Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was with a feminine fervour that the stars fell this year. As if the goddess’ sprightly daughters slipped in and tossed them about, dropping some along the way.

Glimmers of pale blue and gentle green bloomed across the night sky in the City of Starlight. Droplets sprung away like stray snowflakes, floating down slower to land atop the lashes of a baby girl in her mother’s arms.

Elation bejewelled the air, twinkling more brilliantly than the lights strung across each building lining the river. The clinks of glasses shimmered rich in there too, from the house above, reminding the stars who they were performing for.

On a red-stoned balcony, stood the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. Power thrummed around them, a blanket of prudence, concealing the Lady’s rounded belly from the touch of the stars. The Lord whispered into the Lady’s ear as they tilted their faces upward. A smile glinted on her painted lips.

A Queen was climbing a stairwell far beneath them. Pieces of hair hung loose across her brow, slick with sweat. The wall under her fingers was almost as rough as the ice and grit in her heart. She climbed to the top and laughed at the stars. Her knees knocked against the stone as she knelt before an Angel. And then she stood alone.

One star sprouted up high, red as a burnt sun and blazing like a wildfire. It bucked and thrashed, fighting itself, roiling and whirling, spinning and churning. The City of Starlight watched the display, awed, applauding and marvelling at the rarity. Downwards it fell, plummeting at a punishing velocity.

The High Lord of the Night Court snapped his head toward the star as it arced across the sky. He lifted a hand, as if in warning. A blast of dark power slammed into the blaze, holding true until it tore and plunged through that too. But it slowed it, just enough.

The red star landed with a muted thump in the dark ends of the City of Starlight.

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The High Lord of the Night Court had entrusted the High Lady with his cousin, and had sent the Spymaster to the city of horrors under the mountain in advance. It was the one the Queen had knelt before that walked beside the High Lord now, cresting a hill out of the bounds of the City of Starlight.

In the dark, the red star lay motionless in a mellow ditch, a sheet of golden hair sprawled across her body. An arm bent at the elbow, fallen limp over her torso. Steam and smoke wafted from her skin, fair and unblemished.

The Angel turned to the High Lord and spoke swiftly. He nodded.

She moved forward, down the ditch, prowling the perimeter. The Angel sank down meticulously before the red star, bracing elbows on knees. She reached out with a pale thumb and swiped a glowing splattering of blue starlight from the red star’s brow. She frowned at what she found.

The Angel peered over her shoulder at the High Lord and stared. Slowly, she shook her head.

The High Lord of the Night Court slid down the ditch and picked the red star up in his arms. Her golden hair hung long and heavy. He looked at the Angel once more before disappearing into a dark wind.

Chapter Text

Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius had been awake for many minutes. Awake, but with her eyes closed and head dangling over her torso.

Seated on something cold and high above the ground, Aelin felt the pull at her shoulders as her hands were bound behind her back, the thick rope itching against her wrists. The knot was familiar and classic; it would only take her thirty minutes to wriggle out.

There were holes in her clothes, baring chunks of her legs to the chill of the room. She could tell it was dark and secluded, judging by the stillness around her. And the sight of her own eyelids was growing too identical to the sight she had been cursed to perpetually, not even two months ago.

She wouldn’t move her legs to reach for purchase just in case she was wrong and someonewas watching. Why they had left them unbound was beyond her. Now that she thought about it, why they hadn’t put her in iron was beyond that. At least the people she was dealing with could actually be idiots, she supposed.

She strained to listen for any sound of them, but there was only silence.

Ascertaining the environment was the most important task at hand, she knew, but there was only so much Aelin could do stagnant.

And, there was only so much she could do with a racing, thumping heart and a whirring mind.

She needed to pull herself together; she had been brutally trained for these things. No matter that the rope around her wrists was hardening into the steely iron of the ornate gauntlets she could still feel sucking into each and every crevice of her hands. It was all she could do to thank the Gods that her face was free.

The thought of those damned Gods had panic flurrying in her anew. As if she should ever thank them at all. It was irrelevant now, anyway. There was no use in questioning what the hell had happened, about Elena and Mala and the Lock. Terrasen. Rowan—

A drip sounded. Just once, from deep below, echoing completely like a it had been dropped down a well. It took considerable time for the noise to dissipate—long enough to notice.

Once silence resumed, Aelin paused. Her heart continued its pumping, and she was about to curse the damned thing for making her whole body shake with each tense beat. She sniffed once, so quiet even she did not hear, delicately flaring her nostrils as the scent of moss and wet rock filled her lungs.

And that was all she could gather. A cold seat, ruined clothes, a futile scent, an itching rope, empty darkness, and absolutely no idea where she was.

An hour passed by—she could only guess—of more stillness, more silence. The nape of her neck was aching in a rhythmic pulse as the weight of her head was pulled further and further to the ground. Her body had calmed, but she still did not dare to grasp at her magic.

Aelin was about to throw it all to hell and open her damned eyes when a door groaned open directly in front of her. She stifled the jolt of shock that coursed through her body at the sound. There had been no warning before it, as if they had tip-toed up to the door. At least an escape existed.

Overlapping footsteps thudded softly against the hard floor as multiple people entered the room. Three, if she was correct.

They stopped moving, and Aelin could feel their presence around her. One directly behind her, and two in front. She’d have made a move, but… it was too risky without knowing what was around her.

The silence stretched too long. So long that, pathetically, Aelin was beginning to believe that she was imagining things. Maybe it had all been fake, and she'd awake on the rocky Endovier courtyard in Rowan's arms—

“Is she awake?” A sharp, female, and pointedly un-Rowan voice speared into the silence.

No one said anything in answer, and Aelin kept her breaths slow and deep, reminiscent of sleep. Gods, her neck throbbed.

“Wake her,” a smooth male voice ordered into the room.

A large hand pressed into the place between her shoulder blades, and she let it topple her forwards slightly, feigning true sleep.

Recovering to an upright position, Aelin opened her eyes. Within a second, she took in her surroundings.

A cell of sorts. A chamber, deep and dank. Elegant, black stone mixed with jagged rock along the walls. No windows, and a lot of darkness. There was nothing else in the room aside from herself and the three people. The door was shut behind them, lacking any locks from the inside. Obviously.

Aelin looked up with bleary eyes at the two people before her, schooling her expression into one of mild violence. They were Fae, judging by the pointed ears.

Not necessarily a good thing. She'd need to keep her heartbeat regular.

To the right, stood a petite female fashioned in gauzy grey silk. And as Aelin darted her eyes to the left, her heart fell to her feet. A male of evident power, but it wasn’t the rippling shadows and stars undulating off of him that seized her heart in a fist.

His eyes were a starry, deep violet, his hair as dark as night. Aelin nearly broke the stare as the full weight of the similarities crashed into her. There was only one other person she had ever met with such eyes of sparkling blue. And the glimmering stars in his magic—

Aelin racked her mind for any genealogy that could explain it, but there was nothing. She knew there was nothing; Maeve had given Aelin her whole damned life story in the billowing grasses of those wildflower fields. It couldn't be a coincidence, though. No, the resemblance was uncanny enough to restart the erratic beating of her heart.

She cursed it.

With her stare was steady and taunting, she limned herself with the threat of death despite her current position. She could flambé these Fae in a split second.

The third person remained behind her, out of sight. A scent of night-chilled mist lurked into her nostrils nonetheless. She was glad she hadn’t undone the knot for that third person to see, for there was a dense shadow shrouding the back of the chamber, as if an eclipse had darkened it.

She grazed her magic with the lightest fingertip, reassuring herself that it remained. No iron… The idiots.

“Start talking,” the small one ordered, remarkable silver eyes sliding over Aelin’s body as she spoke.

Aelin had used the hour to decide how she was going to play this. Or, at least, attemptto play it.

“I’m not sure what you would like to know,” she replied in a husk without smirking, hoping they would interpret it as true confusion.

“You fell from the sky,” the female said back, unimpressed.

“I did?”

The male beside the female tilted his head at a slight angle. She held in her mocking grimace. The edge of taunting in her words was a feeble attempt of light-heartedness. Who was to say they couldn't all be friends?

No damned iron. Aelin had to repress a laugh this time as they stared at her, scrutinising. She traced lower into her well of power, careful not to radiate the sheer scope of it into the chamber. She could melt that knot and bring down the cell in a single blink.

“Where did you come from?” the female asked, emotionless. Maybe they weren't going to be friends.

“The sky,” Aelin responded, cutting her a smile.

The female curled her lip and, with a slicing venom, said, “You seemed uncertain.”

The presence behind her stiffened as Aelin rotated her wrists once. “Untying me may act as an incentive.”

“So can other things,” was the female’s cool reply. She was cut off by a subtle raise of a tanned hand.

The male stepped forward, bedecked in a slick, innocuous looking onyx thing. It'd be a challenge to conceal a dagger in that, she noted.

“Where did you get this?” he asked blandly, gesturing to the gash in her forearm, just barely visible while her hands were tied back. From where she’d sliced into her own skin with a dagger in the Salt Mines of Endovier to stuff her flesh with the three wyrdkeys. Apparently the wound hadn’t had enough time to heal wholly. How long had it been?

“Myself. Awfully gruesome, don’t you think?” she added, crooning a bit.

He didn’t smile. “Where did you come from?” he asked flatly.

“Need we say it a third time?” Aelin retorted in a drawl. The feigning-confusion plan was off the table. She'd just have to improvise, for she hadn’t planned on living past the Lock. Hell, all plans were null and void now.

The male rose to his full height from the slight crouch he had been in. The move was a threat—a warning to comply.

Aelin stared blankly. “The Salt Mines of Endovier.”

They were silent for an unnaturally long second.

Aelin tilted her head sharply to the side, widening her eyes in impatience. She rotated her wrists again, earning a surge of darkness from behind.

The male spoke again.

“You are not of this world, then.”

She smiled. “If you tell me what world this is, I can confirm or deny.”

Her two interrogators said nothing. An impenetrable wall of people accustomed to getting answers in whatever way necessary.

“What is your name?” the male asked eventually.

At this point, Aelin had faith in her Gods-damned reputation to cross worlds. She very well knew this wasn’t Erilea, but she wouldn’t test her luck by giving up her true name.

She paused before she replied, in false apprehension. “Elentiya.”

“And a second name?”

Aelin shook her head.

He asked in a voice like midnight, “How did you find this world?”

She clicked her tongue. “Not going to tell me yours?”

She was being bold, she knew. This was not a male to be messed with, but when had that ever stopped her before?

He glared at her, darkness and stars rippling off of him. A curious magic. At least his power wasn’t that of the Valg.

“How? ”

“I didn’t find it.” Aelin met his star-flecked stare. “I was trying to get back to my own.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, and they were all silent once more. Aelin pooled down further into the fiery depths of her magic, spending part of it to mask the dive.

“Tell me your name,” she said, jerking her chin at the male.

She felt a glimpse of unease as he looked at her strangely, as if he were trying to see through her.

“My name is Rhysand.”

“Pleasure,” Aelin replied with a gracious smile. “Now that we’re acquainted, surely it’d be best to untie me.” She splayed her fingers out as she spoke, still aware of the presence at her back.

“Tell us the name of your world, girl.”

Aelin raised her eyebrows at the female, keen to participate again despite Rhysand, it seemed.

“Erilea,” she answered. “And yours?”

“Prythian,” Rhysand cut in fluidly, silencing the the female with a warning glance. “You are here unintentionally, you said?” he pressed.

“I would like to be in my own world, yes.”

“How did you get here?”

“I fell.”

“From the sky?” the female sneered.

Rhysand snapped his head toward her. “Amren.”

“Through a portal,” Aelin finished, glancing at the female.

They both narrowed their eyes at her, and Aelin plastered a dullness on her face.

“Explain,” Rhysand ordered.

Any other circumstance and Aelin would have scoffed. She licked her lips, cracked and dry, as she still gradually tunnelled deeper into her power.

“I opened it accidentally while researching magic. I was close to my world when I landed here.”

Rhysand glanced at Amren, and then the person behind Aelin. Then he looked back into her eyes, boring into them again. His brows furrowed—so slightly that most might not have noticed it.

Then, with a cold menace, something shifted in his gaze. “You’re lying,” he snarled.

Within an instant, a blade pressed against the side of her neck from behind her, another hand coming around her left to hold her throat. Her skin didn’t split—the weapon was wielded precisely—but she still held her chin up high, out of the way.

Well… yes. She was lying. But it wouldn’t do well to bestow these people with the whole story.

Of course, Rhysand. I was born a lamb for slaughter, of which I fulfilled in the past few hours by shoving three noxious shards into my arm so I could hand over my life and save my entire world. Alas, here I am, alive once more, yet again.

Amren rolled her silver eyes. “Just look into her mind already, Rhys.”

Aelin went rigid. As she did, the damper on her power fell off, displaying the scope—which hadn’t even begun to scrape halfway—to the entire cell.

Both Rhysand and Amren went wide-eyed, the latter taking a single step back.

True terror coursed through Aelin’s veins. No.

No.

She had spoken too soon about the male’s magic being unlike the Valg's—unlike Maeve's.

Is this what she deserved? To be subject to it all again?

She grappled to take hold of her own magic, straining and stretching to scoop it all up before it dove too deep. But—something was wrong. It was deeper than it had been before the Lock, the chasm delving to levels Aelin had never encountered before—

She didn't care. She would die before letting another person invade her mind. The Lock was forged. She could die without letting anyone down.

Amren stalked slowly around the perimeter of the chamber. “Get Nesta.”

The person—male—behind Aelin pulled away from her throat and murmured, “Cassian won’t be happy.”

“Cassian will deal. Nesta will be able to sense this better than I can.”

Aelin watched as Amren turned to the male still standing in front of the door.

“Get her, Rhysand.”

He vanished into thin air.

Chapter Text

Aelin hadn’t seen a sight like that since Fenrys had jumped through space in Skull’s Bay, months ago. She prayed to some distant, benevolent god that Rhysand was not bringing this Nesta to tear her skin off. The thought had a wave of dizziness coursing through her.

She sat still and silent in that chamber with Amren and the other male, the former watching her carefully. The male had removed the blade from her throat, but she could feel him lurking at her back. She had to talk herself out of striking him with a ribbon of flame.

Rhysand returned, a slender female with golden-brown hair in tow. She wore dark leathers, opposing the formal attire of Rhysand and Amren, and stood with an unruffled, cool sort of calm. Aelin Galathynius knew a warrior when she saw one.

Nesta’s blue-grey gaze slid over her.

And just when Aelin had thought she had seen her fair share of strange eyes…

She locked eyes with Nesta, holding the swirling silver stare as the female prowled around her nimbly in one big circle.

Aelin refrained from letting out a long breath as she finally managed to press all of her magic back down and immediately slammed the damper back on. At least they had only felt a sliver of it, she thought grimly.

Amren’s comment about Rhysand looking into her mind still rang in her head. Aelin could only hope that she would recognise the feeling and stop it before he got too far. The only reason Maeve had so easily weaselled her way in was because of the iron.

Nesta came to a stop exactly where she had started, and constricted her gaze in what seemed like concentration.

“I can’t tell-”

“Not in here,” Rhysand interrupted, stepping forward once more.

“Who are you?” Nesta went on, stepping forward as well despite the male’s command. There was accusation in her tone, not curiosity.

“Didn’t your companions tell you?” Aelin smirked.

Nesta snorted as the other male rounded to the front of the room, a hand hovering over the blade he had held to Aelin’s throat. There were blue stones attached to his leathers, glowing as if her sapphire flames were trapped inside each one. Shadows cloaked his frame like the wispy fogs of Mistward. That was all nothing, though, compared to the enormous, bat-like wings tucked in against his back.

Aelin pretended it was the most boring thing she had ever seen.

“My name is Elentiya. Lovely to meet you, Nesta,” she added with a grin. “Will you untie me?”

Amren said quietly to Rhysand, “What do you want to do with her, Rhys?”

Aelin rotated her wrists again, wriggling them up and down. Nesta was watching her intently, and she knew that the female caught the movement at her hands.

Aelin smiled at her.

Nesta jerked her chin forward, identical to the way Aelin had done it to Rhysand before.

“You can fight us, but you’ll lose,” she said.

Aelin released a single breath of laughter. “I am not going to fight you.”

The shadow-shrouded male’s hand drifted again toward the dagger at his side. But Nesta stepped closer, unaffected.

“Were you Made?”

What in hell did that mean? Aelin wrinkled her nose, amused. “From scratch?”

“Don’t tell her anything,” Amren warned Nesta. She pointed to the male with the blue stones then looked back at the female. “You did your job and told us what we needed. We’ll see you later.”

Nesta’s brows rose at the dismissal. But she looked at Aelin and smiled sharply. “It’s in your best interests to cooperate with them, you know.”

“Perhaps,” was Aelin’s reply.

Nesta’s eyes gleamed, dragging her gaze to pointedly stop on Aelin’s twisting wrists. She and the blue-stoned male began to turn towards the door when Rhysand spoke.

“Amren,” he said. “Go with Azriel, too.”

The petite female just curled her lip in distaste, short black hair swaying as she spun around. The door closed with a faint click as the three left the room, silence ringing in the wet, musky chamber.

Aelin met Rhysand’s glimmering stare again, penetrating inspection reflecting in his.

“I would like to get to know you a little better, Elentiya,” he said before clicking his fingers once.

Suddenly, a sleek black chair appeared under him. He sank down in one luxurious move, crossing one leg over the other.

Aelin just mimicked the movement, continuing to chafe against the rope.

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Nesta Archeron’s feet hit the tiled roof of the House of Wind, Amren and Azriel dispersing away from the edge.

She took in a breath, fighting the drooping eyelids threatening to engulf her consciousness. As she did so, she peered at the waxing crescent moon, high and alone in the sky since Starfall had concluded around half an hour ago.

Cassian was there, speaking with Feyre and Mor near the stairs leading to the house proper. They all snapped their heads towards them as the thump of their feet sounded.

“So, were you right?” Mor asked, directing the question at Amren. “She’s Made?”

The female shrugged, brushing past the blonde. “Ask Nesta.”

Cassian and Feyre came closer as Mor stopped in her tracks and watched Nesta expectedly.

She met the female’s brown-eyed stare.

Nesta hadn’t cared all that much for the fallen star, content to leave the matter in Rhysand and Amren’s hands. Especially after she had just started to mend things, just sliced the ribbon, just passed the Blood Rite Qualifier. Involving herself in official Night Court matters made her close up.

But when that roar of power had echoed like a gong through the lands… It had taken only minutes for Rhysand to appear in the House of Wind, telling Nesta to come with him. Cassian had protested, but it had seemed like a mere push with a finger to Rhysand, who had just winnowed her into a dungeon in the Hewn City anyway.

The female- Elentiya- had been seated on a tall stool, with hair somehow more golden than Morrigan’s, and a pair of magnificent turquoise eyes. They had honed in on her with a pierce as Nesta had circled the room, something like a lethal wit flickering in them like flame. The depth of the female’s magic had been unlike anything she had felt before, but…

“No.” Nesta shook her head. “She’s not Made.”

Mor frowned.

“What the hell was that power, then?” Cassian asked, moving to stand closer to Nesta. She, Cassian, Feyre, and Mor had been in the House of Wind when it had rumbled through their bones. A calling, an awakening. An unruly, unchecked augury.

Nesta peered at him. “I said she’s not Made. I never said anything about her power.”

“Well go on then, girl.” Amren had made a home against the red rock wall, somehow having attained a glass of blood-red wine.

“I couldn’t pick up on it all. It was strange. As if it works differently- reaches vaster limits than ours can.”

Cassian snorted, peeling away in his laughter. “Comforting, Nes.”

“You believe Elentiya’s power is Made?” Azriel interjected quietly, folding his arms over his chest.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“And do you think she’s a warrior?” Feyre asked her, chiming in with a hand on her rounded belly. She still wore her sparkling dress.

Rhysand and Amren had suggested that the female wasn't a warrior- that the lack of scars on her spotless skin was telling of a passive occupation. Or just one of exceptional skill, Azriel had indicated. There had been that wound on her arm, though…

“Perhaps,” Nesta replied.

It would be strange for someone possessing that much power, more than Nesta had ever seen or felt before, to not be a warrior. A waste, Eris Vanserra would probably claim.

“She has the tongue and gall for it,” Amren offered, nodding to Nesta. “Your type of character.”

“She also has fangs,” Azriel reminded them. Another oddity.

“Good day for Az, then,” Cassian said, moving to elbow his brother in the ribs. “It’s not every day a fanged female floats down from the sky.”

“She said that she wasn’t going to fight us,” Nesta said, interrupting a small disgusted noise from Mor.

“And you believe her?” her sister asked.

