s wish list for Winter Solstice.” Feyre and the others leaned in encouraging her to continue.

And she gave in to Feyre willingly, “Because I was a half-Fae kid growing up in an entirely human populated city. I had a hard time making friends. They either hated what I was or feared it.” Feyre’s delicate brows frown.

Bryce sipped her wine again, considering before continuing her story, “There were about twelve characters in the series each in their own color. They were sparkly and squishy, and all the cutest you can imagine but they were not all created equal.”

Their eyes were on Bryce, “Princess Creampuff who’s a soft mint-green with a pink mane, she was the most common one. She could be purchased anywhere, even the food market had her on sale. Same for Pineapple Shimmer who was yellow. Peaches and Dreams in orange-and-yellow could be bought in the toy stores only. But Jelly Jubilee, she was the rarest. The only one with a horn. Not only Pegasus, but also Unicorn.” Bryce felt Azriel chuckle next to her. His shadows drifted closer to her.

“My mother traveled two hours to the big city to buy her for me. And when I went to school with JJ, I was accepted. I was invited at Cathy’s Starlight Fancy birthday party.” Bryce laughed, remembering what a disaster her party turned out to be when all the girls wanted to play with Bryce instead of Cathy.

“Maybe the Mother wants us to be friends.” Bryce shrugged.

Feyre smiled, “Maybe she does. I know i would like that.”

Chapter Text

Dinner finished late, and everyone had gone to their room for the night. Azriel entered the kitchen with the last few glasses to clean. Elain was in there cleaning up. She stood at the work table, wash rag in her still hand and her eyes staring at nothing. He’d seen his mother immobile often enough with that same distant look to know she was physically in the kitchen but she was away.

He moved quietly to the sink where more dirty dishes still waited to be cleaned. He rolled his sleeves and got to work careful to make as little noise as possible to avoid disrupting her. Her scent was flowery as usual and her muscles relaxed. Wherever she was, it wasn’t unpleasant or dangerous.

His shadows informed him when her breathing changed, her hand tightened on the wash cloth and he felt her jerk in surprise.

“Azriel, I didn’t hear you come in.” She put her hand to her chest. Her heart beating louder and faster now.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you.” He spoke softly like he did to Nyx when he woke up from his nap.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” She nodded towards his hands in the soapy water, “I’ll take care of cleaning those.”

“I kind of like this part when the house is quiet.” He answered while she grabbed the towel and started drying the glasses and plates he had washed. They worked in silence. She was quiet but worried, his shadows told him. And he knew it was his fault.

He held the clean plate for her to take, and kept his eyes to her face. She hesitated in taking the plate, he tugged until she looked up at him. “I’m sorry, Elain, for overreacting. I know you would never put Nyx in danger. I have no reason to question that. You’re a fantastic aunt.”

She nodded with a faint smile, “I understand. You don’t owe me an apology. You were scared for him. You’re also a great uncle, Azriel.” He felt her relax again, and he continued cleaning the dessert bowls while Elain put the plates away on the shelf.

“Why didn’t you tell us about your magic?”

Her back was turned to him and he saw her tense. She said, “It was your mother who warned me it was best to keep my magic a secret. For my safety, but also for those I love.” Azriel stilled.

“You met my mother?” He asked watching her turn slowly in his direction. His mother never traveled to Velaris, not physically.

“Yes, she’s lovely. She was a great help to me when I was learning about my magic.” Elain’s heartbeat was fast again, nervous. “She told me how your father used you against her. How he forced her to use her magic for himself.”

Azriel looked away, eyes on the suds in the sink he said, “I don’t want to talk about that.”

Elain moved closer to him. Her hand touched his arm lightly. “I know what you did to your half-brothers wasn’t revenge. It was protection for her. A warning of what would happen if he continued.”

“It worked. Because that’s all he ever understands. Power, fear and pain.” Azriel let the glass bowl sink in the water before he splintered it. The rage still simmered in him whenever he thought about his father. Elain stepped away.

He pulled his hands out of the water, rested them on the edge of the sink. He took a slow breath. “We would never use you that way. I hope you know that?” Calmer, he turned to look at her.

“I know you wouldn’t, Azriel.” She answered.