Nesta recalled the moment. How Elentiya had appeared almost amused at the prospect of a fight.

“Maybe she doesn’t know how,” Cassian offered.

Nesta shook her head as Amren said, “The chances of that are slim. But there’s no way to know with certainty until Rhys gets in her head.”

“He still couldn’t?” Feyre asked, as shocked as everyone else occupying the roof.

“No,” Amren said. “But he better. The last thing we need is a rogue powerhouse flaunting around the city with that babe on the way.”

Everyone glanced at the High Lady, standing with a frown and a hand still placed upon her bejewelled stomach.

Feyre cleared her throat after the silence stretched a little too far, rolling her shoulders. “Can we please move this inside?”

Everyone murmured their ‘of course’s’, Mor immediately hurrying over to her High Lady and sweeping an arm around her. Amren followed after them, disappearing down the stairs.

Cassian grabbed onto Nesta’s arm as they walked towards the doorway.

“You’re good?” he asked. “They- she didn’t hurt you?”

Azriel snorted softly from behind them.

Nesta gave him a swift nod, retreating behind the mask she had put on from the moment she had prowled around that female in the dark cell.

“I’m fine.”

And as she descended the stairs with Cassian and Azriel, Nesta didn’t regret not mentioning the other thing.

While it was still radiating in the air, there had been a burning shred of magic within Elentiya’s power that was identical to Nesta’s. Cold, fatal, and razor sharp. Almost imperceptible, but it was there.

Chapter Text

Rhysand had moved Aelin into a brand new dank chamber after speaking to her for what felt like seven hundred hours. He had untied her deftly, grabbed her right arm, and transported them to her current humble abode.

It felt exactly the same as when Fenrys did it. But Rhysand hadn’t seemed as weakened by it than her friend would get. The thought bothered her.

Yet here she was, lying on a brittle, metal cot, staring at the rocky ceiling.

It wasn’t as grim as the other cell, Aelin supposed.

There were around five times that she had nearly attacked the male. She hadn’t told him anything of value, but it had become increasingly exhausting to constantly come up with lies, or necessary evasions of the truth.

It seemed that his greatest concern of them all, however, was how she found the damned world of Prythian. That was a question that Aelin truly had no direct answer for. She had been falling through all worlds, and just so happened to land in one with an overbearing, incessant bastard for a leader. He had tried to make out her arrival as some sort of war declaration.

She had tried again to explain to the male that it was an accident, that she didn’t want to be here. He had deemed that insufficient. She could have sworn that he had become... troubled with each vague answer she gave. And she couldn’t understand why he hadn’t looked in her mind. It was almost more unsettling than if he did.

There was a look of perpetual predation pinned on his features. That, Aelin was used to. Supposedly, the essence of Fae males persisted across worlds.

The expression remained even when he did those peculiar frowns. In those moments, she had to repress the shiver that skittered over her skin as the image of Maeve flashed in her vision. He looked so like her…

And he was powerful. She could feel it, recognise it. Much like she could feel Rowan and Dorian’s- the way the cadre dove into their magic days before battle. There was something else in there, too. Something that was… imperial. Was he a king? Gods, not another damned king.

Either way, it didn’t matter. She just needed to get out of this cell.

There was no way to know what time it was, but Aelin felt tired enough for sleep. It wouldn't be wise to fall unconscious in such conditions, but... she was so tired. She hadn't slept properly for days. Perhaps good behaviour would appeal to Rhysand and his companions.

Aelin sighed and rolled to her side. The blanket they had given her was scratchy and brittle, but she pulled it over her shoulders anyway as she listened for any sounds beyond the chamber.

Nothing. Not even that dripping she had heard in the other one. It was as if she were underground.

It was only once Aelin’s heart had eased to the slow dance of near-sleep that she did it. As if she were coaxing a scared animal, Aelin reached out tentatively with her magic in a caress, curling like a gentle flame around the bond in her chest. It glowed faintly, flickering and achingly familiar. And so, so thin.

But it was there.

Her heart strained. She didn’t let herself consider what was happening on the other end.

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Aelin awoke to a sight of the same rocky ceiling, still drenched in darkness and the stench of wetness. Somehow the room was darker than it had been before.

Her body felt rested enough, but her mind was far from it. She sat up, hands braced on the cot beneath her. She was getting out of this cell today. She didn not care who she’d have to kill or maim to achieve it.

As she rolled her neck to the left, she spied a plate of food lying on the floor to the right of the door.

Aelin scowled.

Someone had been inside while she was unconscious.

Gingerly, she untangled her feet from the Gods-awful blanket and shoved them in her boots. Still sitting on the cot, she leaned forward to assess what meal they had deigned to gift her with.

Chicken- boiled by the looks of it. It was as pale as the moon. She twisted her face into one of disgust. Some mashed mixture was slopped beside it, garnished with a whole three specks of some herb. If it were any other day, she would have spat on the food. But her growling stomach thought otherwise.

The chill blowing on her legs reminded her of the holes in her clothes as she walked over to the plate. Surely they could have given her a change of clothes. A bath, perhaps. She stank.

Aelin crouched to pick up the plate, then found herself sitting like a lost puppy on the cot, chewing on the stiff meat. There was even less flavour than there was colour. The slop was nice enough. A bit chunky, and she would have added some spices, but…

Aelin blinked.

Something pulled in her gut. Nothing to do with the food- she had inspected the plate for poisons before she had even touched it.

She stopped chewing and raised her head to peer at the corners of the cell. The back wall was so dark that she couldn’t even differentiate between the bricks of grey rock. Squinting, she stood with the plate still in her hand and swallowed the mouthful of chicken.

On light feet, Aelin stepped over to the shadowed wall. With one hand, she held onto the plate. With the other, she gently traced over the jagged rocks, feeling the bumps and shards as she went. They felt normal and damp, despite being unusually dark. Something was strange, but it wasn’t anything physical.

Frowning, she turned to face the cot again and wiped her wet hand as she sat back down.

Aelin finished up the meal with her defenses heightened, then cast the plate aside. It rattled as it fell onto the ground, spinning around itself like it was trying to wake the whole world. She glared at it.

Restlessness and impatience were beginning to bleed into her veins.

Leaning on the wall beside the cot, she fiddled with a loose pebble hanging from the rocks. Five minutes of fidgeting had a whole fragment falling out into the blanket, cut rough and bulky. She smirked.

Over the next few hours, Aelin had managed to carve out and whet a few stone weapons. She strapped two of them in with the wrap around her breasts. The other one, she left in a much more accessible place.

Too much time had passed now, and her patience was growing thinner and thinner. Were they planning on keeping her locked in here forever? Panic did not rear its head, for a blast of her fire could incinerate the door and walls around her. It was only long-term necessity that had her waiting like a complacent, sitting duck.

Aelin stood abruptly and walked over to the door. She placed an ear against it, the metal smooth and cool. Again, she was met only with silence and stillness. She brought a hand to press the surface beside her ear, scratching her nails down the door slowly. In a flaring moment of ferment, her hand turned into a fist, and Aelin pulled her arm back to hit it against the metal.

The hand fixed in the empty air, tight as a stretched bow. But before it met its mark, Aelin pulled away, pushing against the door as she did.

The cot seemed to have grown more rigid as she sunk down onto it again.

There was just this intuition telling her that disruption would not do her well in this place. It wasn’t her forte to act so obedient, but it was the only way she could think of to get out of here. Maybe if she were in Erilea, she’d know how things worked, and she could have more of an idea how to get out of this situation. But she didn’t know these new rules. What if being in here was better than being out there?

She tilted her head back and rested it against the wall, keeping her eyes open.

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

Nesta stood straight-backed in between a red velvet wall and the long mahogany table in the dining room of the River House.

Cassian had flown them down here after training this morning, both called for a meeting that Nesta was apparently required for. She folded her arms across her body, grasping onto the straps on the sleeves of her leathers.

Upon arrival, the entirety of the Night Court’s Inner Circle had looked like they’d been awake all night. Rhysand’s features were raging with calculation, eyes sharp and fixed upon the surface of the wood. Feyre, on the other hand, bore eyelids that hung so low and heavy that Nesta wouldn’t be surprised if her sister fell flat on her face. She was barely two months from giving birth.

Amren and Morrigan had the same stale glower on their faces, the latter tossing her hair over each shoulder as she grew heated. Azriel was cloistered in a corner. According to Cassian the shadowsinger had a good portion of his shadows stationed in Elentiya’s cell. Apparently the female had been keeping herself busy by manufacturing stone weapons. Like sharp rock could do much against magic.

At least that observation had partially answered the ‘is she a warrior’ question.

They’d all been speaking for over an hour. Nesta hadn't really bothered to chime in. And although she didn’t know why her presence was necessary, she was glad for the time it took out of the library shelving hours.

“Did you notice anything marring her skin?”

The question hovered in the air, long enough for Nesta to bring herself back to the room.

Honey-brown eyes and a tilted blonde head gave her their attention.

“I thought we’d established that there were no scars on her,” Nesta replied.

“No,” Morrigan said, lips pursing. “On her forehead.”

“I didn’t see any.”

The blonde narrowed her eyes, opening her mouth to say what Nesta knew would be some low blow, but Amren interjected.

“If you’d have been listening, girl, you’d know we are speaking of the symbol I saw glowing there when she first hit the ground.” When Nesta frowned, the female continued. “A rune from an ancient, long dead language. The same as the Book of Breathings, actually.” Amren stood from her perch on the floral armchair. “I’ve been trying to figure out what it means since last night.”

That was all well and good, but… “So why would I have seen it?”

“You can identify and sense things that others cannot,” Rhysand said. “Seeing through glamours, for example.”

“There was no symbol on her forehead.” As the words left her mouth, the room stretched into an obscure intensity. And Nesta felt far away from the rest of them. She looked at Cassian beside her, his rough hewn features frowning at the table.

“Try again to see into her mind,” Feyre offered from beside Rhysand. He looked across to her sister at the meekness of her voice, tired, violet eyes surveying her. Nesta looked away.

“I will, but it won’t work.” His words were tense. “Her walls are made of fire.”

Feyre’s expression transformed into one of distaste and caution, like fire walls were some tactic immune to daemati power.

“Similar to yours,” Rhysand continued, nodding towards Nesta.

“Mother save us,” she heard Mor groan.

Nesta ignored the words. “You said mine were made of iron,” she said to her sister.

Feyre shook her head, then explained, “He means in the sense that he can’t get through.”

“So just ask her,” Nesta said towards Azriel this time, furrowing her eyebrows.

Everyone in the room turned to face her, a blank look on their faces.

She continued, “She’ll either tell you or she won’t.”

“There’s no way to know if she’s lying,” Cassian said from beside her, eyes scanning her face.

“If you don’t ask, you’ll never know. There’s no harm in simply questioning her about it.” Nesta said, aware of the fact that the words revealed her lack of faith in Amren’s translation abilities.

The female snorted and moved her glass to dangle delicately in her fingers. “The language is power,” she explained, whirling the blood-red liquid. “Interrogating Elentiya about it could alert her of an untapped magic she has access to-”

“And the last thing we need is more to contend with,” Rhysand finished. His hands were firm in his pockets.

Nesta said nothing. She had already spoken more than she had intended.

“So… what do we do?” her sister asked after a droning silence. Nesta wanted to roll her eyes.

Morrigan plopped herself down onto a crimson settee with a sigh. “Just keep her in the cell until she goes insane. She hated the Hewn City’s meal well enough, didn’t she Az?” she added, looking over her bare shoulder to the shadowsinger. He just shook his head with a frown.

“We can’t just keep her locked up,” Feyre spluttered. “She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“What do you suggest then, High Lady?” There was a thorn in Amren’s tone that had even Nesta’s brows raising.

A snarl ripped quietly from Rhysand’s throat. “Go back to your apartment and keep trying to decipher the symbol,” he ordered, pinning the female with a glare.

Amren just placed her glass on the table with a soft clink and smiled at the High Lord coolly. “You know I’m right, boy,” she said, leaving the room.

But Nesta didn’t fail to see the shine in Rhysand’s eyes. That he agreed with his second and did not want Elentiya out of the cell.

“How about putting her in some warded house in Illyria?” Cassian offered, shifting on his feet and leaning with his back against the wall.

Azriel spoke finally, shaking his head. “Kindling to a flame.” Shadows undulated around him as he moved closer to the table.

“And to what end?” Rhysand added. “It’d just be another cell with a prettier view, if we’re looking for an alternative.”

They were right, Nesta supposed, even as she didn't entirely understand what Azriel meant. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d all had this conversation before not five months ago. About her. The thought shook her. Enough so that she said, "The library."

They all turned toward her once more. She ignored the tugging ice in her chest at the look of their faces.

“Beneath the House of Wind,” she forced out. “There are living quarters in there, and she is a female in need of sanctuary.”

Rhysand was searching Feyre’s face as Cassian snorted. “Elentiya doesn’t seem the type to desire sanctuary.”

Nesta knitted her brows. “How would you know? You haven’t met her.”

He smirked. “From what I’ve heard, she’s not the easiest to deal with.”

“All the more reason to not put in her the library,” Azriel said. “She would disrupt the peace in there.”

Nesta eyes flicked to the floor. Elentiya could wreak havoc on such a haven. Her cockiness was grating and she was constantly squirming. But… Nesta could not picture the female bringing any harm to Gwyn, or any of the priestesses. Especially once she’d realise the stories of the females living there.

She chastised herself for the foolishness- Gods, she barely knew the female. She wouldn’t blame them if they dismissed the offer entirely.

Nesta raised her eyes and found her sister’s on her. Feyre was frowning slightly, but her expression was strained.

“The library is a good idea,” Feyre said suddenly.

Everyone turned to face her, and she spoke more. “It’s not a cell, but it’s not… exactly free.”

Her sister must have cringed at the same insinuation Nesta had: that the priestesses were not entirely free.

“A compromise,” Feyre finished.

Rhysand was nodding. “If that’s what you think.”

“I want all of us to agree,” she assured him.

The High Lord looked up from Feyre’s face and watched the rest of them.

“Sounds great,” Cassian said with a grin, slinging an arm around Nesta’s shoulders. “Nes will whip her into shape.”

She grimaced. She had not thought about that. She’d probably want nothing to do with the female after witnessing one more moment of arrogance. Even though curiosity sparked.

Mor rose from the settee. “As long as she behaves, I suppose. It doesn’t really affect me anyway,” she added with a small chuckle.

“Az?” Feyre asked.

The shadowsinger took in a breath, folding his arms over his chest as shadows curled around them. And despite everyone knowing that he thought it was a poor idea, he ticked up his brows in agreement.

“Azriel, ask Clotho for permission,” Rhysand said. “If she says yes, we will transfer her this afternoon.”

Chapter Text

Aelin’s eyes were drooping as she sat on the rocky ground, leaning against the wall beside the door. She had been for a while.

She was moving her hands along the floor’s surface, feeling the dust and sharp pebbles roll around beneath her palms. She dug her boots in to scuff the dirt across the room.

There had been no movement outside the door. No sound. No noise to drown out the thoughts roiling in her head.

Once she got out of this place, she’d be able to gauge the chances of returning to Erilea. And if it was an impossible task… Well, then Aelin would deal with that.

She had been in the cell for many hours now, which meant it’d likely be morning for them. That is, if she had only been unconscious for a few hours. She knew Dorian and Chaol would be okay- would likely be back at the camp. They’d need to start marching again. They’d be alright- they’d all be okay without her. But Rowan…

Come back to me, he had whispered before the Lock.

Aelin closed her eyes.

He would never forgive her for what she did. Maybe it was a blessing to not have seen his face when she had pushed Dorian out of the stupor. A blessing to not have to face him after her final deception.

She snorted to herself. Who was she kidding?

She knew she was going to listen to her mate. She would die trying to get back to him. Him and Terrasen. What purpose would she have otherwise? Especially in an utterly foreign world with nothing for her. She wasn’t about to establish an entirely new family in this place. And she very well knew that there was no Gods-damned way he was getting to her with the Lock forged and the wyrdkeys gone.

He’d be okay. Gavriel would make sure of it. Fenrys and Elide, and Lorcan. Well, maybe not Lorcan. But they would march and fight for Terrasen until their last breaths. The thought burned an unsteady passion in her heart.

When Aelin opened her eyes, Azriel was standing before her.

The flinch she let out through gritted teeth was small enough to maintain her dignity, and she raised her head to look him in the eye. He was quite intimidating with all the shadows.

Aelin brought herself to her feet, wiping her dusty hands on her pants.

“Hello,” she said brightly, refraining from asking what the hell the point of the door was if everyone was just going to jump in the room.

His stony face revealed nothing as he replied, “I’m taking you somewhere.”

Rowan had a rival in the stone-faced competition, it seemed. She hadn’t noticed before that the male’s ears were not the pointed of the Fae. Far from human, still, unless Aelin was completely imagining the shadows and the massive wings she had to force herself to not stare at.

“Another new cell?” she asked, head tilted.

“No,” Azriel replied, holding out his arm for her to take. “A library.”

Aelin ticked her brows up in approval. She couldn’t complain about that now, could she?

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

They reappeared in a large, mahogany room with grand windows obscured by pulled navy curtains.

Plush furniture decorated the perimeter, with dozens of doors leading off in different directions. There was a long dining table poised in the centre, a chandelier with strange yellow orbs of light bouncing underneath, and absolutely, positively, no books.

A most peculiar library.

There was a group of five people staring at her, though.

Immediately, Aelin’s eyes landed on a heavily pregnant female in a white blouse and tight-fitting black pants. She had never seen a pregnant Fae before- never even known or heard of one outside of her distant family. And Lyria.

The female had sky blue eyes and unbound, light brown hair. She looked young.

Aelin’s gaze was dragged to the left of the female, where Rhysand stood. His power rumbled through the room, and he stood almost trembling like a storm next to the pregnant female, as if he was waiting to twist whatever Aelin’s next move or word would be into one that justified an attack. That baby was his, she’d wager. She stopped looking at him.

Instead, she eyed Nesta. The cold female was unmoving by the wall, having foregone the leathers for a modest gown of pale blue. Beside her stood a hulking male, with red stones and those same wings.

Azriel remained at Aelin’s left, close enough that his arm brushed hers. The touch was more a threat than an assurance.

She didn't fail to notice Amren’s absence. Thank the Gods. She had been replaced with another, though. Her blonde hair hung in waves down her body, which was dressed in a rather scandalous red ensemble. Aelin held in a grin.

No one bore any visible weapons. But there was a taut, crackling tension in the air- enough of which that Aelin knew the people watching her were prepared to fight. As if she hadn’t told them she wouldn’t. She hadn’t lied; she would avoid a fight if she could. It simply wouldn’t do to take out a leader of this land. And killing a pregnant female was crossing quite the line.

Aelin didn’t try to hide the fact that she was scanning them all, and it was only once she had finished that one of them spoke.

“Elentiya,” the female next to Rhysand said. “My name is Feyre. Thank you for coming,” she added with a nice smile, as if there had been an alternative.

Wary of Rhysand and careful to temper her retorts in favour of life, Aelin just nodded at Feyre.

“We have brought you here to stay,” she explained, gesturing with her hand to the others, “while we figure out how to send you back.”

Aelin screwed up her features. “What makes you believe I have no way of returning?”

“Do you?” Feyre asked.

She turned her lips down in contemplation. “If someone gives me more information about this world, perhaps I will.”

“So you don’t,” said the blonde female, body angling in condescension. Suddenly the red dress wasn't so stunning.

“There’s a library down those stairs,” Feyre interjected, pointing to a wooden door on the right wall. Aelin didn’t look. “It is a sort of sanctuary for females in need. There are living quarters in there that will house you for the time being.” She added with another genuine smile, “We don’t want any conflict.”

“Never threatened any,” Aelin responded with a smile of her own. Females in need. She needed to get out of here.

“Nesta works in the library most afternoons,” Feyre went on. “She can keep you company among the other females.”

Aelin looked over at Nesta, who spiked her with a sharp, close-lipped smile.

She sighed through her nose. The female was her favourite of the group, anyway. And at least she wouldn’t be confined in the library, Aelin supposed in an internal grumble. Unless they decide to bar the front door to the house they were currently in and all just jump from one place to another.

Rhysand’s eyes were still on her as Azriel’s presence pressed into her side. She took in a breath, finding patience.

“Why don’t I help you find a way back to my world?” Aelin offered as kindly as she could. “It would be more productive than lazing about in living quarters.”

“We don't trust you,” Feyre replied, her voice steady, yet somehow more brittle than it had been before.

Aelin gritted her teeth. “I understand. But, it seems that I am adept at world-walking. I could be of great assistance.”

“No,” said Rhysand darkly.

“I suppose,” Feyre started, squinting her eyes a little, “you could research your own things about... world-walking in the library. There’s bound to be books on it, right?”

The question was for Rhysand, who finally turned from her to look at Feyre. Aelin only briefly caught the disorientation in his face.

His words opposed the expression, though, when he said with a hand to Feyre’s back, “Of course.”

Aelin had already known that a lot was going unsaid around her- for obvious reasons. But at that moment, there was a uneasy, sweeping aura in the room that altered the unbreakable exterior of the group before her.

“Best be off, then,” the female in the red chippered, moving forwards.

Azriel stepped away from Aelin as the female neared, shadows following his path.

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

Nesta watched as Morrigan and Rhysand escorted Elentiya down to the library.

The female had been smart for not starting anything with Feyre while Rhysand was in the room. Nesta had had to stop her lips from curling upward when Elentiya had tried- and failed- to give a genuine smile to her sister.

Clotho had given permission to Azriel for Elentiya to reside temporarily in the library. Nesta didn’t know what the plan was if that needed to be turned into permanence. But she couldn’t see the female staying in those living quarters for any longer than absolutely necessary. Either she'd escape, or Rhysand would send her to the dungeons again.

When the shadowsinger leapt from the balcony with Feyre in his arms, Nesta was left alone with Cassian again.

He strode over to the armchairs and slumped down on one.

Nesta followed, sitting on the edge of the green one opposite him.

“She’s nice,” he said with a sigh as he let his wings drape over the back of the chair. “Far nicer than what you all made her out to be. She must have seen Feyre and known to shut up,” he laughed. “Did you ask Gwyn and the priestesses about it while you were down there today?”

Nesta nodded. “I did.”

“And?”

“They were fine.”

Cassian raised his brows. “Really?”

Nesta shrugged. “She’s female.” She repressed a smile as she remembered the apathetic wave of Gwyn’s hand when Nesta had asked her about Elentiya staying in the library. She was sure the priestess wouldn’t be so aloof when she found out how Elentiya had shown up in the Night Court. “I think they’ll always say yes if it’s a female.”

Cassian nodded.

“I’m surprised Rhysand and Feyre took up my offer,” she said without thinking. It was not as if the library was hers to give.

“Rhys will probably end up replacing Amren with you, at this point.”

Nesta grimaced. She quite honestly could not think of anything worse. And more unlikely. She frowned at him to continue.

“She’s been pissing him off lately.”

“Everyone pisses him off.”

Cassian’s lips pressed together. “You need to cut him some slack, Nes. He has a pregnant mate.”

“I know,” she replied, shaking her head to dismiss the topic.

“He asked me to show you this,” he said, reaching into his pocket. Out came two flat half-circles, decorated with patterns that Nesta couldn’t decipher from this angle.

“It was in Elentiya’s pocket when Rhys and Amren found her,” he continued. “Amren thinks this is Made, too.”

“What?” Nesta said, reaching for the pieces. He placed them in her hands and she examined them carefully. A dense gold chain attached to both ends. It looked like a necklace broken in half. Slowly, she aligned the pieces so that she could make out the pattern. Atop a deep cerulean base, the gilded ridges were intricately shaped into mighty white stag antlers, adorned with a flaming golden star above its head. It looked ancient. And beautiful.

“Is it Made?” Cassian asked after giving her a moment to look at it.

Nesta shook her head as she clicked the pieces into place. “It feels like it has been near something Made. Like it was dipped into a pool of it. But the thing itself is not.” It was strange to sense something Made through something it had touched. That hadn’t happened before.

She flipped it so the golden back was facing upward. She squinted at what she found. “There’s writing on the back.”

“I know,” Cassian said, extending his hand and bending his fingers to give it back to him. “Amren has been deciphering it as well as the other symbol.”

“It’s the same language?” she asked, putting it back into his palm.

“Apparently,” he said with a shrug, flipping it around in his hands. “Heavy, though. Probably worth a few hundred gold marks.”

“You’re not going to sell it,” Nesta said flatly. Despite having a merchant for a father and a materialistic mother, she knew the sentimental value of jewellery just as much as the monetary.

“Not yet,” he said, throwing it up in the air and catching it with a grin. “Amren needs to translate it first.”

“It’s not like any of you need more wealth,” she said, remembering Feyre and Rhysand’s five houses. “There’s no reason for you to sell it.”

“I’ll give it to charity in Illyria, okay?” he said placatingly. “Buy them something strong for when the Blood Rite finishes.”

She didn’t think he should just give it away.

“When is that?”

“The Blood Rite?”

She nodded.

“In a few days. Why?” he added with a smirk. “You want to do it?”

“No,” Nesta said, frowning.

“Speaking of in a few days,” he started as he stood from the chair with a grunt. “I’m meeting Eris for an update on Beron and Briallyn.”

She nodded slowly.

“Perhaps you could come along to decline a certain proposal.”

Nesta huffed a rather mirthless laugh. “I’m sure you can do it for me.”

“No,” he said gleefully, pulling her to her feet by the hand. “I want to see his face when you reject him directly.”

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

The blonde female had a slender hand on Aelin’s shoulder as they neared the library. Rhysand led the way, passing through the door.

The area was dimly lit, with those same floating lights hanging off of the wooden walls. To the right sat a grand desk littered with tattered books, papers, and miscellaneous clutter.

There was a thick curtain behind the desk, much obscured by darkness. Aelin heard gentle ruffles from behind it before it was pulled back. A slim female emerged, wearing pale robes and a pulled-up hood that shadowed her eyes. Her long white-blonde hair drifted straight down her front as she moved to take a low seat at the desk.

The female at Aelin’s shoulder kept her a step behind as Rhysand stood before the desk. When the robed female smiled faintly at the male, Aelin saw a myriad of rough and jagged scars tearing through her lips.

“Good to see you, Clotho. I hope you are well,” Rhysand said with a kindness so startling that Aelin looked at the profile of his face.

Females in need.

Clotho simply bowed her head in an unrushed, tilting motion.

“I’m sure Azriel has spoken to you of Elentiya here,” Rhysand said, taking one step back to gesture formally at Aelin.

Clotho nodded her head, looking over at her. Aelin couldn’t see what colour the female’s eyes were. She’d guess a deep brown- just like Nehemia’s. She watched as the female reached for a featherless quill under the overhanging edge of the desk, and took a quick moment to write out a message.

It was when Clotho lifted the paper to Rhysand that Aelin saw her disfigured hands. Intentional and permanent breakings of the main joints, meant to inflict such pain and long-term suffering. They rested at odd, twisted angles, making the pale scars stark against her skin. Aelin had seen cruel work like that before. The hands she had seen were cold and dead.

While Rhysand read the paper, Clotho set to write another. She extended her arm towards Aelin with the message in her hand. The female in red released Aelin’s shoulder so she could step forward and take it. Rhysand released a breath of laughter in reaction to his message while Aelin read hers.

It is my honour to have you here, Elentiya. Morrigan will show you to your bedchamber. Should you need anything, I will be here always. Morrigan and the High Lord, too.

High Lord? Fancy title. Aelin wondered if Queen topped it.

“Thank you,” Rhysand the High Lord said to Clotho. “I don’t know why I ever doubted you.”

The female’s lips curved into a smile again and she shook her head.

Aelin wasn’t sure what to say to her, so when Morrigan’s hand dug into her shoulder again to steer her down a sloping hall, Aelin smiled at Clotho and said, “Thank you.”

Rhysand led the way once more, despite the note saying only Morrigan would. Once they had reached a dark, secluded alcove, he stopped and turned to face Aelin. His shoulders were set, and the menace was hardened on his face again. He waved his hand for Morrigan to wait in the hall.

“You are not to do any independent research regarding travelling between worlds,” he said in a cutting whisper. “We’re trusting you to keep the peace down here. If I hear of any disruption, you’re out.”

Ah. So Feyre’s permission was null and void, now. Aelin didn’t have to ask where they’d dump her. She cocked an eyebrow. “Feyre said you don’t trust me.”

He bared his teeth, pearly white contrasting the glimmering violet of his eyes. Maeve’s eyes. “I don’t,” he seethed. “Do you understand what is expected of you?”

“I understand entirely,” she replied, smiling daringly. “The lack of trust is mutual.”

“One wrong move,” he snarled through gritted teeth, taking a step closer.

“All I want is to go home, High Lord,” she replied coolly, patting his shoulder. A glaze slid over his wide eyes, and he took a step back. Smiling, she walked back out into the hall.

The living quarters were down many levels and off a maze of corridors. The walls were a deep red-tinted wood with the yellow light orbs bobbing throughout, and a long and thin forest green carpet lay along the length of the halls.

Rhysand had not emerged from the alcove before Morrigan had set off ahead of Aelin. She knew that provoking him like that wouldn’t help her, but it felt damned good to wipe out a stroke of ego from a male like him. She had needed to clench her fists to stop her flames from ringing her irises as he had stepped closer. But it seemed the threat hadn't been needed anyway- the male had taken a step back by himself.

No, she’d keep her magic on a leash. For now. Ideally, they’d not know of her fire at all before she returned to Erilea.

If she returned.

“This is yours,” Morrigan said, entering a plain bedchamber with cream bedding and grey carpets. It was then that Aelin noticed that she hadn’t seen a single window while down here. Was the whole damned kingdom underground?

Morrigan brought her hair to tumble over her right shoulder and stood in the centre of the room.

“Bathroom is there,” she said, pointing to a panelled door on the right wall. Her nails were incredibly long and red. “Change of clothes in the dresser.”

Aelin said nothing.

“Any questions?” the female asked, the flippancy in her voice a repellent. Is this how they treated their females in need? She wasn’t even looking Aelin in the eye.

“Am I able to leave whenever I wish?” It was the obvious question.

Morrigan snorted softly. “You can head up to the house if you’d like.”

“And walk out of the door?”

She nodded. “Sure.”

Aelin hadn't truly been suspicious. But now... There was a catch- somehow. She remained a prisoner somehow.

“When will I be hearing of the progress in researching for my return?”

The female looked at her incredulously. “You will be lucky to ever be in the presence of the High Lord and Lady ever again. You will hear from them when you hear from them.”

Sharp nails dug into the palms of Aelin’s hands as she held in a barking laugh. Who did this female think she and her friends were?

“Clotho will be expecting you at dawn tomorrow for work,” she said as she passed by Aelin, aiming for the door. “Check in at her desk- you know the way now.”

“Work?” Aelin scoffed.

“You can’t have honestly been expecting your stay to be free of charge, Elentiya,” Morrigan said with bitter amusement. “Oh, and before I go, give me those three weapons you crafted in the cell.” The female held out her hand.

Aelin chuckled and looked to the ceiling. She had no idea how they knew the number of weapons she had made.

She bent to unsheath the longest blade from her boot, then peeled the two remaining from underneath her wrap around her breasts. All the while, she didn’t break the female’s heartless stare. She’d make more weapons eventually. She only really needed her hands for now.

“There you go, Morrigan,” Aelin grinned as she passed over the weapons and pushed the blonde out of the room, shutting the door in her face.

Chapter Text

Clotho had given Aelin a scroll of moon white parchment listing hundreds of books to find and stamp after she had begrudgingly decided to obey sweet Morrigan’s request at dawn.

The only reason she had known it was dawn at all was because of the mellow bell that had chimed and glimmered through the living quarters. Bleary eyed, Aelin had opened her door and stuck her bedraggled head of hair out, finding females darting out of their bedchambers and chatting casually to one another. She had been about to find some clothes to change into when she had overheard a conversation between two robed females.

“Can’t you do it for me?” the brunette had asked.

“No,” the other had replied sharply. “I’m at training for a few hours. But I wouldn’t have, anyway,” she had added, laughing.

“Please, Deidre,” the brunette had whined, grasping onto the blue of the other’s robes. “I’m afraid of her.”

The female had pushed her off lightly and said, “Everyone is afraid of Merrill.”

“Not Gwyn,” the brunette had replied knowingly.

“Yes, well, she’s at training too.”

“Perhaps I’ll join today, then,” the brunette had said indignantly.

The other female had huffed as they were directly in front of Aelin’s door. For a second, she had turned her head toward her, letting Aelin see the long, brutal scar dragging through her left eye. It had been slightly hidden by the tight curls of the female’s black hair, but Aelin could see it well enough while it was stark and pale against her dark skin. She had only gotten a quick glimpse of the bright blue gem hanging on the female’s forehead before she had turned back to her friend.

That had been hours ago.

Now, Aelin was sixty-three books into the list, having hiked up and down sloping wooden paths that had to have been constructed by some demon. She slid the sixty-third back into place and chucked the stamp into the silver trolley that held the scroll up. It clattered about against the metal. A sharp shush sounded from the end of the aisle.

“Sorry,” Aelin murmured, turning to steer the trolley away. She had rapidly discovered that this was a traditionally quiet library. Fine.

She was about to emerge into the main aisle of the top level when a yellow light flickered a reflection in a golden plaque to Aelin’s right. It was ingrained into the dark wood of the shelf.

Multiple Worlds and Chrononautics:
“Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others.”

Her eyes widened and her body stilled at the words. Immediately, she raised her head to peer above the plaque, only to find the shelf barren and dark, dusted with cobwebs and lint. Under the light, there were rectangular shapes on the surface where the dust didn’t cover, as if the books had all been there a day ago. Aelin laughed darkly to herself.

Whoever would do such a thing? At a most inconvenient time?

Rhysand had better be careful, because if she wanted to, Aelin could become the peskiest menace their world had ever seen. Did he think she’d use world-walking to raise hell upon Prythian? She scoffed.

Pushing the trolley fully out of the aisle, Aelin was met with the sound of sparkling, radiant laughter from above. She was close to Clotho- could see her sitting at the grand desk from where she stood. The female also turned her head at the sound.

The laughter got louder when two people came into view, descending the stairs into the library. Both were clad in dark leathers and one wore a white ribbon around her head, reminding Aelin of Asterin Blackbeak’s leather strap. The one with the ribbon had long coppery hair pulled back in the centre of her head. The other was Nesta.

Clotho raised a shushing hand as they walked past her, to which the female with the copper hair responded with a quick apology.

Nesta saw Aelin then, the silver in her eyes vivid even from this far away. There was bright light beaming from the stairs, as if the sky were right there. It illuminated the pair from behind, as they made to simply pass by Aelin.

“Training?” Aelin asked.

Nesta slowed into a stop, her friend following suit.

She looked Aelin up and down. “I see Clotho has put you to work.”

“Indeed. Are you to join me?” She didn’t care that Nesta hadn’t answered her question.

Nesta hesitated, but it was contemplation that hovered in her gaze instead of apprehension. “Yes.”

Aelin smiled. “Wonderful. And you?” The question was for the red-haired female.

A soft bell chimed the hour, echoing strong along the currents of the library. The note ended, but remained humming in Aelin's bones.

“I’m off with Merrill,” the female explained precisely, her demeanour resolute. “So, no. Unless you’d prefer the scholar over stamping.”

Aelin wasn’t certain if this female knew anything about her, but the lack of hesitance in the conversation didn’t go unnoticed. Like the females in here felt less threatened by Aelin than Rhysand and his cronies did.

Merrill- the one the females in the living quarters were afraid of. So this female must be…

“I’m Gwyn,” she said, head high. “I also do really need to go. Happy working.”

And then she was off. Aelin watched the female disappear in an orange flash down a winding path before looking back at Nesta, who was watching her closely. The intense observation was starting to become unwelcome- Aelin was bound to plan for some sort of escape or retaliation, and she got the sense that the female would be able to foretell any plot just by looking in her eyes. More of a mind-reader than Rhysand the High Lord.

And Aelin didn’t know these people well enough to gauge the likelihood of Nesta ratting her out. She had been with Rhysand’s cronies, but had somehow felt separate. In aura, perhaps? Certainly socially. Aelin chose to prod anyway.

“This is just another cell, then?” The question was light, yet limned with a crook she knew Nesta would notice. Aelin had been mulling over Morrigan’s words last night. You can head up to the house if you’d like. Keen to locate the trick, Aelin resorted to asking before encountering.

The female paused before speaking. Her words were condescending in the literal sense, but her simple, curt tone belied it somehow. “Did you expect to be let out? I told you before that cooperation would have served you.”

There it was. Still trapped.

“Did I not cooperate?” Aelin raised a brow.

“Not enough.”

“I hadn’t realised there was a goal line.”

“You were indignant and haughty. Attitudes such as are not tolerated in this court.”

“Indignant?” Aelin held in a laugh. “I’ll give you the haughty, but indignant?”

Nesta cleared her throat, face emptying of emotion. “I suppose you are allowed in the house proper, but the library is more interesting anyway.” Her words were so obviously repressive of other wilder ones, retorts Aelin could see flurrying in her silver eyes. She frowned in response to the sudden vapidity.

Nesta began to angle her body away, but paused to look past Aelin’s shoulder at the golden plaque, devoid of the tomes it had borne probably a day ago. The female let out a small laugh, startlingly bitter. And then she contorted her face in a way that said this sort of thing was familiar to her, too. Not a look of solidarity or sympathy, but one of hollow amusement.

Aelin frowned more, so much that she was scowling at the female. Nesta’s expression didn't sit well with Aelin. There had been a knowledge in her eyes, discernment and awareness. But underneath, there was nothing. No fight, no bite. Just a raw acceptance of the way things were. It reminded Aelin too much of… bad memories.

The female was not as straight forward and transparent as the others in Prythian. The neat condescension that had hardened into plain blandness, then shifted into shallow bitterness. It was as if the female herself wasn’t sure what direction to step in. Much less sure of herself that she might come across as, maybe. Young, then. Perhaps as young as Aelin?

She went to speak some more, wanting to get at least another morsel of information out of the female, but Nesta was walking away. Aelin made no move to stop her, too distracted by a sharp point of an inky black tattoo at the nape of her neck, displayed below the coronet neatly tidied atop her head and hidden beneath the dark leathers.

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

Nesta stood in a wide aisle three levels into the depths of the library, watching Gwyn as she set herself into a defensive position and pretended to swing at an invisible enemy.

The priestess had been out of breath when she appeared behind Nesta minutes ago, explaining that she had a ten minute break from Merrill. She had immediately spoken of Elentiya.

“She seems fiery,” Gwyn said, an arm cutting through the air in a long sweep.

“You’re completely fine with her here, though?”

Gwyn groaned. “Yes, Nesta. Azriel already asked me before you did yesterday. I don’t need to be coddled.”

“I know,” Nesta replied, reminded of the memory of their first conversation where Gwyn had said the same thing.

Nesta finished stacking the last of the books, then moved to sit on one of the low chairs tucked in a closeby alcove.

“When are you going back?” she asked the priestess, who followed her to start swinging in the alcove air instead.

“Probably another few minutes. She’s actually not too bad today, so I could scrape out an extra few, I think.”

“Your death.”

Gwyn chuckled, taking a seat beside Nesta. “I feel really good, Nesta. With the training with you and Emerie, and the studying with Merrill. Brain and body, and all that.”

Nesta smiled at her friend.

“Merrill’s topics are really starting to interest me. Aside from her temperament, of course. She’s letting me finish up parts of the Valkyrie research, which I am more than happy to do. But I keep seeing what she’s doing at her desk, and...” Gwyn sighed. “Some of the stuff she’s looking at is unbelievable. Worlds stacked upon one another, travelling through universes and time? This is the sort of study I want to do.”

Nesta’s smile only grew before she spoke. “Did Azriel tell you where they found Elentiya?”

Gwyn frowned, shaking her head at Nesta to keep talking.

“She fell from the sky.”

Gwyn's frown deepened, twisting into blooming awe as her freckles crinkled over her cheeks.

Nesta continued. “She’s from another world.”

Gwyn stared at Nesta blanky. Then she stood up in a flash, towering over her.

Calmly, Gwyn said, “Are you lying?”

Nesta shook her head, a small snort escaping her nose.

The priestess’ face twisted in rabid disbelief before she gripped Nesta and pulled her to stand as well.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?!” Gwyn hissed through a grin, shaking her as she spoke. “If you’re lying to me…”

“I’m not,” she replied with raised brows.

“Nesta!” Gwyn abruptly pivoted and started scurrying away, back down to Merrill’s office on the seventh floor. But before she got too far, she swivelled to face Nesta again. “I’m telling Merrill now, so she can scout her. But tomorrow,” she said sternly, pointing at her, “you are introducing her to me.”

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

Aelin hadn’t thought she’d see the copper haired female again, but here she was, across from Gwyn who sat beside Nesta in an alcove.