And Azriel heard what she didn’t say, that she didn’t trust Rhysand and Feyre wouldn’t.  He couldn’t blame her. His brother had become increasingly paranoid about the safety of his mate and son. It would be difficult for Rhysand to resist asking, maybe even demanding it from her.

“Feyre mentioned you can see the future.” Azriel plunged his hands in the water again and found the bowl in the bottom. He knew from his mother how the future was not linear or precise. “Did you know Bryce was going to come here?”

Elain sighed, “Not like this. Not now. But there were signs she would, eventually.”

He could feel her discomfort at talking about this, still he asked as casually as if he was talking about her plans for the garden, “Signs like what?” He handed over the glass bowl for her to dry.

He could tell she was weighing her answer. Looking for a polite way out but couldn’t find one. ‘You don’t have to answer unless you want to.” He added, letting her know it wasn’t an interrogation, it was her choice to answer or not.

She exhaled, “Well, her sword and your knife, Truth Teller was a sign.” She stated the obvious connection. Hiding more significant signs.

“Except it wasn’t her sword before she came here.” He didn’t know for sure, but the strap wasn’t set for her body, and there was that male scent.

“How would you know that?” She asked looking surprised.

Azriel smiled at the confirmation, “I think someone gave her the sword so it wouldn’t fall into enemy hands. Maybe her brother?”

“What do you know about her brother? She wouldn’t speak of him to anyone, not here.” Elain asked, suspicious.

“Why not? She mentioned her mate.” He asked casually.

“Bryce is very protective of her brother.” She warned. She wasn't fooled, and remained suspicious.

“She protects him?” This surprised him. Afterall he’d seen Ruhn fight, the male could protect himself.

“Yes, their family bond is very strong.” Elain’s scent turned sweet like honey, like it did when she was afraid or angry.

“Azriel, what do you know about her brother?” Bryce wasn’t the only one being protective of Ruhn apparently. Maybe Elain wasn't watching only Bryce but him as well.

“There’s a vision of him on her phone of his fight when he was captured.” Azriel could tell her what he, Mor and Lucien had seen and shared with Rhysand.

“It’s a recording, it’s called a video.” She corrected. Her arrogance at knowing better about Bryce’s world made him smile. She was reminding him she was the expert. “So, you have seen him?” She knew about how closely he resembled Rhysand.

“It was a fast-paced fighting video.” He used the foreign word proving he trusted her and did consider her the expert. He wasn’t ready to get into what Ruhn’s appearance meant. “He was far away. We couldn’t see him well. But he seems a very good fighter, like he could easily wield that sword.”

She nodded, and confirmed. “He did give her the sword that day, and she only took it to save it from the Asteri. He’s tried giving it to her before and she always refused it.” She told him.

Before he could ask why Ruhn, a powerful High Fae male, wanted to give such a notorious sword away, even to his sister. Or why Bryce would refuse it. Azriel’s shadows informed him that Lucien was up and walking in the kitchen in a second.

Of course Lucien ruined everything for him. He was always such a nuisance. Azriel turned back to the sink, and quietly finished cleaning the last utensils. Tomorrow, he would advise Feyre to send him back to his apartment. They didn't need him now that Mor was translating. And the Town House was a little too crowded.

Chapter Text

The Town house felt smaller than what Rhysand remembered. They’d removed the bedroom desk to fit Nyx’s crib. Where he was soundly sleeping at the moment. Feyre lay propped on pillows in bed, already deep in Amren’s book.

It was nice to have his family close by, but he couldn’t help feeling like he was failing to keep them safe. Nuala reported more intrusions at the River House. His latest wards against metaphysical failed.  

He was exhausted. With a heavy sigh, he stripped off his clothes, letting them fall carelessly to the floor. In the mirror, the purple tattoo caught his eye, vivid against his skin.

“Are you ok?” Feyre asked softly.

He met her gaze in the reflection, his voice low, “I kinda hate that I’m starting to like this thing.” A small chuckle escaped him. “I blame you.”

She didn’t smile.

He pulled his pyjama bottom on. “Bryce isn’t the villain, is she?

She slowly shook her head.

He exhaled again, longer this time. “Which means… I don’t know what trouble is coming at us.”

“Hey,” Feyre said gently, “Whatever it is. We will face it together. Like we always do.”

“I hate that we can’t just live quiet lives, like normal people.” Rhys complained. He could hear how pathetic he sounded.

Feyre laughed, “Normal people? I never met one.”

She patted the covers next to her, an unspoken invitation. “I don’t want a quiet life. I want our life. Chaos, magic, family drama and all. As long as it’s with you.”  

Rhys’s heart swelled at her words. Without hesitation, he climbed in bed beside her.

He nodded towards the book she held, her thumb still marking her place. “Learned anything interesting yet?”

Feyre smirked, “Talk about family drama. Turns out Amren has a bossy older sister.”

Rhys blinked. “What? No way.”

“Not biologically.” She clarified, flipping a few pages back. “But she didn’t come alone when they took physical forms. She and another… they choose to model themselves after sisters. One older, one younger.”

Rhys raised a brow. “And Amren chose the younger one?”

“Oh no,” Feyre said, laughing. “There was a lot of bickering about it.”

He blinked. “Amren lost an argument?”

“They actually fought over it.” Clearly Feyre was enjoying herself. “But in the end, Amren gave in. Said they didn’t come here to fight each other.”

Rhys let out a low whistle, and stretched an arm beneath his head as he watched her face. “Sounds like she was losing that fight.”

Feyre nodded, flipping to her marked page. “Her sister sounds… formidable. Calls herself Pheranzia. Ever heard of that name?”

Rhysand frowned slightly. “No. They were working undercover. Their names wouldn’t make it in any historical records. Amren’s never did.”

He turned his head, staring at the ceiling for a moment. A flicker of unease stirred inside him. “I never imagined she might have had someone before I met her. Amren was like an only child. Entitled, fiercely independent and absolutely terrible at sharing.”  

Feyre chuckled softly. “Still is.”

“Does the book say what happened to the sister?” Rhys asked, a note of worry creeping in. “Amren never mentioned having one. Ever.”

“I don’t know yet. I’ve barely started.” Feyre answered, eyes still on the page. “They are preparing for a mission in this chapter.”

Rhys sat up slightly. “If her sister is in the Prison, Amren would’ve said something.”

“Not if her sister’s a menace who deserves to be there.” Feyre said thoughtfully. “She wouldn’t mention her then.”

Rhys let out a slow breath, and lay back down. Staring at the ceiling again, “Whatever it is… It can’t be good.” He paused. Then added quietly. “That’s why she hid the book. She doesn’t want us to know about Pheranzia.”

Feyre didn’t answer. She continued reading.

His eyes grew heavy, the tension in his body finally easing, and his thoughts relaxed. With her warmth beside him, the sound of pages turning, he let himself drift.

Sleep was just starting to pull him under, when he heard it.

A door creaked open.

Then, a gasp and a dull thud. Something hitting the floor. Bryce’s room.

Rhys’s eyes snapped open. Feyre sat up, also alert.

“Azriel, report. What is it?” Rhysand commanded.

He responded instantly from Bryce’s room. “Something is outside. Elain and Lucien are out there. She told me to keep Nyx and Bryce inside. Away from the windows.”

Rhys was already out of bed. Nyx was sound asleep in his crib. Untouched by the rising tension in the house.

Feyre had crossed to the window. “I can’t see anyone out there.” She said, scanning the darkness. “Except Elain and Lucien.”

In the next breath, Cerridwen and Nuala slipped into place. Silent as mist. Positioning themselves slightly ahead of Elain. One to her left. One to her right. Their gaze fixed straight ahead, ready to strike.

“Report.” Rhys ordered Nuala.

Nuala’s gaze didn’t falter. Her words were a whisper, cold and sharp. “Just a few unwanted visitors High Lord. You are all safe inside. We’ll send them away.”

Outside, he could only see the wraiths standing by the fence of the front yard.

Lucien standing on the cobblestone path, next to Elain. He held her right hand, also staring straight ahead. In his other, a flame sparked to life. Bright, hot, controlled. Fire danced in his palm like it was waiting for a command to burn.

“Nuala, show me what’s out there.” Rhys begged.

When the image appeared in his mind, he shared it with Feyre and Azriel. Rhysand overhear Bryce asking what was outside.

On the street just beyond the wards, a dozen figures stood motionless, bodies semi-transparent, shifting slightly like fog on a cold breeze. They weren’t wraiths, but close. Not fully solid, yet undeniably present.

There was pressure in the air around them. A subtle hum of magic. It buzzed faintly in Rhysand’s ears, just beneath hearing. The sort of feeling that set instincts on edge.