After Aelin had finished stamping yesterday, she had returned to Clotho’s desk. The female had told her that the rest of her day was hers to do with what she wished. Naturally, Aelin had scoured the whole damned library for any books about world-walking. She’d only managed to cover a section of the top level, but a library was where Maeve had learned herself, after all. She hoped Rowan would kill her back in Wendlyn after dealing with Erawan. He and Fenrys. Or maybe they could hold her for long enough so that Aelin could one day return and drive and twist a serrated sword in the bitch’s heart.

This morning, Aelin had returned to Clotho’s desk again, just overjoyed to find another list of books to stamp. During those hours, Aelin had promised herself that she would not stay in this place for any longer than absolutely necessary. Otherwise, she might pull out each strand of hair on her head and tear them into thinner pieces. No windows. No speaking. No noise. No knowledge.

In between the stamping, Aelin had been pausing every so often to push the trolley into a corner and find somewhere dark. She’d lean against a sturdy wall and close her eyes. And carefully, she’d tug softly at the fragile mating bond glowing in her chest. Her heart burned. She could feel him on the other side, and it hurt. He was in pain. Rowan was hurting. Aelin could tell it was nothing fatal, and she had a reasonable guess as to what sort of pain it actually was. But she’d flinch whenever she felt it.

Could he feel her, too? Did he know she was alive? Or did he think she was dead? What the hell would have even happened to her body back in the Oakwald? She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that dull, prolonged ache as she had finished up the stamps.

But here, sitting before the redhead and Nesta, Aelin was reminded of none other than… Borte.

Gwyn had appeared at the end of the aisle Aelin was in a few minutes ago. The female had been practically buzzing. Jumping with that energy the young rukhin had somehow vibrated with after the battle at Anielle.

Gwyn had requested to ask her a few questions about her world- to which Aelin had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. She wanted to go back, yes, but if she had to talk about Erilea for another minute, she’d scream. But she had said yes anyway, since the female seemed like she might know something of use.

So Aelin answered all of Gwyn’s questions. And she’d found out that the female was a priestess, interestingly enough.

“How long have you been researching world-walking?” Gwyn asked, teal eyes bright.

Aelin sighed. “Around a year.”

“What-” Gwyn stumbled on her words. Nesta turned her head to look at the female. “You’ve only been studying for a year?”

Maybe she should have lied. She just nodded.

“And you succeeded?”

Another nod.

“How old are you?”

Aelin paused, rifling through the possible ways her age could be used against her. She supposed it might work in her favour instead.

“Nineteen.”

Nesta straightened slightly as Gwyn gaped.

“I don’t mean any offense,” the priestess said quietly, “but you seem far older than that.”

Aelin snorted. “I seem to get that a lot. Is it the bewitching bone structure?” she added, tilting her head.

Gwyn’s lips twitched, and Aelin only just caught Nesta’s nose screwing up.

Gwyn interrogated her for many more minutes, seemingly curious about what she was doing researching world-walking at such a young age. Aelin had then asked the priestess’ age in retaliation, to which Gwyn had replied with twenty-eight- barely ten years older than Aelin. She had to hold in a scoff. All the while, Nesta remained silent. She was watching Aelin again with those eyes, churning like a grey storm.

“And what manner of magic do you have?” Gwyn asked, leaning forward onto her elbows.

Nesta glanced sidelong at the female, pinning her with a warning stare.

This one, Aelin would absolutely need to lie. But she knew that they had all felt the scope of it, so any lie catering to the level of power they knew she had would be just as threatening as the truth.

She settled for, “What manner of magic do you have? You don’t wear the jewel that the other priestesses do.”

Gwyn pulled back a little, eyes flitting to the floor. The alcove clogged with a strained silence as Aelin remembered what the females in the library had had to go through in order to live here. She pressed her lips together, feeling the hard pain of guilt strike through her, before slowly opening her mouth to speak.

“Answering a question with a question,” Nesta interjected flatly. “Subtle, yet ineffective. It’s clear you do not want to reveal anything about your magic, so at least be up front about it.”

Aelin looked at Nesta while Gwyn’s shadowed eyes remained aimed to the floor. Aelin shook her head slightly, hoping Nesta could sense the remorse in her eyes.

“What do you train for in the mornings?” Aelin asked, throwing a pebble into the pond of silence.

But it was Nesta who responded. “Nothing in particular. It’s defense training.”

Aelin nodded. “How long have you been training for?”

Nesta raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “A while.”

Aelin’s gaze went to Gwyn again as the priestess finally raised her eyes, as green and blue as a lagoon.

“Valkyrie training,” the female said steadily, a resolve filling her body again.

Aelin released a held breath, and she could have sworn Nesta did the same. The female glared at her with her silver eyes. Aelin didn’t break the stare.

“I imagine you don't know the Valkyries?” Gwyn asked Aelin.

She shook her head.

So Gwyn told Aelin about the female warriors who fought in Prythian’s old war. How they were a clan of brave and brilliantly skilled fighters, their strength laying in trust, unity, and extreme training. Aelin could only think of Manon Blackbeak and her Thirteen. But the Valkyries had all been killed in a final battle, ending their line on an insignificant day with nothing left but a dangling reputation and legacy to be upheld.

“I’m studying them with Merrill right now actually,” Gwyn said. “We’re Valkyries, anyway,” she added, nudging Nesta in the ribs.

Nesta let out a small smile and Aelin raised her brows. The first light emotion she’d ever spied on the female’s face.

Gwyn stood, Nesta following suit. As they gathered their things, the priestess spoke again, her voice tentative.

“I’m heading back down to Merrill now, but yesterday I told her about you and she’d quite like to meet you. Are you done for today?” she added a little bit apprehensively.

Aelin was motionless as she watched the two females bend to pick up their books. Their dynamic was relaxed, and she was starting to like Gwyn. She could feel herself leaning towards pity for the female, but she could see in the priestess’ eyes that any coddling would likely snap her temper. The thought was familiar. She remained wary of Nesta, though. Aelin had prided herself on being able to read people. Growing up as a princess, and then an assassin, had demanded a certain set of social skills that were frequently overlooked in each profession. But Nesta… It was hard.

Regardless, Aelin most certainly was done for the day, but she hadn’t necessarily heard great things about the grand and powerful Merrill. On the other hand, Gwyn was studying ​​theories on different realms and how they intersect with Merrill.

So, Aelin smiled at them. This might end up being exactly what she needed.

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

Aelin followed behind Gwyn as she strode down the sweeping pathway, warm light flashing as they passed by each glowing orb. The library got darker and darker as they descended to the seventh level. Nesta walked behind them both, and Aelin could feel the female’s presence like a needle in her back.

Her heart was beating hard in her chest. It had been three days since she had fallen into Prythian, and this was her first chance at hearing anything about world-walking that wasn’t from her own memory. It had only been three days, yet Aelin could feel the likelihood of returning home slipping through her fingers like water with every passing moment. It was all that mattered. To hell with everyone else in this world.

Gwyn grabbed the handle and opened the door slowly. The room was quite small. Wooden, and completely scattered with books. Shelfs adorned each wall, climbing to the ceiling so high that a ladder lay resting beside it. Candles scattered the desk, towering above the items tossed on the surface. A brown-skinned female with bright white hair was fumbling through papers with her back to them in a corner.

“Stretching those break minutes, aren’t you Gwyneth?” Merrill said without turning around.

Gwyn didn’t apologise. “I come bearing gifts.”

Merrill pivoted at that, ivory curls whipping over her shoulder. Her face was stony and judgemental as she eyed Aelin.

“You are Elentiya.”

Aelin just nodded, biding her time to figure out how best to navigate the conversation. How best to glean the most knowledge.

“Excellent. I’ve spoken to Clotho, and she’s spared a few hours of your days for me.” The female’s eyes flickered to Nesta who stood beside Aelin. “You aren’t needed, Nesta Archeron. Get out.”

The female spun around again, gathering together what looked to be like a model of planets built with wires and metal. Aelin peered at Nesta and smirked, jutting her head toward the exit to emphasise Merrill’s order.

Nesta didn’t glower. She examined Aelin’s face closely, a flash of reluctance she nearly didn’t notice casting over her features- as if afraid of what might happen if she left Aelin in there. And she could have been imagining it, but she didn’t think it was fear for Gwyn or Merrill.

But before Aelin could analyse the expression further, the female left the room silently.

Gwyn was standing close to the desk Merrill was behind, wringing her hands.

“We’re well into the research, so you’ll have to find some way to catch up. I’ll assign you readings to complete in the evenings,” Merrill said, turning to face them once more.

Aelin nodded again plainly, merely interested in staying in this female’s good books.

Merrill continued. “For now, I’m too busy. But tomorrow, I’ll have you describe your world to me, and everything else you know.”

Aelin didn’t have it in her to be annoyed again. By her twilight eyes, she could tell that Merrill knew things of value. Hope reared its golden head in her chest, brushing up against the bond tethered back home.

“Gwyneth, sit. Elentiya, get out.”

And that was that, Aelin supposed. The priestess took a seat in a wooden chair before the desk, opening up to the last pages of a girthy tome mottled with dirt and dust. Aelin was about to turn to leave when a row of thick books set atop a bookshelf caught her eye.

She held in a hysterical beam as she beheld the sight. The tomes were brown and tattered, paper yellowed and sticking out at awkward angles. She read only two of the names before leaving the office.

Chronicles of the Timeless Odyssey

Celestial Threads and Temporal Boundaries

The missing books from the world-walking section. On the day after she noticed them gone.

Was it luck? Aelin could have laughed. Rhysand was either secretly on her side, or a Gods-damned fool. And her blood pumped harder as the gears in her mind at last oiled up and began to whirr.

Chapter Text

Nesta was cold when she awoke. Her arms were laying atop the covers, picking up the chill that the shaft of weak morning sunlight beaming through the window had not yet reached to wash away. She untucked her unbound hair from beneath her neck, rolling over onto her other side. Cassian lay beside her, still dead in a slumber. They’d need to get up within the next few minutes for training. She brought the covers over her shoulders anyway, closing her eyes again.

He had been prodding at her relentlessly last night after she returned from the library, apparently looking as if she were calculating some impossible problem in her head. It was partially accurate, she supposed. For how could Nesta possibly explain that she now disagreed with her own suggestion to move Elentiya into the library?

The female’s arrogance Nesta had assumed would be most grating had mostly disappeared, in favour for silence or easy acquiescence. It still had its moments, but not nearly as much as she had shown in the dungeon. Nesta had an inkling of which of the two personalities was the facade. What had instead become troublesome was the realisation that she had unintentionally become unspokenly responsible for Elentiya’s actions in the library.

Nesta did not consider herself a part of the Night Court’s Inner Circle. Nor did she want to be. But she wasn’t fool enough to assume that any mishap in the library involving Elentiya would not fall on her shoulders. So, the past two days of watching the female as she repeatedly stamped, returned to Clotho, then wandered the aisles, had been uncomfortably full of unease.

And yesterday, when Gwyn had asked the female a few questions about her world, Nesta had nearly ripped Elentiya’s damned throat out when the female had played on the lack of Invoking Stone on Gwyn’s forehead. She had immediately regretted introducing her friend to Elentiya, much like she had regretted inviting her into the sacred walls of the library. And just when Nesta had nearly snapped and asked Cassian to haul the female back to the Hewn City, Gwyn had introduced Elentiya to Merrill. Merrill.

Merrill with caches of knowledge and research on a plethora of topics, one of which being none other than alternate universes. Nesta had had to press her lips together in that office, holding in a scream. Frankly, she didn’t care on a personal level what the hell Elentiya did with her time. And though Feyre had allowed the research, it was Nesta who had guided her to it now.

And though there had not been a whiff of magic from her- though she simply awoke at dawn, worked for Clotho, and avoided everyone, it was as if a waft of trouble and impending doom followed Elentiya as she walked. Nesta just wanted to scrunch the female into a ball, throw her back to where she came from, and take one big step away from the entire situation.

But…

There was some part of her deep inside that panged with curiosity. A heavy weight anchoring her to the spot, unable to entirely want Elentiya gone. Nesta couldn’t decipher the feeling, whether it stemmed from mere inquisitiveness or something else. But the female had looked guilty after mentioning the Invoking Stone yesterday. She had explained that she just wanted to go home. She was only nineteen. She hadn’t done any harm, nor had she even ever threatened any. And there was that other thing. That sliver of sharp magic in the female’s power that was so similar to Nesta’s.

She’d hold her tongue for now. If it reached an unbearable point, she’d just launch the female off of the roof. But for now, Nesta would keep watching Elentiya. And maybe the female would one day talk about her magic, and Nesta could finally understand hers a little more. And then Elentiya could go back to her world, and both of them would happily forget that this ever happened.

A groan from Cassian roused Nesta from her doze, and the mattress beneath her shifted as he sat up. A large hand touched her shoulder, shaking lightly.

“Morning, Nes,” he mumbled as she opened her eyes.

The dawn’s sunlight was pale and watery, turned red through the membrane of Cassian’s wings. She just blinked slowly at him in response, unfolding the covers and heading for the bathroom.

Once she emerged with her hair tidied into a coronet, Cassian was in his leathers and throwing her own boots and leathers into her hands. She caught them easily.

“Rise and shine,” he said with a grin, clearly perked up.

“Mhm,” she replied as she began donning the leathers, still sluggish from sleep.

“Great day to see a certain Autumn Court snake,” he said, the grin still spread across his face.

Nesta groaned huskily. “The only reason you’re not punching a wall is because I am going to decline his proposal.”

“Reject him, yes,” he smiled jauntily, moving to catch her waist with large hands. He angled his head to plant slow kisses to her neck and collarbone.

“What if he stops working with Rhysand?” She wouldn’t put it past the male.

Cassian snarled softly against her neck. “I don’t give a shit. It’d be a blessing, actually.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, pushing him away lightly. “I don’t have the energy to talk about him anymore.”

“Eris or Rhysand?” Cassian asked jokingly as he pulled his own hair back into a knot.

Both. “Eris.”

“Then we’ll never speak about him again, sweetheart,” he replied smoothly before heading to breakfast.

Nesta tightened the straps of her leathers and fixed herself in the mirror before joining him.

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

Four days passed since Aelin met Merrill. Each day, she worked for Clotho for the first four hours of the day, then sat in Merrill’s dim little office for the afternoon. A callous was forming on the inside of her thumb from the incessant press of the stamp.

Biding her time, she told herself. The world-walking books were constantly within reach, but she had to be smart about it. Luckily, Aelin was no stranger to a scheme. She kept herself relaxed and unsuspicious, ensuring to remain as malleable and compliant a student as she could be. She did not give a damn about Rhysand’s warning. And if he had been smart himself, he wouldn’t have banned independent research only, anyway.

It was only on the fourth day that Aelin questioned where the hell Nesta and Gwyn were. Her thoughts had been too wrapped up to care in the past three days, but it didn’t feel like Gwyn in particular would be away from the library for this long of a time. But… Aelin didn’t care. Merrill didn’t speak of the priestess either, which meant more time for Aelin. And it worked well enough for what she planned on doing tonight, anyway.

Aelin’s eyes were trained on the clicking clock hung on the left wall in her bedchamber. She’d leave at one o’clock in the morning.

For the past few nights, she had stayed up late to track the patterns of the night-roaming priestesses. There were a few windows of time where the seventh level was mostly desolate. Merrill would head to her own bedchamber at midnight, awakening an hour after dawn, leaving a good chunk of opportunity that Aelin could work with.

There hadn’t been any sign of Rhysand since the day Aelin had been taken to the library. Nor had Azriel or Morrigan shown their faces. The memory of Amren had mostly disintegrated from Aelin’s mind, which she was incredibly thankful for. But their absence wasn’t entirely reassuring, and she didn’t delude herself into thinking they weren’t watching her movements in some way.

So she had taken the necessary precautions. Or as many as she could with the scant resources she had. There were six new weapons strapped underneath her clothes, three more hidden throughout her bedchamber, two tightened snares installed under and over the door, a tin of sturdy, metal hair pins, and a stolen priestess’ robe from the common washrooms currently draped over her body.

Aelin was cracking open the door the second the clock struck one.

The hood of the priestess’ robe was gaping and light, easily covering her head. Its blue silk was smooth and slippery atop Aelin’s underclothes. She made sure her gait was innocent and unhurried as she set down the sloping wooden pathway, and only spied a handful of females lounging or reading on her way.

Stepping onto the seventh floor, Aelin was simultaneously unsettled and emboldened by the empty, cavernous expanse before her. The books stacked on the shelves brought the only colour to the otherwise brown space, warming it up enough to encourage Aelin to continue her steps.

Gingerly, she made her way to an aisle toward the back end of the level, deftly putting her back to the wood and disarming a thin green novel from the shelf behind her. She opened the pages with a flick of her wrist, eyes roaming over the words. But her attention was elsewhere, devoting all efforts to hearing the sounds around her.

Silence. Not even a rustle of paper.

After a minute, Aelin slowly peeled herself from the shelf, keeping the novel in her hand.

She made two rounds of the entire floor, casually sweeping through every alcove and corner. There was no one. She returned to the aisle and slipped the novel back into its place, before lingering at the opening of the aisle before a door of goldish hickory wood.

Aelin did not look back before walking over to the amber door, unpicking the lock with a hair pin, and entering Merrill’s office.

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

The room was as black as the outside sky, those glowing orbs of light obviously extinguished for the night.

Aelin peeled off her hood and rounded the desk, feeling for the small drawer. She grasped onto the little golden knob, cold in her hand as she slid it open and blindly fumbled for a tinderbox to ignite the lights.

She grabbed hold of it, opening the tin’s lid as she moved to the front wall. Gripping the char cloth with a thumb and forefinger, Aelin went to place it in the blank orb, only to find the wall empty.

“What?” Aelin whispered into the darkness.

She felt around the wall, keeping the tinderbox in one hand, but there was nothing there.

Aelin cursed. She couldn’t read in the dark, and she wouldn’t bring the books out into the open library. The only other way was using her own fire on her fingers as torches, but that could be the stupidest thing if Rhysand had some way of tracking the use of magic.

She paused. Merrill had candles in here. Aelin would stare at the gilded steel holding the wax in the long hours slumped in this office. Nimbly, she felt around the desk before reaching a candle, and used the char cloth and tinder box to light the wick.

The flame illuminated the room, colouring the walls in a sweep of gentle yellow, and eventually reaching to light up a pair of round, pale green eyes.

Aelin jerked back, swearing.

The cat meowed as it sat unruffled on the desk, a brown and black speckled ear twisting to the right.

“Hey kitty cat,” Aelin breathed as her heart steadied into a regular beat.

It just meowed again, turning around itself to settle into a ball of white, black, and brown.

With the candle in her left hand, Aelin set for the bookshelves behind the desk, bringing the flame higher to illuminate the titles. And there they were. The two books Aelin had spied days ago, and a row of five others spanning across the wood. A measurement that miraculously matched the memory of the empty shelf on the top floor.

Aelin removed Celestial Threads and Temporal Boundaries from its perch, placing the candle down to flick through the table of contents. There were sections about planetary systems and bodies, the orbits of the stars, and chapters upon chapters on the topics of time travel- or chrononautics as they called it.

Not what Aelin needed. She slid the book back in place.

Chronicles of the Timeless Odyssey was equally as useless, with the entire tome full of ancient philosophers and their theories about travelling through time, a few claiming actual success. Aelin snorted and put it back.

She drifted through the next three, finding interesting things like the constant mentions of a Cauldron, but nothing drew her eye. It was the sixth book that finally held what she needed. The volume was light, and practically empty. It had been hidden between the thicker tomes, standing shorter and thinner. Her gaze roved over the table of contents, and something in her gut nagged at a chapter entitled The Dread Trove and Other Magical Objects.

Her heartbeats quickened as she thumbed to the correct page. The writing was steady and printed in an ancient, formal scrawl as she read.

Magical objects are a vague and profound host of power, ancient, many lost, and often relied upon for…

She skimmed the lines, reading the introductory sections quickly before reaching the main paragraphs. Each was labelled with its own magical object.

Aelin read about a Mirror of Beginnings and Endings that reflected the bearer's truest soul to themselves. She read about a small silver orb whirling with the power of truth, whatever the hell that was. She read about a Mask of rusting gold that held the power to summon and command the deceased, and an ancient Crown of golden spikes that ensnared the minds of those around it.

Her hope was dwindling by the time she started the fifth section. But it wasn’t long before it came soaring back in a roar of light.

A small golden Harp, legend says, trapped in the tomb of an ancient king in the caverns of Prythian with its coveted power. Along with its ability to move things from one place to another- even magic, the Harp is capable of opening any door, physical or otherwise, some saying that it is also able to open portals between worlds. So long as you know the precise location of your desired destination, a pluck of the Harp’s golden strings will take you there.

Aelin nearly dropped the book, hands shaking as she felt the throbs of her heartbeat in her head.

A Harp- the Harp. It was what she needed. And Rowan had inked wyrdmarks into the tattoo on her back, in some desperate attempt to tether her to him before the Lock. She pushed away that stab of guilt. There were instructions telling her how to get back home, right there, inked upon her flesh.

A smile split her lips.

“Thanks, kitty,” she whispered to the snoozing ball of fluff.

Aelin put the thin book back onto the shelf, unable to stop her trembling as she flipped through the last book. She found nothing of importance. That didn’t matter, though.

She’d go back to her bedchamber now, and use the mirror in her bathing room to copy the wyrdmarks down. And once she found the Harp, she’d pluck the damned strings and scream the wyrdmarks to the stars so she could finally get back to Erilea. Home.

And as she blew out the candles, slipped out of Merrill’s office, and made her way back to the living quarters, Aelin did not give the voice in her head, shouting of the impossibility of the task, any room whatsoever.

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

Today was dedicated to escape and discovery, Aelin decided as she left Merrill’s office the next evening. It had been a familiar sort of torture, sitting at the female’s desk as they worked, waiting to see if she noticed anything askew in the room or Aelin’s behaviour.

But, much to her surprise, Aelin got out unscathed.

The female had ordered her around as usual, having Aelin copy a demonic amount of pages of reports from a scholar in Vallahan. She hadn’t bothered to ask where in the Gods’ realm that was.

She had had to restrain herself from asking Merrill about this Harp. The female was bound to know a thing or two about it, but Aelin was far from trusting her enough to ask- it’d likely just fly into Rhysand’s ears that a strange, alien female was asking about a magical object in the depths of his library.

Aelin hadn’t had the time to search the library for books on the instrument, either. But that task was dedicated to tomorrow, Aelin told herself as she crested the top floor. In the best interests of efficiency, she should really start looking now. But, she had been wanting to try this since the moment she had been sentenced to life in the living quarters.

She passed by Clotho, who gave her a faint nod. Aelin responded with a bland smile, keeping her steps even.

None of the females in here really left the library. She knew of Nesta and Gwyn, and a handful of other females who’d train somewhere external in the mornings, but otherwise the exit was virtually barren. Which was why Aelin felt like she was committing some crime by nearing the main door. Not that she’d even care if she was, but the feeling in itself wrapped the entire prospect of the library in some strange veil.

Still, nobody stopped Aelin as she twisted the handle and opened the door to the staircase.

She didn’t hesitate before gently closing the door behind her and ascending the stairs, keeping her steps quiet in case she was to face someone at the top. The evenly cut grey stone walls turned into smoother red stone, swimming with veiny rivers of pale red bleeding throughout. She kept her ears perked up as she walked, preferring to hear someone’s presence before seeing it.

No sounds came. Not even when Aelin reached the top door and waited behind it. She couldn’t sense or scent anything from here, as if there were some shroud on the entrance. She palmed the weapons strapped beneath her clothes, finding the shapes and sharpness a comfort that steeled her enough to grip the handle and open the door.

The room looked the same as it did before with its rich, dark wood and dozens of closed doors. Except now that the curtains were pulled back and there wasn’t a band of strangers ready to turn her skin inside out, the room was bigger. The evening sun struck the walls in a violent gold, warming the mahogany enough to bring her to the verge of complimenting the place.

But all of that fell from Aelin’s head like dropped beads as she beheld the sight beyond the bare windows.

A sprawling city of pale sandstone and ivory marble, tucked between a curve of hills flanked by a winding blue river that impaled the expanse. She didn’t even have the mind to notice the lovely, ebbing dusk colouring the sky with blue and orange. The buildings were at a steady height and width, weaving over the smaller slopes like waves. Warm lights glowed here and there, casting the city in a sheen that blurred and glimmered like a painting.

But the beauty before her did absolutely nothing to peel one fragment away from the pounding, disbelief burning in her. Did nothing to shirk her attention from the fact that Aelin was looking at the city from the Gods-damned sky.

She crossed the room in a few long strides, launching open the glass doors to step out onto the balcony.

They’d locked her in a rutting tower. Like the shallow, half-assed villains of a fairytale.

Aelin had known that there would be a trick preventing her from escaping. But never would she have guessed a tower. If fury hadn’t been storming so fervently in her limbs, she might have laughed. She’d just have to make her way down, then. Aelin had scaled buildings before- how would a mountain be that different? Going downhill. From a height she had never once faced before in her entire life.

The black stone railing was cold beneath Aelin’s hands as she gripped it, eyes pinned on the city before her. She knew that if anyone were to look at her right now, the turquoise would be killed by a roiling, fiery gold.

She had to clench her jaw to keep the damper on her power. It had been too long without release, and strong emotions only made it harder. In Erilea, she’d siphon off the magic with little, trivial things like heating baths or lighting campfires. The constant restraint was starting to gnaw and claw at the inside of her skin with hot, blunt teeth. She rolled her shoulders and took in a breath, her grip on the railing unforgiving.

She stayed that way for a while, staring blankly at the buildings.

In the silence, a chill raked up her body, snaking like a vine until it fell cold in her head.

Aelin went rigid.

And gently, so gently she might not have even noticed, a sharp, fine talon grazed lightly at her mind.

She willed her heart to stay beating steady. Willed her body to stay still, to not tremble.

The presence lurking in darkness around her mind was thick. Glossy and predatory. It prowled around her in a slow, deliberate circle, evaluating the psyche before it. And Aelin knew who it was within an instant.

But Rhysand did not know that Aelin’s mind had been torn apart before, shredded and jumbled, then scrunched up and melded together in a mess once more. Maeve had tried every mind trick on her with talons of her own, shining and black as the void.

Rhysand did not know who Aelin was, or what she had endured. He did not know that Aelin’s mind was a muscle that had been toyed with and kneaded in the name of torture for months, which had done nothing but strengthen her ability to wield it in her own way. He did not know that Aelin had been waiting for him to make a move, that Aelin had learned of ways to manipulate a mind reader.

So Aelin kept the fiery walls of her mind intact. She let them soar high and hot, searing the darkness where it neared. And when Rhysand tried again, scraping at the fire with a needle sharp talon, Aelin let him in.

She kept her body full of paralysis and quietude as he invaded, praying to the long-dead Mala that she wouldn’t give anything away.

He pulled out when he had seen enough, the black claw precarious as it backed away into the shroud of darkness.

Aelin’s head was as silent and motionless as the world around her for a long moment as she stood on the balcony. Eventually, a smooth voice sounded from behind her.

“Enjoying the view?”

She did not shift as Rhysand moved to stand next to her, elbows braced on the black stone railing. She did not answer him, either.

“I most certainly am,” he continued, pivoting so his back was against the stone as he answered his own question.

The silence held over them like a hanging anvil as Aelin did not speak, pointed and inevitable. Shock was pulsing and fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings throughout her body. She had known of his power, yet she still couldn’t really believe that he’d done it. Used it on her. And that she’d gotten away with it.

Aelin looked at Rhysand without turning her head from the city. It took a decent amount of effort to keep her gaze bored. The last time she had seen the male, he had all but snarled in her face, clearly threatened by her. He had recovered from any instability, it seemed.

A small smile curved his lips as he surveyed her, violet eyes roving over her face.

“I am glad to hear that you’ve been behaving well in the library,” he said.

She tore her gaze from him, back to the city, unwilling to start questioning how he had heard that.

“Although,” he started, “I would largely appreciate it if you could stay in your room during nighttime hours.”

Aelin’s heart stopped beating for a second. He couldn’t know she had broken into Merrill’s office last night. She’d be dead if he did, she was sure.

So, Aelin would have crinkled her brows incredulously. Would have let a small laugh breathe through her nose. But the reality of the situation dawned on her. There was no realistic way she was getting her hands on this Harp if she kept acting like he didn’t scare her.

Rhysand would keep her locked up for as long as he deemed her a threat. But he’d already felt that fragment of her power, and had considered it threat enough to warrant this library situation. She couldn’t undo that.

Aelin clenched her jaw. Any angle she could approach him with, any part she could play. They were all doomed because of her stupid inability to keep that Gods-damned damper on her power.

So, begging her dignity for forgiveness, Aelin met the violet eyes of the High Lord once again and ticked her brows up in acquiescence. A blank slate was what she could aim for. For now.

Regardless, she still had to ask, “Where is Nesta?”

Something flickered in his face at the question, but the smile remained.

“North.”

Aelin stared at him, then looked away, nodding. “North.” Then she asked, removing her hands from the railing, “When will she be back?”

Rhysand clicked his tongue. “I cannot be sure.”

Whatever he was hinting at, Aelin did not like it. She hadn’t been worried about the female, but this conversation had certainly introduced the feeling. And what about Gwyn? Was she with Nesta? Or were they in two different places?

Now that she thought about it, Aelin hadn’t seen any of the usual females going upstairs to their training in the mornings. They were still around the library, but stayed in there all day.

There were things in Prythian that were different to Erilea. The clothing was sleek, showy, and smooth. Magic was used far more frequently in an array of ways, like disappearing into thin air or moving an object closer or further away with a mere thought. There were contraptions she had never seen before, big silver white ones in the bathing rooms and the kitchens. So it wouldn’t be smart to completely dismiss the possibility of something malicious happening that didn’t happen in her own world.

A voice cut off her thoughts. “Velaris.”

His tone was coloured with wonder, and some sort of quiet pride. Obviously she was unaware of what the hell Velaris was, but Aelin would not deign to ask Rhysand to clarify. The most she’d give him was a sidelong glance.

He angled his head elegantly toward the edge of the balcony. “The name of my city.”

She frowned slightly, raising her brows. She couldn’t tell if he was trying to trick her with this abrupt civility, or if he actually fell for the mirage she had displayed when letting him into her mind.

Aelin just nodded, appraising the land before them. She wanted to leave this balcony. Although she was confident in her magical abilities, one thing Aelin Galathynius could not do was fly. And a balcony this high paired with a volatile, fickle male was not something she really wanted to test out.

She turned away from the railing, heading back inside. She was about to walk through the glass doors when he spoke again.

“I think we are going to be great friends, Celaena.”

Aelin froze, blood rushing and thumping to her fingers and toes. She could hear the twisted smile in his voice, the smooth slickness in the tone of a male who felt the sweet restoration of dominance.

She did not reply to him. She kept walking, all the way down the stairs, past Clotho and the hundreds of aisles, and did not stop to think or breathe until she locked the door to her bedchamber and pressed her back into the wood.

Only then did she release the air from her lungs, eyes fluttering shut, and a strained, heavy sort of triumph settling in her bones.

She got the answer to her question, then.

Each time Maeve had invaded her mind throughout those months, Aelin would watch the Valg Queen weasel her way into her psyche as easily as swimming through the sea. Only watch, not interfere. From there, everything would blur into a jumble of warped memories and haunting illusions. But Aelin had always watched her go in.

The difference between then and now, was that Aelin had been covered in iron. Now that the muscles of her mind were as free, flexible and trained as Maeve’s herself, Aelin had finally been able to test how much she could really fight back.

So, she had shown Rhysand a few things in her mind. Some truthful, yet completely irrelevant and unuseful, and some total falsehoods. If she had to expose her old name to get Rhysand to think he had control over her, then so be it. She didn’t quite care, anyway; Aelin did not plan to interact with the male unless absolutely necessary.

It seemed that those two months locked in the iron coffin had not left her empty-handed.

Chapter Text

It ended up being a week before Nesta and Gwyn finally returned to the library, and Aelin had been stamping in the moment, of course. Clotho had begun to let her walk right behind the curtain of the grand desk to retrieve the scrolls of parchment herself. And all Aelin felt at the meagre promotion was wholly and miserably pathetic. Useless.

She did not give a single shit about stamping. She’d simply finish the lists off as quickly as possible so she could resume her search for information on this damned Harp. Every day, she’d bounce her leg under the desk in Merrill’s office, then dart into the aisles as soon as she was released. She didn’t dare ask the priestess about it, preferring to spend eight hours of every day scouring the library. But it was always, always fruitless.

On both the first and second levels, there were no sections or books about magical instruments. None. And whenever Aelin ventured down lower to stamp, she’d briefly scan the golden plaques with her eyes, but still there was nothing. And the panic was simmering as if a celestial hourglass was trickling through with sand.

Gods. It had now been ten days since she fell into Prythian. Ten days…

If the army in the Oakwald had started marching the dawn of her departure, they’d be making it to Orynth soon. To fight Erawan and Maeve, the Ironteeth legions, the Valg princes. And Aelin was pressing a cold, silver stamp into the thin pages of old books.

She needed a new angle- a new play. The only tools she had right now were the scant knowledge, and the ability to threaten. The latter was virtually useless, if she wanted to maintain the facade she had waved in Rhysand’s face the past evening. She hadn’t seen the male since. He was probably still smirking to himself, steeping in egotistical triumph and satisfaction. Aelin would have been doing the same, if the scant knowledge she possessed hadn’t been so damned scant.

The Harp was the goal. But she was locked in here. And she trusted no one. What could she do?

Aelin had been asking herself that very question when Nesta and Gwyn slumped into the chairs of a large, vermillion alcove slightly obscured from her vision. A third female with long, brown braided hair was with them. And- wings. She had wings like Azriel.

After that cursed conversation with Rhysand where he had claimed to be unsure of when Nesta would return, Aelin had not been able to repress the morsel of unease planted in her gut. The concern was feeble in the storm of her other worries, yet it lingered. So, seeing the silver-eyed female with gore, bruises, and slashes across her face and leathers, Aelin had to force herself to stay hidden within the dark aisle. She nudged a thick tome aside to peek through a shelf as she listened.

“Nesta, I’m sorry but,” the brown-haired female started, “can you explain it all again? Just once more?”

The female in question braced an elbow on the arm of the chair, sighing. “I- I can’t explain it. Or even… I don't know.”

“The Mother, Nesta. A deal with the Mother?” The brown-haired female was coloured with a look of such disbelief. What was the Mother?

“I’ll make a deal with the Mother if I don’t have to wash these clothes,” Gwyn muttered, copper hair dulled with mud and dirt.

Where the hell had they come from? A damned war? Was it whatever they were training for?

“In the moment, I didn't question it. But now…” Nesta shook her head. “I didn’t even use to believe the Mother was real.”

Gwyn made a noise of understanding. “I forgot humans don’t worship.”

Aelin frowned. Nesta had grown up with only humans? Aelin moved her trolley further into the aisle as she stepped closer to the shelves again.

“Can we stop talking about it now?” Nesta sighed sharply. “Everything’s fine, we’re back, Feyre’s good.”

“Fine, but I’m bringing it up again tomorrow,” the winged female said, lounging further into the seat.

“At training,” Gwyn added brightly with a beam.

Nesta groaned. “You’re not serious.”

The priestess nodded. “Cassian told me before. ‘Back at it in the morning’,” she said, taking on a male voice.

“Surely you can convince Azriel to let us at least have a day,” the brown-haired female mumbled.

And that’s when Aelin pushed the trolley further back and strolled in the alcove.

The females went silent when she appeared, watching her with keen eyes. She let them. Slumping into the seat beside Nesta, Aelin sighed and put her feet up on the low table before them.

“Hello,” Aelin said into the dead silence, looking each of them in the eye. “Been on a respite? Holiday getaway? I’ve missed you two terribly,” she said, nodding toward Nesta and Gwyn. “And I would certainly have missed you if I’d met you before.”

Aelin reached out a hand toward the winged female, shaking it as she grasped it. “I’m Elentiya.”

“I know,” the female said, somewhat amused. “Emerie.”

To hell with the pretense of docility, Aelin thought. She could be a little aggravating with the females in here without worrying about her survival. And maybe it was because she had repressed all irksome urges for the week they’d been gone, preferring to maintain good relationships with Merrill and Clotho, but Aelin just let it out.

“I’ll admit,” she said, smiling, “I know you weren’t on some sort of holiday.” She leaned in to Nesta a little. “You stink of blood and mud.”

The female screwed up her nose slightly, and blinked once- slow enough to be a retort in itself.

“Unless, of course, the holiday was of a gruesome sort.” Aelin smiled more, leaning back and aiming the next question toward Gwyn. “So, where were you?”

Nesta looked cautiously at Gwyn as the priestess answered.

“The Blood Rite.”

Aelin made a face, tilting her head. “That sounds awfully murderous.”

Gwyn nodded to Emerie, who explained the Blood Rite to Aelin. An annual ceremony that novice-warriors would participate in so that they could achieve the status of true warrior. A week in the mountains of messy, gory fighting and hand-to-hand combat, with no limits to the brutality or betrayals of killing.

An awful lot like her months in Mistward with Rowan, then.

“Well, shit,” was all Aelin responded with.

Gwyn snorted while Emerie cackled a confirming laugh. But why hadn’t Rhysand known when Nesta would be back? Unless he had just assumed she wouldn’t make it to the end of the week. The thought wasn’t warm.

“I thought you were already Valkyries?” Aelin asked, eager to find out what felt so wrong about the whole thing. Merrill had spoken to Aelin about the female warriors in their many hours together. And it made the females before her a bit impressive.

Emerie shook her head. “Different warriors. Illyrians.”

Aelin glanced sidelong toward Nesta as Gwyn started rambling about how furious Merrill must be. Nesta's silver eyes were dazed, blurred from their usual sharpness. She was staring toward the ground, face carefully blank.

Her gaze lifted and their eyes met, some of the bite returning to the silver. Aelin knew Nesta was aware that she could read the expression the female so carefully tried to hide. Something had happened. Something was different.

Nesta abruptly stood from the chair, mumbled something about bathing, and set off. Gwyn and Emerie paused their talking, watching with concerned eyes as the female walked swiftly up the pathway. And in that small moment of quiet, Aelin could see the back of Nesta’s neck. Could see that the sharp, pointed tattoo that had been there a week earlier had vanished.

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

A chilled breeze wisped past Nesta’s hair as she entered the House of Wind from the library. She closed the door behind her, trying to keep it quiet enough so she could retire to the bathroom unseen or heard, and spend the next five hours soaking in the bath in isolation.

She hadn’t been this exhausted since those endless nights laying awake in her father’s manor, hyper aware of the winged men standing guard outside and cripplingly paranoid of every creak and groan of the house. Except, that hadn’t really been paranoia at all, had it?

But somehow, despite the exhaustion, her mind was crisp, and wide awake. She hadn’t let herself think about anything but the present moment for the past week, barely able to retain any thoughts in the mode of pure survival. Her body was tired, certainly. But she wouldn’t be able to sleep. No.

The deep, hollow cavern inside of her thrummed, like an empty stomach grumbling for food. Every white flame that had once burned and churned against those walls was gone- torn away from her when she had offered them up. It hadn’t been nice- it had hurt. But it was worth it. More than worth it for saving Feyre’s life.

But would she be cursed with this heavy, unbearable emptiness for all eternity? Why hadn’t the Cauldron stolen that back, too?

Nesta gripped the handle of her room, leaning her full weight against the door to open it. She tried to breathe deeply.

Feyre was fine. The baby was fine. Gwyn and Emerie were alive and laughing. Cassian.

Cassian.

She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the thought of him away as she twisted the tap to fill the bath with hot water. The gushing sound consumed the space, matching the storm in her mind.

She stripped off her leathers, tossing them into a corner, and lowered herself into the steaming warmth.

She had only spoken a few words to him after the whole birth, and she could tell he wanted to talk to her. Very much. She couldn’t say she shared the sentiment. She hadn’t forgotten what he had said after the meeting with Eris the day she had been kidnapped into the Blood Rite.

Well, I didn’t have a choice of being shackled to you, either.

He had said it out of anger; she was familiar with the mistake. But… There had been some truth to it, right? Shackled. The wave of dread and heavy shame she had felt when he had said the words returned, sluicing through her like a ripping tsunami. Hearing him say it was like finally hearing what she knew he had been feeling the whole time. A damning, terrible confirmation.

And the look on his face. The annoyance that had been pulsing from him in that conversation. It was branded in her mind.

Now, only hours ago, he had been ready to stab himself in the heart rather than watch her die. And he had watched her with softness- with desperation in his eyes. It had simultaneously romanced and confused her.

Nesta rubbed her eyes and lowered her body so only her face touched the air.

She couldn’t help but think… Did he only act that way when Briallyn had him because of what he thought Nesta was to him? That word he had shouted at her in the streets of Velaris. Was what he felt real? Did she even care? Did it matter whether it was real or not, if it was what he felt anyway?

She released a sharp breath. Of course it mattered.

Arguments were normal in relationships, she knew that. But something about their arguments was… different. She had thought it was her fault, that she was the problem…

She always had been. In her childhood, in her teenage years, and now in the Night Court. Why was she doubting it now? Gwyn and Emerie and their unconditional love for her was to blame. She was getting too used to them.