They were fighters. That much was clear. Each one balanced, coiled, like the snap of violence was only a breath away.

But it was the figure standing a few paces ahead who made Rhys’s blood run cold.

Their leader.

She stood tall. Perfectly still. Commanding without saying a word.

She wore a sharply tailored jacket, jet-black and collarless, the lines sleek and unforgiving. None of the decorative flourishes or embroidered indulgences typical of local fashion. Just clean, merciless structure. Matching trousers hugged her long legs, pressed and immaculate, the fabric catching the faintest glint from nearby faelights. Her silhouette was unmistakably feminine, but her clothing, by Prythian standards would have been called male. Unapologetically so.

Her shoes were the only trace of color, blood red her high-heeled shoes were pointed like dagger-tips. They made her seem taller. Sharper.

Her posture suggested both elegance and brutality.  

Rhysand couldn’t place her race. The color of her skin defied categorization. Smooth, yet deadly pale, like moonlight on old bones. Her eyes were veiled behind thin, dark lenses that clung to her face without arms or frames. And her hair was tied back, slick, not a strand out of place.

Cold. Controlled. Unreadable.

“What can we do?” Azriel called from Bryce’s room, low and urgent. 

Before anyone could answer, Feyre winnowed.

She appeared in the front yard, on Elain’s opposite side, mirroring Lucien.

Elain’s wraith-like body stood slightly ahead, between the twins, her body translucent and shimmering faintly. A guardian. A warning. Or both.

Feyre, still in her silk nightdress, stood barefoot on the cobblestone path. Almost bare, looking vulnerable, but far from unarmed.  One hand gripped her sister’s hand. In her other, a single flame burned, small, steady and furious. Magic thrummed beneath her skin, hot and wild.

Rhys’s jaw tightened as he moved closer to the glass. His power surged with the instinct to protect her.

 “Feyre,” he said tightly, “you’re outnumbered. Come back inside. Where it’s safe.”

She didn’t move.

“No.” She said.

Then looked over her shoulder, towards their house. Her eyes gleamed with dangerous calm.

“It seems,” she murmured, “my quiet sister has more friends than we ever knew.”  

She showed him.

At the top of the steps, guarding the doorway, stood the silver wolf, Nyx’s protector. Her massive frame was taut with tension, hackles raised, a low growl rumbling deep in her throat. Her lips curled back to reveal gleaming canines, catching the moonlight like blades. She was waiting for the first enemy to step too close.

In the front yard, a middle-aged Fae female stood with two younger females at her sides, daughters, by the look of them. All three held staffs etched with runes. The white glow at the tips pulsed softly, like the steady beat of a warding heart. Their eyes were calm. Their feet bare against the earth. Magic pulsed around them like a soft noise of wind in tree leaves.

Against the brick wall, near the ground floor window, an elderly male leaned casually, smoking a long-carved pipe. The smoke from his pipe curled in thick tendrils, unaffected by wind, instead of vanishing into the air, they circled him like dark snakes ready to strike at his command.

Clinging to the outer wall just besides his window, impossibly quiet was a male with the upper torso of a Fae, and the lower body of a spider. His eight black legs splayed wide across the brick, gripping effortlessly. They moved in small, soundless shifts, like he was adjusting for balance… or patience.  In his hands, he held twin blades, curved and wicked, glinting with venomous sheen. His unblinking eyes glowed, seeing the invisible. His smile was crooked.

It wasn’t the only surprise waiting in the shadows.

By Bryce’s window, crouched low on the sloping roof, was another figure. Smaller. Armored in dark leathers. Her unclipped wings were folded tightly behind her. A bandolier of throwing knives crossed her chest, each blade slotted with precise care. A crossbow was braced against her shoulder. Steady. Aimed directly at the leader standing below.

It took Rhys a moment to recognize her.

But the way her eyes swept the street, cool and methodical gave it away.

“My mother is out there?” Azriel’s voice cracked through the silence, disbelief and something far more raw bleeding in his words.

Stepping into the window frame, searching with his own eyes and shadows. Neither able to see her.

And though her crossbow never wavered, and her body remained still as stone, she spared a heartbeat, just one, to look inside the window.

To look at him with quiet, fierce love. Then she faced forward again, as if nothing had broken her focus.