Nesta had told them everything in the Blood Rite, like they had told her everything of their own. She had left out some of the things she never planned on telling anyone, but they didn’t matter. Gwyn and Emerie still wanted to be her friends. They still loved her. Unconditionally. Her breathing quickened.

She sat up and started scrubbing her body with lavender soap, relishing the scent that extinguished the thoughts of Cassian from her mind.

But, it wasn’t as if all problems had disappeared the moment Feyre’s baby cried into the bedroom.

While Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie had been in the Blood Rite, Rhysand had received letters from the High Lords of the Day, Dawn, and Summer Courts, demanding an answer as to what Rhysand was doing with the well of power he had sent booming across the land. Little did they know, the magic they were speaking of belonged to none other than the strange, blonde female roaming the aisles of the library below.

Nesta didn’t know what Rhysand had responded with, and frankly, she didn’t care. She had grown to believe that Elentiya was more than capable of looking after herself, likely even in the face of the High Lord of the Night Court.

To make matters worse, Azriel had added in the brief discussion after the birth that his shadows had reported sightings of something in the forests of the mortal lands on the eastern Continent- close to Koschei’s lake. Nesta departed before he had said what that something was. Or maybe he had just left it at that. Either way, Nesta could only pray that nothing in the mortal lands would ever be her concern again.

She didn’t bother asking why Rhysand hadn’t pulled them out of the Blood Rite before she left the meeting. It angered her, though. The fact that Gwyn’s first day out of the library in years had been met with a week of pure turmoil… Nesta clenched her jaw. The male could have at least found a way to get Gwyn and Emerie out. He had been the one to telepathically warn Nesta to be kind and respectful to the priestess, after all. Only the vision of Gwyn’s outrage at being coddled in any way calmed the irritation in her veins.

Nesta stood and drained the water from the bath, tiredness finally seeping through her. The sun was waning from its apex, keeping the House cool and just light enough.

She had been surprised to find Elentiya still inhabiting the library. She’d have thought the female would be long gone by now, especially with that power. In fact, Nesta would be attempting an escape from Rhysand by now if she were Elentiya. Did she even know of the stairs in the House of Wind yet?

The other courts had felt her power, too. That great grumble from deep within the earth. Maybe they should just hand her over to Helion who probably possessed an array of books about alternate universes. But… Nesta didn’t want her to leave before she could ask the question she hadn’t managed to stifle, even in the thick of violence and combat.

No one had spoken a word of the female even after Rhysand announced the letters. She wondered whether Rhysand’s Inner Circle was actually looking into this world-walking or not. They’d likely have just been preoccupied within the week, Nesta thought, even though a part of her knew Rhysand never truly intended to help find a way for Elentiya to get back to her world, anyway. At least that gave more time for Nesta to find out about the female’s power and in turn, her own, she supposed.

Nesta suddenly paused her dressing, a sleeve halfway over her arm.

Why did she even need to know anymore? Her magic was gone.

The cavern throbbed again, echoing the absorbing sensation in her heart.

Was it?

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

Nesta woke while the sky was still dark, her room dim and quiet.

She had fallen asleep in the middle of the day, after all.

She squeezed her eyes as she stretched, rotating to clasp the vacant bedding next to her. Her body yawned and ached, like a slumbering beast stretched out its paws inside her.

The memory of the past week surged in her mind, bringing with it that falling feeling. As if she’d been pushed off of a balcony. She could hear swords clanging, the swoosh of her arrow as she shot for Gwyn, the cries of the priestess as Nesta knocked her unconscious, Emerie’s cracked voice as they said goodbye to each other.

She felt her bones rattle in the rhythm of her sword and shield as she held the pass, meeting the blades of Illyrian after Illyrian. The snarling of Bellius as he beheld her, and the exhaustion that had gripped her soul and tugged it deep into the ground. But worse, was the memory of that croaking, vengeful voice- the rotting, stumped teeth of the mortal queen, Briallyn, as she had held Nesta on the peak of Ramiel.

It didn’t feel like it was all over. It wasn’t over. A mountain remained before her, bigger than any before. But it was shadowed in darkness, too large and obscure to make out properly. It boomed before her, howling its answers to all of her questions-

It was only after a few quick blinks that Nesta realised someone was knocking at her door. She released the breath she had been holding captive and loosened her grip on her own palms.

She had a good guess as to who it was behind the mahogany wood. But why was he here right now?

Wincing, Nesta rolled over and stood from the bed, taking the sheet with her to wrap around her shoulders. Without hesitating, she opened the door.

Not bothering to talk to him in the middle of the hallway, she then crossed the room again to get back under the covers. Cassian followed her in silence, tucking his wings in to fit through the threshold, and took a seat on the edge of the bed.

“How did you know I was awake?” she asked after they had settled.

“You’ve been in here for about thirteen hours. I was starting to get concerned,” he answered with a half smile. He was nervous.

“Oh,” she said flatly, thinking he might have been checking on her. “I just woke up.”

He nodded, looking away from her. His hair was cleaner and tidier in comparison to the wind-swept mess it had been the last time she’d seen him. He must have bathed. But he still wore his leathers.

“Have you been somewhere?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

He cleared his throat, eyes on her again. “Rhys had me and Az scout the area around Koschei’s lake.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Threats don’t sleep,” he responded, shrugging.

“Have you seen Feyre?” she asked, not caring about the threats. They’d find them and kill them. Not her problem anymore.

His brows furrowed at the unintentional desperation in her voice, but he shook his head. “She’s been asleep as long as you, I presume. Rhys is with the baby.”

She raised her eyebrows in acknowledgement, sinking a little into the mattress.

They fell into a pointed quiet, neither of them looking at one another. She wondered what he was going to say, since she most certainly wasn’t going to be the first to speak of it. She had a feeling that whatever he chose would upset her either way.

“About that evening…” he started.

Nesta stifled a cringe, but kept her face blank. She should stop him, cut him off. Tell him that he didn’t need to say anything, that it was okay because she was the one who riled him up in the first place. But she didn't.

“I did not mean what I said,” he explained assuredly, warm, hazel eyes flicking between each of her own. “You know that, right?”

When she didn’t respond, his chest heaved and panic frenzied his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Nes.” He stood from the bed and kneeled on the floor beside where she laid. “You had just turned down Eris, and I thought that had meant…” he trailed off.

Her throat tightened, a burning crawling up into her eyes. She tore her gaze from his, staring into the carpet instead. He had thought what? That she’d marry him now that her other option was null?

“You-” he tried. “You have to know that I don’t feel that way. I do not feel shackled to you.” He said the word shakily, like it hurt him.

“Do you not?” she asked, meeting his stare again.

The flinch in his face had her swallowing down the emotion threatening to overflow.

He shook his head emphatically, raising on his knees to caress the side of her face. “No. I don’t. I am honoured to be your m-”

Nesta sat up at the word he nearly said, forcing his hand away. She didn’t know why it made her react like this.

“Where were you in the Blood Rite?” she asked sternly, voicing the question she had been asking herself for too long.

He shook his head in disorientation at the switched topic. His mouth was stuttering open. Surely he had tried to get them out of there?

“We were on the continent,” he said slowly. “Briallyn captured Eris, and Rhys sent me and Az to retrieve him.”

They had been rescuing Eris. That’s right. She had known that; Briallyn had said so herself. But Cassian and Azriel had really been on a rescue mission for Eris Vanserra for an entire week? While her two innocent friends were dragged into the Blood Rite and forced to fight for their lives, their only chances of help were miles across the sea, saving a conniving snake they both hated.

She bit her lip, trying desperately to conceal her upset.

“I remember now,” she said.

Cassian’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Nes.”

She pushed her back into the headboard, pleading with her body to stop its shaking. She knew what he was waiting for her to say. It’s fine or Don’t worry about it. No matter how hard she tried, she didn’t have it in her. She wanted him to know that he had upset her. And maybe that was because the alternative was resorting back to their lustful couplings full of quarrels and unspoken words.

Cassian reached for her hand and breathed, “Nesta, please.”

She pulled it back, willing her face to fill with cold.

Without second guessing herself, she stood from the bed and strode to the door. She opened it wide, and tilted her head toward the exit. “I’ll see you at training.”

Cassian stood. “No, Nesta. We need to talk.”

“I do not retract what I told you, Cassian,” she snarled. “I don’t want to be one of you, I do not want to be a part of Feyre and Rhysand’s little family. I’m sorry that this is not what you wanted, but I can’t do it.”

“We need to talk.”

“Yes, you said that, Cassian,” she snapped, impatience bubbling into aggravation. “Not now, and not today. I’ll see you at training.”

Nesta went back to bed after he left in silence, stealing a few more hours of sleep before dawn.

Chapter Text

After training, Nesta said a brief goodbye to Emerie and Gwyn before washing herself in a lukewarm bathtub.

Cassian hadn’t spoken of their conversation earlier this morning, preferring to just stare at her from across the roof when she had asked Azriel to train her, Gwyn, and Emerie instead. She had just ignored him. Training, with all the females, was not the place to argue. At least he had listened to her request to not talk about it today. So far.

She dried herself after the bath, realising too late that it was his towel- his snow-kissed wind scent now coating her. After holding her breath for as long as possible, the inhalation she finally took in oozed through her like melted wax, blending the present with the memory of sleeping in his arms on the night of the Winter Solstice.

A shiver shook up her body as she focussed on the scent of lavender soap instead- a reaction she couldn’t quite decipher. She wasn’t sure she wanted to.

Nesta chucked the towel into the laundry basket, dressing herself in a gown of muted plum with third-length sleeves, and left her room in a rush.

Her plated slippers clinked against the wood as she descended the stairs into the library. She was earlier than usual, but she’d be damned if she waited around the House for any longer, and she was sure Clotho wouldn’t mind anyway.

Passing through the doorway, Nesta was met with a view of shining copper hair before the High Priestess’s desk. The hooded female was pointing at a few distinct lines on a sheet of paper. As Nesta moved further into the library, she realised that Elentiya stood beside Gwyn, elbows braced on the wood as she also watched Clotho.

How the hell could Gwyn bathe that quickly? Must be the river-nymph blood, she thought wryly.

Clotho’s eyes flicked up as Nesta neared, and she could see the female’s scarred lips spread into a kind smile. She gave a close-lipped one in return, remembering that the High Priestess had been told about the Blood Rite.

Gwyn pivoted when she noticed Clotho’s attention on the doorway.

“Is that one of Emerie’s?” the priestess asked, frowning inquisitively at Nesta’s gown.

A blonde head leaned up from the desk to peer at her as well.

A roiling yawn echoed in the cavern inside her- the phantom flames of silver power she had so desperately been pushing away over the past day.

Emerie had made the gown. It was one of the first Nesta had ever bought from her friend’s shop, back when Cassian had been hauling her into that blasted, snowy Illyrian camp all those months ago. She hadn’t worn it before, thinking the purple too… unattainable for her disposition.

Nesta nodded, unable to choose between acting normally for Gwyn or withholding the information from Elentiya. As if the dress would matter to the female.

“What are you doing up here?” she asked Gwyn before she had time to regret not praising the gown out loud.

“Merrill needs books, of course. Six, to be exact,” her friend replied. “Apparently Elentiya has been looking for an hour. I’m not going to tangle myself in amongst that mess, so we are asking Clotho.”

Elentiya raised her eyebrows at Nesta, seemingly content with the priestess’s explanation. If she had noticed the annoyance in Gwyn’s words, she hadn’t shown it. The female swivelled so her head rested on her hand, and the movement made little splatterings and splotches of blue ink visible on her pale fingers.

“And I found two in that grueling hour,” Elentiya said, smiling at Gwyn. “Impressive for a poor girl who has only been here for eleven days.”

A faint tapping brought their attention back to Clotho, whose smile had vanished in favour of an impatient frown. The High Priestess always had things to do- Gwyn was likely pulling her from a strict schedule.

So the priestess took a small note from Clotho, thanked her, and stepped away.

“Sorry, Nesta. We need to get looking or she really might kill us this time. Considering it has already been an hour,” she added pointedly as she pinched Elentiya’s white sleeve so she would follow her down the path.

Nesta bid them goodbye and took her own sheet and trolley from Clotho, ready to relish in the activity. The library was always her favourite part of the day. She tried to let the shelving enthrall her mind and pull her from the dread that twinged when she had seen Elentiya alone with Gwyn. She trusted that she wouldn’t hurt her- she had always trusted that. She couldn’t understand why it made her panicky.

Rifling over the encounter with the female half an hour ago, Nesta tried to pinpoint anything that she could deem out of the ordinary. Elentiya’s clothes had been the usual brown pants and white blouse, her hair clean and normal. She seemed well-rested, bored, and complacent- in no such hurry to prove anything or meet any goal. If anything, she hadn’t looked like she had cared enough. There had been those blue ink splotches on her hands, too. Likely from all the work Merrill was putting her through every day.

Shaking her head, Nesta shelved the fifth book, pausing to peruse at the contents. A book about the healing properties of magical herbs. Her fingers felt across the depiction of a blue glow thistle, the navy layered with azure and periwinkle.

Blue ink.

Merrill didn’t use blue ink. It was strictly black, all of the time. Everyone and the Mother knew that.

Nesta looked up, the book still open in her hand. Elentiya could just be doing her own research independently. Or maybe it was rogue splotches of ink from the silver stamp she always had in her hand. But maybe it was something else. Maybe it was the thing that was giving Nesta that feeling. Like an anchor was straining to pull her toward it.

It had distressed her, but she had been able to ignore it before the Blood Rite. Now… She was too tired to try. There was no way that Elentiya had just accepted her fate in this library, knowing her world still spun without her. Elentiya must need to know, much like how Nesta now did.

So, she fit the botanics volume back into its place, rotated her trolley, and pushed it down the winding paths to the living quarters on the third level.

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

Nesta hadn’t spent much time in the living quarters- only enough to accompany Gwyn when she needed something from her bedroom. It was obvious in hindsight, but the door to Elentiya’s room was locked.

Nesta had asked Deidre on the way down which room was Elentiya’s, and the priestess had known for whatever reason. But now that Nesta stood before the door, she didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t pick locks. And she wasn’t sure whether it would even be smart to.

Stupidly, she stayed blinking at the wood, trolley at her side.

“Nesta?” a voice sounded into the hallway.

She turned, meeting Roslin’s caramel stare. “Ros.”

The priestess’s brows pinched as she smiled. “What are you doing down here?”

Nesta opened her mouth, staring a bit blankly for a second. “I’m getting something for a friend, but I forgot to grab the key.” Guilt panged as the words left her mouth. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but she did not enjoy deceiving any of the females down here. Especially those who trained with and trusted her.

“Oh,” Roslin exclaimed. “Well, all the keys are cut the same. Just use mine.”

The priestess threw the small key into Nesta’s hand with the words. She swallowed down the discomfort that came with the easy trust Roslin had in her.

“Thanks.” Sniffing, Nesta angled the key into the lock and twisted.

“Is everything okay between you and Cassian?”

Nesta paused, the door half open. “What?”

Roslin shook her head. “Sorry, I… I don’t mean to pry. It’s just that I noticed something had shifted at training this morning.”

Despite Roslin’s popularity in the library, Nesta hadn’t forgotten the priestess’s loquacious and downright snoopy reputation. But there was no point in denying the obvious tense dynamic between her and Cassian. So Nesta only shrugged. “First day back, I suppose.”

Roslin nodded emphatically. “I understand. I still can’t believe you three were in the Blood Rite.”

“Neither can I.”

Roslin laughed, albeit a bit awkwardly. “You won, though.”

“Not me. Gwyn and Em did.”

“You might as well have,” Roslin frowned. “Held the pass like old Enalius, Emerie told us.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Of course she did.”

She stepped into the room, glancing briefly at the layout. A replica of Gwyn’s. Except, where her friend’s was decorated with shades of seafoam and blueberry, Elentiya’s was washed in beige and brown.

“I’ll wait outside, okay?” Roslin said.

Nesta confirmed with a curt nod and smile, shutting the door behind her. The hinges screeched and clicked as she did. Shaking her head slowly, Nesta forced thoughts of Cassian from her head again- about how obvious they had been. Then without a second thought, she sprung into action.

For there was a whole bedroom to search, and she only had a few minutes at maximum before she seemed suspicious.

She tipped up the bland paintings on the wall, carefully searched under the bed and bedsheets, and lifted the rug to check the carpet underneath. There was nothing in the small desk or dresser, not even any blue ink. The place was bare and desolate, the bed perfectly made as if no one had slept in it. The bathing room was eerily plain too, the toiletries neat and tidy.

Nesta scowled in the centre of the bedroom, head shaking in confusion. She stepped toward the exit, making to express her annoyance with being unable to find the object to Roslin. But as her weight pressed into the floor before the door, the ground creaked.

Nesta paused, looking down at her slippered feet.

She crouched, feeling the grey carpet. Her fingers snagged on a loose section, hidden as it had been folded under another loose piece. Gingerly, she peeled it back, brows raising as she saw the wooden floorboards underneath.

Shifting into a kneeling position, Nesta gripped a small hole in the wood, knowing where this was going. She pulled upwards, lifting the creaking floorboard from its place. She placed it atop the peeled back carpet to hold it down and peered inside the opening.

Inside sat a small stack of Merrill’s embossed papers, marked with that blue ink from a pot and quill beside them. She reached in and pulled the papers out, laying them on the carpet. Squinting, Nesta scanned the writing.

It was all in a different language. Symbols of sorts, much like the ones she had seen on the back of Elentiya’s necklace. She had no idea how to read them- no idea what it said. But why the hell was Elentiya hiding it? Was she some sort of witch concocting a spell to get back to her world?

The symbols were repeated down the page, as if Elentiya was practicing them. Each litany was four lines long, detailed meticulously, and more exact with each repetition. They were unlike anything Nesta had been taught before, even in the multitudes of languages she had studied with her grandmamma. These were random, uniquely shaped, and emanated a pulsing sense of primordiality.

With no way to record the symbols for herself, Nesta quickly double checked the hole in the ground, put the papers back inside, and fit the wood back on top. She stood, making sure to smooth the carpet as best she could, and opened the door.

She huffed, feigning annoyance as she locked the door behind her. “Couldn’t find it.”

Roslin pushed up from where she had been leaning against the wall, deep red hair swaying. “That’s a shame. I’m hoping your friend is not Merrill.”

Nesta forced a laugh as she tossed the key back to Roslin. “No.”

Without giving time for any silence to manifest, a melodic voice exclaimed, “There you are! Deidre told me you’d be down here.”

Gwyn came into view, face flushed from an obvious hurry. “Merrill needs another set of hands.”

Roslin snorted. “Speaking of the devil.”

“Oh, hush,” Gwyn chided breathlessly, grasping Nesta’s elbow. “Come with me.”

Nesta blinked as she was pulled from the living quarters, overwhelmed by the amount of people she had bumped into. The amount of people who had seen her down here. She knew they’d have no reason to tell Elentiya, but it was still uncomfortable.

In under one minute, Nesta found herself on the seventh floor, panting as she stood with Gwyn before Merrill’s desk. Elentiya sat in one of the chairs, blue hands flipping through the pages of a great tome.

Twilight eyes scanned Nesta as Merrill turned to inspect their arrival.

“Good.” She swivelled around again and let an outrageously long silence fill the room as she wrote on a piece of parchment. Eventually, after what very well might have been five dead minutes, the priestess spoke again. “I need you to go with Elentiya and find these. The girl needs to learn her way around this place.”

Merrill ripped off the parchment and chucked it onto the desk. It floated onto the mess already scattered across it. Nesta bit back a scowl. She did not like the priestess one bit, least of all her treatment of Gwyn.

Chair squeaking across the floor, Elentiya pushed back from the desk and stood, picking the parchment up deftly with her index and middle finger.

The female smiled at her, turquoise eyes twinkling. “No time to lose.”

Blonde hair whipped past her, smelling of crackling embers and a scent of lemon verbena so similar to the vines that had twined around the lattice archways bordering her family’s old beach mansion.

Nesta followed as Elenitya passed through the door. And as she closed it behind them, Gwyn’s muffled voice muttered, “I’ll be in here.”

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

“Blood Rite,” Elentiya enunciated into the silence, just as Nesta was starting to believe she’d be spared from conversation. She found it hard to look the female in the eye knowing she’d just snooped through her bedroom.

They’d found two of the eight books Merrill had assigned them, and it had already been ten minutes. The silence hadn’t been awkward, so she had no idea why Elentiya thought it necessary to speak now.

So, Nesta’s only response was a hummed confirmation.

Elentiya just nodded, and they kept looking for another few minutes. Nesta found the book- An Aged History- tucked on the end of an aisle. The rest of the books were on the upper levels, so she and Elentiya started up the sweeping pathway.

“May I ask you something?” Elentiya asked as they walked.

Nesta’s stomach dropped, and she turned her head to assess the female. Surely she couldn’t know about her invading the bedroom.

The rings of gold in her irises were bright. Blazed, but not accusatory. So, just because she was surprised at the sudden manners, Nesta nodded.

Elentiya paused for a moment as they kept walking, then asked, “Where did your tattoo go?”

Nesta was taken aback by the question, and she slowed her pace. How the hell did she know she had a tattoo? Let alone that it had disappeared?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Elentiya’s brows lifted. “You don’t?”

Nesta snapped her head toward her. “No, I do not.”

She heard Elentiya inhale, likely stopping herself from asking more. Nesta knew what her expression would look like right now. It wasn’t just Elentiya’s eyes that were blazing.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Elentiya said, and Nesta wanted to throttle her at the words. “It’s just not every day that a tattoo disappears.”

She was about to snipe a retort- enough to get her to shut up- but when Nesta met her gaze, she could have sworn something had banked in Elentiya’s eyes. A memory.

So instead, Nesta explained in a hushed, annoyed tone, “It wasn’t a tattoo. It was a bargain.”

Elentiya frowned, thinking. “A bargain?”

Nesta glared at her. “A deal made between two-”

“I know what a damned bargain is. What does it have to do with the tattoo?”

Nesta wouldn’t tell her anything else. So she settled for, “It’s how the magic works in the Night Court, I suppose.”

Quiet settled over them again. And Nesta knew Elentiya was mulling over the information as they crested the sixth level. In the next minutes, they found the fourth and fifth books. Nesta found them, actually. Elentiya was mainly picking up and reading the contents of some random volumes. So much for familiarising herself with the library, Nesta thought.

“The last three will be on the second level,” Nesta declared, adding the two books to the pile tucked under Elentiya’s arm. She nodded, following Nesta up the pathway again.

Did Elentiya not have magical bargains in her world? She said she knew what they were, but did she really? If she’d known the power of a bargain, surely the female would have made one with Rhysand when they had all been in the House. That way, it’d be guaranteed that he would look for ways to get her back to her world. Had his word alone sufficed? Nesta doubted it. Not that the male had bothered with Elentiya, especially now with the baby.

She wasn’t sure whether Elentiya really believed anyone was doing anything to help her. And that thought brought her back to the blue symbols painted on the embossed pages under the floorboard. They had to have something to do with an escape attempt. Or a… return attempt.

And now Nesta had seen it. She knew about it. Should she tell someone? Certainly not Feyre or Rhysand, and not Cassian any time soon. Morrigan and Amren probably forgot Nesta existed whenever she left a room. Azriel already had too much on his plate, considering his obvious disconnect at training.

“What else happened when you were gone?”

“What?” Nesta asked sharply, hurled away from her thoughts.

Elentiya shifted so the stack of (now) eight books lay flat in her arms. “I think something else happened that I don’t know about.”

Nesta snorted, despite knowing exactly what Elentiya was speaking of. “There is a lot you don’t know.”

“Evidently,” Elentiya drawled. “I’m merely curious, and it doesn’t hurt to ask.”

“It does,” Nesta replied. “What gives you the right to poke around in other people’s business?” She refused to note her own hypocrisy.

“I’m just a concerned friend,” Elentiya said, a flame in her eyes.

“You are not my friend,” she responded with equal fire.

Elentiya clicked her tongue. “Might as well just stab me in the heart.”

“There is no reason for you to be concerned. Even if something had happened, it does not impact you.”

“It does, actually. In case you have forgotten, I do not belong here-”

“No one has forgotten,” she interrupted in a hiss.

Elentiya carried on, unaffected. “And I do not know how this world works. You were the only person I knew in this rutting place and it wouldn’t exactly have been helpful if you’d died. Alas, you’re alive, but the world outside of this library is consequential to me, too.”

Elentiya shook her head as they kept walking down the pathway. “I know you don’t trust me, but all I want to do is get back to my home. Your High Lord just tossed me into this colossal library, clearly lacking any intention to give a shit about finding a way for me to return, and scurried away to whatever palace he’s lounging in.”

She stopped walking just as they reached the seventh level again, causing Nesta to halt as well.

“If there is a way for me to get home, I won’t find it in this place. I have a life back in Erilea.” Her words were vigorous, eyes dominant as they pierced Nesta to the spot. “I have a family and friends, and- people to care for. So forgive me if I question the happenings beyond the walls of this mountain, for it is the only way I can gather any semblance of knowledge that could begin to piece my way back home.”

Elentiya panted slightly. Nesta blinked.

Elentiya was clever and determined, that was obvious enough. And… Nesta understood.

She understood how the female was feeling, because the Night Court didn’t feel like home to her either. It never had. And maybe she had just been lying to herself these past months, convincing herself that she’d one day find a way to fit into the five hundred years of steel companionship amongst the Inner Circle.

And it was only now that she was realising that day might never come.

So Nesta understood Elentiya, even though the female’s arrogance was staggering. But… that behaviour wasn’t true either. Nesta did not know everything, but she certainly knew the difference between pure hubris and performative vanity.

But none of those words bubbled up. None of those thoughts. There was only one sentence on her tongue. And maybe it was the stupidest thing Nesta had ever done, but slowly, she looked toward Elentiya.

She lifted her chin, then said, “He is not my High Lord.”

A moment of quiet, wherein they just stared at one another. Then, a grin spread across Elentiya’s face, putting her sharp fangs on display. And Nesta knew she’d probably regret this entire conversation.

“You can give those to Merrill without me, I’m sure,” Nesta said, eager to get away and get back to her trolley she’d left in front of Elentiya’s bedroom.

So quickly she almost stumbled, Nesta pivoted and started to stride back up the pathway.

“Wait.”

Nesta froze, then turned around to look at her.

Elentiya’s nostrils flared, and there was a moment Nesta truly believed the female could smell the living quarters on her. Why was she so guilty?

But all Elentiya said was, “I like your soap.”

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

Aelin was a few hours into her free time when she finally gave up on the hunt for the Harp and read a romance novel.

Lounging across an armchair, feet relaxed on the arm of another, Aelin’s head started to loll as she read. It was crappy, sickly, and astoundingly corny. Just as she liked it. A great way to numb her fizzing mind after the conversation with Nesta earlier.

Finally, a trace of that bite and backbone had reared its head. Aelin had been waiting for it ever since she had first spoken to her. Ever since she saw Nesta watching Aelin unravel the rope from her wrists in that dungeon and not tell her captors.

But for all Aelin had sensed the stifled rebellion in the female, she somehow hadn’t expected those six words. He is not my High Lord.

It was quite a definitive, extreme statement to make- to not claim your ruler. All it had done was spawn new questions in Aelin’s mind. There weren’t many different things that it could mean, either.

Why did Nesta not claim Rhysand as her High Lord? Had something happened to deter her, or was it his leadership she found problematic? Her mind slithered into the darkest places. If Rhysand was anything like the King of Adarlan- like Maeve…

Did Rhysand know how Nesta felt about him? Or was this something she kept hidden? Surely he couldn’t know- he wouldn’t include her in his little posse if he did.

Aelin had read books and books about the seven courts of Prythian, now possessing a decent amount of knowledge. Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter were the seasonal courts. Day, Dawn, and Night were the celestial courts. She had no idea why there wasn’t a Dusk Court. Each had one High Lord, much to Aelin’s eternal dismay. What sort of hellhole was this male-run world?

Regardless, if Nesta didn’t like Rhysand, why was she still here? Why hadn’t she just moved away to one of these other courts? Unless… she wasn’t allowed to leave. What if Nesta was as trapped in here as Aelin was?

Her eyes moved over the words on the page, retaining nothing. She had stopped focussing after the impoverished laundress had passionately kissed her rich and powerful lover in chapter seven. Aelin sucked on her teeth.

Nesta hadn’t even answered her original question. What else had happened while she was away? Was it whatever had made the strange bargain tattoo disappear? Or had it been… Aelin’s thought stumbled. Had it been removed in another way?

The ink upon Aelin’s back had vanished after Cairn- after being shredded and healed over and over again. There was no way anything that extreme had happened to Nesta, though. Not when her friends had been with her the whole time, and they seemed fine. No, it was something else. Something deeper. Her scent? Aelin flicked over to the next page, her finger angry.

There was a low clinking sound upon the dark floors.

Aelin didn’t look up as slippers appeared against the orange carpet in the alcove.

Without tearing her gaze from the novel, Aelin swivelled, nimbly removing her legs from the armchair beside her. She crossed one over the other instead. Nesta moved wordlessly and took a seat.

“Have you come to apologise for rejecting my offer of friendship?” Aelin asked eventually, eyes still on the pages.

Nesta did not reply. Aelin could feel the female’s mind whirring.

And she knew what was probably flapping about in there. Nesta regretted saying what she said before. Aelin would have as well; it exposed a lot. But for what it was worth, Aelin was glad Nesta admitted it.

When she looked up, the female’s gaze was on her face. Scrutinising, with an edge of accusation. Her silver eyes blazed like they did before.

Aelin sighed. “I’m no snitch, Nesta. He’s not my High Lord either,” she added quietly with a grin.

“I came to ask you something,” Nesta interjected sharply, pointedly ignoring her words.

Aelin waved a hand as she put the book aside.

“Each morning, a group of females and I train on the roof of the House of Wind.”

They were both still. Aelin just stared at her. “Do my ears deceive me? Where was the question?”

Nesta glared, but managed to ask politely- albeit through gritted teeth, “Would you be interested in joining?”

Slowly, Aelin smiled, wildfire sparking in her eyes.

Chapter Text

There was nothing to worry about, Nesta told herself as she stood on the roof of the House of Wind. A spring breeze ripe with grass and frost flew across the mountain, whipping through the punching blocks dotted around the area as she watched Velaris.

Gwyn and Emerie were already on the roof, stretching on the ground beside the water canteen on the far side. Azriel stood next to them, likely explaining the plan for today’s training.

All of the females had sliced the ribbon, so refinement and meticulous skills were probably the focus at the moment. Still, some had yet to complete the Blood Rite Qualifier, but they’d all been put off by the recent events. For it was the Qualifier that got Nesta and her friends taken into the Rite in the first place. She didn’t think the priestesses would revisit it any time soon.

Besides, it was the Valkyrie techniques they really cared about.

“Hey.”

Nesta stilled at the voice, hands pausing their wringing.

She’d managed to avoid him all of yesterday. As a matter of fact, they hadn’t said one word to each other since she told him to get out of her room the other night.

“Nesta?”

She sucked in a breath and turned, her back now to the city. She couldn’t be fighting with Cassian this morning. Mother save her, Elentiya hadn’t even met him properly yet.

Hazel eyes met hers as he approached, wrapping his knuckles with white bands. His wings were outstretched to soak in the balmy sun, casting her in a reddish shadow.

“Good morning,” she said.

Cassian scrubbed at his nose, nearing closer. “How are you feeling?”

Nesta frowned, certain that she hadn’t given away her discomfort. “Fine.” She stopped herself from demanding why he had asked.

He nodded, coming to a stop before her. A few feet stayed between them. She hoped he wouldn’t bring up their argument. Her mind had been crowded by a wholly different matter this morning, so she hadn’t even considered having to talk to him about it again.

Nesta schooled her features into ice, imploring the expression to deter him from the subject. Her prayers went unanswered.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, eyes hardening.

“Nothing.”

He pushed. “What are you worried about?”

She gave him a bemused look, speaking flatly. “I’m not worried about anything.”

Nesta was worried. She hadn’t told him or Azriel about inviting Elentiya to training. Partly because she knew they wouldn’t have allowed it, but mostly because she didn’t want the rest of the Inner Circle involved. And Nesta knew Cassian would tell them.

But now she would have to deal with their reactions.

After all but running away from Elentiya yesterday, she had finished up the shelving and tried not to drown in dread.

He is not my High Lord.

She had been stupid, so stupid, saying that to Elentiya. She’d never even said anything that bold about Rhysand to Emerie and Gwyn.

The one sentence had single-handedly tilted the dynamic between her and Elentiya, and Nesta felt the leverage she had possessed between them slipping through her fingers. Rhysand very well knew her stance on his role and rule, but if he found out that Elentiya also knew… It wouldn't just be Nesta’s execution alone.

With each book she had shelved, she had contemplated ways to wipe Elentiya’s mind. For some reason she couldn’t decipher, she felt out of her league- as if Elentiya thrummed with the slick experience of politics and intrigue. But how could she? The female was nineteen years old. Nesta had six years on her, and a thorough education.

But she had to remember that something was different about Elentiya. Amren had thought she was Made, much like that strange necklace whose fate Nesta knew nothing of. There had been that gash on her forearm within the hours of her arrival, and she knew how to make weapons from rough-cut stones in a dank dungeon. She couldn’t treat the female like a friend.

Yet, Nesta had trusted her enough to give her those six words. She clenched her jaw, hands squeezing again.

Cassian interrupted her thoughts, eyes on her wringing hands as he spoke slowly. “You’re not going to tell me because you’re still upset? Or is it still… that that you’re upset about?”

He just had a way with words, didn’t he? She hated how precarious he was being, like he was walking on eggshells around her. He hadn’t acted like this before the Blood Rite. It made her feel like some wild, injured animal.

She inhaled deeply. “I’m not going to tell you because there is nothing to tell.”

A glittering laugh sounded from across the roof, and Nesta and Cassian both turned to watch as Gwyn tilted her head back, Emerie nudging her shoulder with a playful hand.

Nesta had found them after she had finished her work yesterday. And as she had laid atop her favourite forest green settee, she had thrown it all to hell and just told them both about her conversation with Elentiya. About how out of control she now felt, how it pained her that she could only patrol the female for a few hours each day, how she wanted her to leave Velaris, how she also wanted Elentiya to stay so she could give her the answers about Nesta’s magic she knew nobody else would be able to give.

And she had told them that she didn’t regret those six words.

Gwyn had smiled warmly at Nesta’s spiral, moving to put a hand on her arm.

All Emerie had said was, “Why don’t you invite her to training?”

And in that moment, Nesta had stood and found Elentiya to propose the idea. It was the answer to all of her problems.

At training, Nesta could watch her at all times. She could also gain back a sliver of control, being an alleged leader of the females- according to Emerie. And maybe it would also get Nesta closer to being able to ask about the magic.

So, after Elentiya had said yes, Nesta had stood, headed to the House of Wind, obtained a set of her old leathers, hurried back down the stairs, and given them to Clotho to pass onto Elentiya. Chewing her lip, Nesta had then forced her legs to lead her back up the stairs and straight to her bedroom, locked herself in, and fallen asleep at dusk.

“Can we talk later?” Cassian asked, pulling her from her mind again. His eyes were squinted and hopeful.

Voices chimed as the priestesses began to emerge onto the roof. Nesta’s body went rigid.

“Nes?”

“Yes,” she replied absent-mindedly, eyes flickering to the roof entrance.

Cassian released a breath, stepping forward. He took her hand and started wrapping it with another white band.

“We’re doing punches today,” he started, his demeanor familiar again.

She brought her gaze to his face. “Punches?”

“Back to basics. You’ve learned them, but now it’s time to embellish it all,” he explained with a half grin.

“I wanted to learn how to use a bow and arrow,” she said, watching him wrap her hand.

He looked up, his mouth opening to ask what she guessed would have been ‘Why?’. But before he could, the chatter that had crescendoed across the roof with the arrival of the priestesses dimmed.

Nesta looked past Cassian’s wings at the same moment that he turned, just in time to watch Elentiya emerge from the wooden door built into the red rock of the mountain.

She wore Nesta’s old leathers- the straps fraying and worn. Her golden hair was done into two long braids that hung down her chest, a style Nesta used to wear as a girl to wake with loose curls. It made Elentiya look younger, and much less intimidating. She moved further out of the doorway, her hand releasing from the grip she had on the rocky threshold.

But before Elentiya could take one more step, Azriel was there. Cloaked with thick shadows, he towered before her as he gripped her elbow. And that’s when Nesta pulled her hand from Cassian’s grasp and strode over to them.

Her steps were quick, and the wind whipped past her ears as she moved. Her heart pounded through her, thumping frantically with the beat of her feet against the stone. Gwyn and Emerie stood up and headed for them as well.

Nesta could see as Azriel murmured something too quietly for her to hear. Elentiya blinked slowly and tilted her head away, irreverent.

“Take your hand off me,” she said calmly.

Azriel did no such thing. A warning smile began to curl Elentiya’s lips.

Shit. A fight would really help Nesta’s case.

Azriel’s wings flared out, their enormous expanse an intimidation that didn’t seem to work on Elentiya. Shadows curled around his arms, poised like threatened snakes. Nesta hurried her pace until she was almost running. She hadn’t failed to notice that all the priestesses had gone silent.

“Stop,” Nesta said, reaching Elentiya’s side.

Azriel's pupils had blown wide, fixated on the smiling face before him.

“Stop it,” Nesta repeated harshly through gritted teeth, reaching to wrench Elentiya’s arm from his grip. “People are watching.”

Azriel’s scarred hand stayed wrapped around the female’s elbow, his gaze black and unforgiving.

“We invited her,” a voice explained from behind Azriel. Nesta didn’t have to see past him to know which priestess spoke.

Azriel’s wings came back in, and his stare tore from Elentiya to lock onto the ground beside them.

“She is a threat,” he growled darkly.

Elentiya rolled her eyes. Nesta thanked the Mother that Azriel wasn’t watching.

“She’s not going to hurt anyone with you standing right here, is she?” Nesta hissed, growing increasingly distressed that the priestesses were witnessing Azriel act like this. He hadn’t lost his temper around them before.

“No, I am not,” Elentiya enunciated testily, peeling Azriel’s fingers from her arm. He bared his teeth.

“Perfect,” Gwyn interjected, linking elbows with Elentiya and leading her further onto the roof.

Azriel pulled back at the action, shadows unfurling to creep away from his shoulders. Emerie rushed to walk beside the two females as the noise slowly began to return to the roof. It was only when Nesta turned around that she saw Cassian standing three feet from her.

“You invited her? ” he asked tightly, disbelief colouring his face. Azriel was still standing motionless beside her, probably cooling down from whatever the hell that was.

Nesta braced herself. “What of it, Cassian?”

He huffed a mirthless laugh. “You can’t just bring anyone to training.”

She angled her head, trying to keep a hold on her ire. It seemed that his returned normalcy had vanished again.

“What do you think is going to happen?” she asked tersely. “She’ll attack everyone right now instead of the more opportune moments in the depths of the library?”

“You know why she can’t be here, Nesta. Rhys doesn’t trust her.”

Nails dug into her palms. “What does he have to do with this?”

“He is the High Lord of this court, and that female is a threat to it. You can’t expect us to just let her wander around up here.”

“So Elentiya is not permitted to breathe fresh air because Rhysand doesn’t like her?” she questioned, knowing and hating that her tone would rile him. “I thought you all said that she was allowed out of the library?”

Cassian’s head shook in confusion and annoyance. “Why the fuck are you defending her like this? She’ll survive without training.”

“Survive,” Nesta scoffed. “That's all that is necessary, right? This nineteen year-old girl is forbidden from befriending anyone in a strange, new world.”

“Befriending-” Cassian stumbled on the word, spluttering. “Are you forgetting how she wound up here? The symbol on her forehead? She’s not some lost, innocuous puppy you can adopt into your little brigade.”

Nesta blinked, stopping herself from taking a step back as she weathered the stab to her chest. She had expected him to be unhappy with the surprise, but… Little brigade. Fury boiled in her blood.

Cassian’s eyes flickered as he breathed heavily. She could see the remorse melting like honey through the hazel.

It was Azriel who broke the silence. “Let’s not do this here.”

Nesta didn’t bother reminding him of his own dramatic display before turning her back on Cassian and walking toward her friends.

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

It was a decent set up, Aelin thought as she stood in what might as well have been the sky.

She had witnessed the sheer height of this rutting house a few nights ago, when Rhysand had slithered his snivelling ass into her mind. But this roof was an entire storey higher than the balcony below.

There were eight punching blocks positioned across the vast expanse. They looked like the practice ones she had grown up with at the Assassin’s Guild- concentrated sheep’s wool wrapped in slabs of thick leather, all atop a small wooden pole. Further away lay a training ring- a tidier replica of the rings found in the long lost Pits of Rifthold.

In fact, everything before her was so familiar that she suddenly felt better than she had in weeks.

Certainly better than last night, at least.