The enemy spoke.

Feyre’s gaze snapped forward.

“Elain Archeron.” The suited leader said, her voice smooth. Cool and polished.

She stepped forward. Each click of her blood-red heels echoing sharply against the stone. Deliberate. Measured. As if she had all the time in the world.

“My, how you have grown into your powers since we last met.”

She stopped just beyond the ward line, at the edge of fence. With slow, unhurried fingers, she removed the dark lenses from her face and tucked them inside her jacket.

Her yellow eyes, slit-pupiled, blinked once. Twice. Unhurried.

“And made so many friends,” she added, her lip curled into a frigid smile. “Such an upgrade from the sad little thing you were when we first met.”

Her head titled, just slightly. Her gaze slithered towards Feyre.

“Oh… Is that the High Lady?” Her tongue flicked out between her lips, quick and subtle, as if tasting the sound of it. Savoring it.

Her eyes raked over Feyre’s form, barefoot, clad in soft pink silk, the flame in her hand burning like a quiet warning.

Then her smiled sharpened. “Finally revealed your powers to your family I see-” 

“It’s late.” Elain cut in. Voice dripping with mock civility, “We can catch up some other time. Why are you here?”

“I'm not here to start an argument.” The female replied smoothly. Her tongue flicked out again, licking her top lip. “Or fight. You can send your friends to bed.”

“You first!” Nuala snapped back.

Her brows raised, faking offense, “Don’t mind them. It’s just that… travelling has become increasingly dangerous lately.” Her eyes narrowed on the wolf behind.

Her gaze drifted upward towards the window above.

“Ah, the High Lord has aged like fine wine!”

Rhysand stiffened as he felt her cold gaze slide over on his bare chest, lingering.

“I remember when he was just a sniveling boy…” she said, voice cold and cruel. “Crying so pathetically when his mommy and sister were murdered.”  

She raised her long fingered hand and gave him a dainty little wave, her smile sweet like poison.

“Have you told him,” she whispered, her hand by her mouth, hiding her lips as if sharing a secret, “what the future holds for him? How many more tears he’ll cry?”

“Enough!” Elain’s voice cracked like a whip. Sharper than he’d ever heard it. Sounding more like Nesta, than herself.

The female tilted her head, just slightly, just enough to mimic the hypnotic sway of a serpent watching its prey.

“You’ve changed Elain, dearest,” she hummed. Her voice slithered, slow and saccharine, “Not sure I like you as much like this.”

“You never liked me.” Elain said, steady and loud. Her hands pulsed with power, their outline becoming blurred and fractured. “You only saw a pawn.”

The women sighed, like a patient parent tired of correcting a child, “No need to lose your manners.”

Elain took a step forward. “You’re standing at the edge of our home, unwelcomed. State your business and leave.”

For a flicker of a second, the leader’s smile faltered. “It is late, and time is passing. I should get on to the business that brought me here.”

“I have a message for Bryce Quinlan.” She said smiling like it was a kindness.

“Don’t bother lying about her again. We know she’s inside.” She warned.

Then shifted her weight on one long leg, her hand planted on her bony hip. The smirk that curled her lips was almost lazy. Like none of this mattered to her.

“Her brother, Ruhn Danaan, has been found guilty of treason.”

A beat of silence.

“He will be displayed in the public place of Five Roses.” She continued softly.  “Splayed in the old ways.”

She tilted her head again. “A blood eagle. Until is death is final.”

Elain shuddered, “You cannot. Do you know what that will do? All those lives…”

The female’s laugh was thin, cruel. “Well. You know what they say about the future.” She licked her lip again, “You don’t know until it’s actually happened.”

“You need to stop it.” Elain repeated more forcefully.

The leader leaned forward, pushing against the ward. Her soldier moved a step closer. “Pass the message. It happens in five days. It can be stopped of course.”

She took one step back, spread her arms out, “If Bryce returns to Midgard, and turns herself in. The Asteri will spare his life.”   

Her yellow eyes slid to Lucien, as if she couldn’t ignore him any longer. She winced, slightly. Recognition.

“The Mother sure knows how to choose them.” She muttered, “You finally realized how much more useful this one is than that feeble human."

Lucien didn’t flinch. His flame grew. Silent. He stood next to Elain’s still body. Controlled. Dangerous.