She had retired to her bedchamber a few hours after her conversation with Nesta, only to find one of her snares set off. The thin metal wires she had wrapped carefully around the door hinges had snapped, proving that someone had been inside of her room. But the lock had been intact; the person had to have had a key.

Immediately, she had checked for anyone or anything that hadn’t been there before. Some sort of threat or trap- she didn’t know what sort of weapons Prythian possessed. Only after had she checked for all of her hidden makeshift weapons and floorboard compartments. But nothing had been moved or taken. Only that one snare on the hinges.

There weren’t many people that it could have been, if Aelin was being honest. It was either that High Lord or one of his cronies. She supposed it could be Nesta or one of the priestesses, too. They lived here, after all.

So, a little paranoid, Aelin had slept fitfully last night. And when she had awoken with a jolt to a soft knock at her door, she had remembered what she had signed up for.

A golden-haired priestess in leathers had been holding another pair in her arms, a friendly smile warming her pale face. Her name was Ananke, and she had told Aelin to follow her and the other four priestesses once she had dressed. The other three females, Ananke had explained, were already upstairs.

Aelin hadn’t known what she had expected when she had crested the top step, but the blue-stoned male digging his fingers into her arm with a murderous rage certainly wasn’t it.

Gods, she had never seen such a ridiculous overreaction. He had acted like she had emerged from the staircase armed to the teeth and blazing with flame. Well, she was armed, but he didn’t know that. If Nesta and Gwyn hadn’t intervened, Aelin might have put her hands around his throat.

Azriel was on the other side of the roof now, standing next to Nesta and the other male Aelin had seen only once before. He had wings as well, but his stones were ruby. They looked like brothers. She wondered if they were the trainers, and if it was worth even being here if one of them clearly already hated her. She suppressed a laugh.

“Are you okay?” Gwyn asked her as they stood amongst the chatting females.

Aelin raised a brow. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry about that,” the priestess said, angling her head towards the three figures across the roof. “It’s not usually like that here.”

Aelin smiled, and lied. “Well, that is no one’s fault but mine.” It was entirely Azriel’s fault.

Gwyn started to shake her head, to correct her. But Emerie spoke.

“Next time, just come out on your knees while waving a white flag, yeah?” the female joked, bending to fix a strap on her leathers.

Aelin snorted. Azriel would have just yanked the flag from her hand and plunged the stick into her heart.

“So have you trained before?” Emerie asked, upright again.

And there was the question Aelin had been mulling over since Nesta’s invitation. How much should she show? How much did Elentiya know? It was harder than it looked to make herself seem worse at something, so pretending was a risk in itself. Being caught lying about anything was worse.

In that case, Aelin had to abide by what she knew Rhysand had seen in her mind. Or rather, what she’d shown him. For Aelin knew that every one of her movements would go flying right back into the High Lord’s ear today. She was actually surprised he hadn’t appeared from thin air to pummel her into the red rocks.

In all seriousness, however, Aelin was not here to impress. It wasn’t about brandishing swords and knocking people onto their asses. She was here to find out more about Prythian- about Velaris. She was here to find a way to get back home. To-

The thought of her home, the thought of his name and her people had physical pain singing through her body. She wondered if it was possible for a mating bond to do such a thing. Maybe she just hadn’t felt it in those months locked in iron, too swarmed with much more consuming problems.

“Yes,” Aelin responded, driving the ache from her chest. “I’ve been trained in combat.”

Emerie hummed, waving as Nesta started to make her way over. Then, she gave Aelin a half smile. “Vague answer, but I can work with that.”

By the time the warm up was over, Aelin was surprised her teeth were still there from the amount of grinding she was doing. She hadn’t performed badly, but she had intentionally displayed flaws in her techniques- her balance. And rightly so, she had been corrected the whole time.

When Rhysand was in her mind, she had let fragments of her life as Celaena Sardothien surface. Some were true, and some false; all the best lies were mixed with the truth.

He had seen that she was blessed with a tremendous amount of healing magic. That sufficed in explaining the power they felt. As unthreatening as she could make it.

He had seen she was untrained magically, despite the gift, and lived in a humble village with her completely normal friend, Lysandra. She had also decided to show him that she was partially trained in combat, but he had pulled out of her mind before she could figure out if she wanted to show him more. It would have been too suspicious to appear entirely untrained.

Despite knowing that the precautions were necessary, it was near damn killing Aelin to hold back. On the miserable bright side, perhaps Azriel would no longer deem her such a terrible threat. The other male- whose name was Cassian- had stared at her for an entire minute as she planked on the floor, his gaze hard and scrutinising. It was only the satisfaction Aelin felt at fooling them that held in her rage.

Beside her, Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie were now seated on the stone, relishing in the five minute break before the meat of the training. They were discussing some romance author called Sellyn Drake, their voices hushed and animated. Aelin was too preoccupied to listen to their words, though.

Azriel and Cassian were on the opposite side of the roof, wings and backs to the stone beside the door. They were probably talking about her, although Cassian kept glancing over at Nesta, an emotion Aelin couldn’t pinpoint in his gaze.

She had forced herself to remain compliant and unoffending in the half hour they’d been here, following all instructions. Her only hope at being allowed out of the library and into the city below was to neutralise the threat she posed to Rhysand. And his pregnant mate. Gods.

The two males on the roof reminded Aelin of the cadre when they had served Maeve. Actually, she wondered if they had sworn a blood oath. That would simultaneously explain and complicate things.

Regardless, they’d report back to their High Lord. So here was Aelin’s chance to plant another seed of security in the mind-reader’s head.

“What about you, Elentiya?” Gwyn asked, voice lilting at the end. “Do you like to read?”

Aelin made a face, legs straight out on the ground beside her as she leaned across one. “Of course.”

The priestess beamed, but it was Emerie who spoke solemnly. “It’s a tragedy.”

Aelin frowned. “Why?”

“There’s no Sellyn Drake in your world, I’m presuming.”

“No,” Aelin said, sitting up. “But there are equivalents.”

“No way.” Gwyn shook her head. “No one could ever replace her.”

Aelin was silent. It wasn’t the best time for idle talk, but the snippets of description she had retained from their conversation had been enough to pique her interest. So she asked flatly, and completely seriously, “Where can I find these books?”

The females cackled, pulling the attention of Azriel and Cassian. The latter’s eyes went straight to Nesta.

Aelin’s did the same. But when she looked, the female wasn’t laughing. Her eyes were hard and distant, boring into the stone before her. She was as still as death, fingers white as they pressed into the ground. Aelin wanted to reach out and shake her. She knew that look. A light had flickered out at some point between now and when Aelin had first emerged onto the roof.

“Actually,” Gwyn started, drawing her back, “the library doesn’t stock them. Emerie’s our import from Illyria,” she smiled, patting her friend on the shoulder. “She can get you some of the classics, right Em?”

“Not even in the city?” Aelin asked before Emerie could respond, relieved at the opportunity to finally bring it up.

“I…” Gwyn trailed off. “I’m not sure.”

“There’s bound to be libraries down there,” Aelin explained, her eyes flicking to Nesta for a moment. “I can barely see the end of the buildings from the balcony. Unless Sellyn Drake stocks exclusively in Illyria.”

“No, Drake prints across all the courts. I’ve just never been in the streets of Velaris properly. Neither has Emerie. And Nesta…”

The female in question was still far from the conversation, even with her name mentioned and all three of their gazes on her. Aelin would have been curious at what the priestess left unsaid, but seeing Nesta now, she didn’t quite care.

Aelin had noticed it from the beginning- the way the storm-eyed female had felt separate from the rest of her initial interrogators. At first, she had scrubbed it up to typical political and courtly dynamics, much like the disputes she had witnessed in her early childhood between Orlon and the delegates of Terrasen’s territories. But if she was honest with herself, there had always been more to it.

Everyone Aelin had encountered who wasn’t a female on this roof or in the library had all but sneered at Nesta, like she was some villain. Aelin had waited to learn of the crime for a good while, ready to hear what this world had decided to be unforgivable. But now, seeing the female amongst the priestesses, training and talking about romance books, Aelin realised that perhaps, Nesta hadn’t done anything at all.

So, what was the problem? Nesta was also trapped- repressed in this blasted tower. What had caused her to receive the same treatment as an actual threat like Aelin? What was the biggest crime of all to an inner court of rulers keen on maintaining their rule?

She sucked on her teeth.

Power.

And how the long-dead Gods knew Aelin was familiar with the cursed thing.

But what was Nesta’s magic? Aelin could always feel it slumbering, like a beast the female kept on an iron leash. Even now, there was a strange vibration rumbling so subtly from Nesta, singing to be released in a symphony. And Aelin wanted to hear it.

“You’ve been in Velaris?” Aelin asked her, despite the warning looks from Gwyn and Emerie.

Nesta blinked slowly, the movement stretched out. “Yes.”

“Any libraries down there?”

Nesta shook her head, the maneuver slow and faint. “I don’t know. Probably.”

Aelin ticked her brows up. “Why not just get the Drake novels from the city, then?”

Nesta was stiff, but shrugged. “I suppose it is easier through Emerie.”

“Is it?”

Aelin wasn’t imagining the silence that fell over the females.

Nesta stared at her. A blaze of silver darted around her irises.

Flame burned inside of Aelin’s own.

“You live here, after all. Do you not?” she continued, an eye on the fingers Nesta had pressing into the stone. “I can’t see why visiting your city’s own library would be of any challenge.”

No one responded as Nesta took in a sharp breath. “It is of no challenge.”

“Oh, and you have wings to fly down there yourself.”

Nesta sat up straighter. “Don’t be a coward. What is your point?”

The word struck her, but she let it slide off like cold water. In all fairness, she was provoking the female with the intention of her reacting like this. And Aelin was no stranger to a harmless insult.

“You’re trapped up here like me,” she said, smiling slightly. She ignored the muttering and intakes of breath around them. “That’s why it’s easier for Emerie to bring the books to you.”

Nesta angled her head, eyes swirling with silver. “If you used your half-baked eyes, you’d have found the stairs.”

Aelin paused, watching Nesta closely. She let her stare fall to the ground. Beside her, Aelin felt Gwyn and Emerie share a look. Conversation began to trickle back in amongst the priestesses.

Was Nesta being truthful? Were there stairs leading out of this wretched place? She bit her lip. She hadn’t explored the entire house, especially since her encounter with Rhysand. She had just assumed…

Stairs? Aelin squinted.

Even if there were, this was a gargantuan mountain. There would have to be at least several thousand steps before you’d even near the bottom. Arobynn and Ben, her former master’s deceased second-in-command, had used stair runs as a training drill. From the thirty-three in the Assassin’s Keep, Aelin had learned through thighs on fire that downhill was the real devil.

And how convenient was it that the only males Aelin had met in this world- this house- had either wings or Fenrys's jumping magic?

So, Aelin spoke again.

“Perhaps.”

Nesta turned. The chatter dimmed again.

“But you never denied the fact that you’re trapped.”

Aelin weathered Nesta’s stare as it turned molten, like the melted silver in a jeweller’s shop. And she watched as the female’s slender fingers curled against the stone, tiny white sparks flying from beneath.

In the next breath, a pulsing, invisible blare flooded the roof like a roaring wave, momentarily clogging Aelin’s sharpened Fae senses. She tensed, blinking at Nesta. Gasps escaped the mouths of the females around them, and Gwyn and Emerie raised from their slouches.

The moment the throbbing subsided, Cassian and Azriel were surging toward them. Aelin didn’t take her eyes off of Nesta. The female was breathing heavily, eyes wide and hands shaking.

“What the fuck?” Cassian said urgently once he reached them, his voice hoarse.

Both Aelin and Nesta remained silent, staring at one another.

“Nesta, what the fuck was that?” He moved to stand in the line of her eyesight, palms upward in question.

No one answered. Azriel appeared beside Cassian, black shadows shrouding his shoulders.

“Nesta,” Cassian repeated severely.

But her gaze remained on Aelin. And she could have sworn fear flickered in them.

“Apologies,” Aelin said smoothly. “I got a bit heated and some magic escaped. It won’t happen again,” she added, smiling up at him.

The male’s head snapped toward her, brows knitted together. It was concern that coloured his face now, but Aelin kept the smile anyway.

Gentle twitters from little birds filled the air, but there was a deafening quiet hanging over them. All the while, Aelin could still feel silver eyes burning through her skin.

Fed up with the silence, Aelin clicked her tongue and stood.

“Those five minutes went quickly, didn’t they?” she quipped, brushing dust from her borrowed leathers. Then, gesturing to everyone around her, she said, “I do sincerely apologise for the show.”

Gwyn stood as well, head shaking as she smiled. “It’s okay, Elentiya. First time out of the library was hard for us all.”

The priestess’s words led the movement of all the females, and composure steadily returned to the roof.

The last two hours of training were subdued in comparison, Azriel and Cassian leading them through advanced upper body combat strategies- punches that Aelin had thrown thousands of times in her life. She did them well enough, claiming that she had done them a few times before.

Azriel fixed her small faults accordingly, lifting her elbows and rearranging her fingers to where they should be. Where they usually were.

But the irritation at the corrections never paid her any heed. Nor did the skill level of the two males training them.

For something bigger was ringing in Aelin’s mind, someone more important. The female beside her, pummeling the punching bag with a force so fierce, was being held in this mountain.

And suddenly, despite the undeniable pull to Erilea, Aelin realised there might be something to ignite while she was here.

Chapter Text

A point in Nesta’s wrist panged and throbbed as she held a book loosely in her hand.

The new techniques Azriel and Cassian had walked them through this morning had made Nesta feel like a beginner all over again. These new lessons, Azriel had explained, were catered to particular situations- scenarios so unlikely that it had been pointless to teach them earlier.

Punches from specific angles, from being locked in someone’s grasp, when you’re surrounded by more than two people. It was different. It also made a point in her wrist ache.

But she hadn’t noticed the pain during training. As a matter of fact, she could barely remember the punches even now. How could she, when she had to devote every tendril of attention to containing the sparking, silver fire threatening to erupt from the very depths of her soul- the pulsing flash of magic that had burst from her.

The frantic shock that had nearly stopped her damned heart had been almost as jarring as the eruption. How in the Mother’s name did she still have any power? Her magic, for Feyre’s life- that had been the deal. She had a tattoo running down her mid-back to prove it.

There had been no magic left. Only a gaping cavern inside of her, empty and dark.

And in these past days, Nesta had… she had relished it. The lack of heaviness, the released burden from her chest. No responsibility to fight or be used as a magical tool. One less reason to fear and be feared, one less reason to feel so other. She had no longer been a threat to her friends or sisters. And Nesta had been finding a blissful peace with that, until it had all come flinging back into her body like a monstrous, silver slingshot.

It hadn’t been gradual. It had been one of the most uncomfortable feelings she had felt since the war, she realised.

She balled her fingers into fists. Everyone on the roof had felt it. And she had just sat there, body rigid and cold as she stared at the female across from her. Then, Elentiya had spoken. Had taken the blame for it with a smile and a quip.

Why?

Nesta was far from foolish. She knew Elentiya had provoked the power from her. But why coax it out only to throw everyone off the scent?

The thought twisted in her chest, pressing her brows together.

Emerie and Elentiya didn’t seem to notice as they sat with her in the library. There were no vacant alcoves, so they had settled in three chairs positioned in a space between aisles. They could overlook the railing to the floor below them, on which Gwyn was being held in Merrill’s office.

The High Lord had asked the white-haired priestess to research something of his concern. Nesta hadn’t asked when Gwyn had told her. But Merrill had deemed it necessary to keep her friend behind as an assistant in the matter.

“Are you coming to training again tomorrow, Elentiya?”

Nesta ears perked up at Emerie’s question, but she kept her gaze on the pages before her.

“I will if I can,” Elentiya replied. “Unless I failed the initiation?”

Emerie snorted. “You were decent enough. You’re welcome to come every time, but I can’t guarantee that Az and Cassian will warm up to you too quickly.”

Elentiya nodded grimly. “Splendid.”

Nesta hated the fact that Elentiya was the only one to know the truth of what had happened on the roof. More than that, Nesta hated that the female was acting like nothing had happened at all. She had trusted Elentiya enough to invite her to training, but this trust? It was a whole different level. It was as if the secret was a kindling and Elentiya the flame.

“They’re just typical males,” Emerie explained knowingly, shaking her head. “Snarling and growling at anything they don’t like.”

A smile peeled over Elentiya’s face, and her eyes glinted gold. “I’ve encountered my fair share of the sort.”

Her words were wistful, despite the joking tone. Nesta wondered who she was thinking about. Were the males in her world really the same? The thought was wearying. What was Erilea like? Was it constructed with courts and High Lords like Prythian? Was it peaceful there?

Elentiya continued, laughing as she spoke. “They really are all the same. Across the damned universes.”

“And you can attest to that, world-walker,” Emerie said.

Elentiya raised her head with a smile, as if a crown was there. “Indeed.”

A quiet seeped in deep enough for thoughts to cluster Nesta’s mind once more. Was Elentiya really not going to mention it? Maybe it would actually be better to just say something herself. But... say what? It would only make it more obvious that she didn't want anyone else to know of her power.

Nesta lifted her focus from the book, eyeing the female as she read. A slight angling of the blonde head was her only warning before she spoke. Nesta managed to return her gaze to the words in front of her before Elentiya looked up.

“What do you suppose Merrill is helping Rhysand with?”

Nesta glanced sidelong at her. “I have no idea. But certainly not a way for you to get back home.”

Elentiya glowered, but Nesta did not feel as though the ire was directed at her. “I hadn’t thought so. I’ve made peace with the lack of assistance. Unless, of course,” she added archly, “either of you have any valuable information.”

“I’m as in the dark as you are,” Emerie answered. “But I can ask the High Lord, if you’d like. I’m leaving in a minute for him to take me back to Illyria.”

“Gods, no,” Elentiya huffed. “I’m staying well away from his magnanimous holiness.”

Nesta smirked. She was a fool for it. But she couldn’t deny how refreshing it was for someone else to share her own sentiments.

“And what about you, Nesta?” Elentiya asked. “Anything helpful?”

“No,” Nesta said. And she wasn’t lying. Elentiya virtually knew everything that she did.

Elentiya sighed lightly, but the action didn’t fool Nesta. The female was frustrated. And rightly so; Nesta would be too. She couldn’t imagine being thrown into a new world with no one to help her back.

“Never fret, Elentiya,” Emerie said as she began to gather her things. “I’ll bring some Sellyn Drake for you tomorrow.”

Elentiya ticked her brows up, dryly amused. “Can’t wait.”

“Don’t bother starting with anything tame, Em,” Nesta said as her friend stood.

Elentiya looked over her own shoulder, snorting.

“Oh, I hadn’t planned on it.” Emerie’s smile was wicked.

Just as Emerie was pivoting to head up the sloping pathway, Elentiya spoke.

“Why don’t you stay longer?”

Nesta was surprised at the question. She wasn’t sure why.

Emerie shook her head. “Can’t. Shop opens up in the evening. I need some way to stay afloat.”

“You work in a shop?”

“I own the shop,” Emerie corrected proudly. “Business is rough in Illyria, especially for someone like me. I find that the later hours of the day serve me better. Females finished with their chores and that sort of thing.”

Nesta felt for her friend. She deserved so much more than the awful treatment from males in Illyria. Maybe she’d try to talk to Cassian about it.

Elentiya’s deep frown told her that she wasn’t alone in the feeling.

It only took a moment for Emerie to disappear into the higher levels. And she was alone with Elentiya.

Nesta kept her head down and eyes on the novel, forcing away the unsaid words festering on her tongue, playing in her mind. At least the book in her hand was finally given attention. It was a romance- or so it was presented to be. It was actually rather preposterous.

But it was only a few minutes before something in the story brought back the memory of this morning. And with it, an all-consuming thrum of cold power through her body. She repressed a shiver, and flicked her eyes up.

Elentiya was lounging across the armchair, right leg slung across the left. She, too, was reading. A thick volume, polished black, entitled The Music of Magic. With an elbow propped up, a lock of golden hair was being twirled between her fingers. She looked as though she had no care in the world.

And it was then that Nesta realised that Elentiya wasn’t going to say anything. It wasn’t difficult to guess the reason why. The female was probably formulating a nefarious plot in which the information could be used to manipulate Nesta into her bidding. That’s what she would have done in a foreign world. But if she truly wasn’t going to say anything…

“You took the blame,” Nesta said.

Elentiya raised her head, meeting her stare.

She paused for a moment, assessing. “Blame?”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. If the female was about to pretend it didn’t happen-

“I’d say it was more an honour I stole. That was some outrageous magic.”

Nesta stared, then asked sharply, “What do you know of it?”

Elentiya shrugged. “I don’t know anything.”

“You’re lying.”

A scoff. “How the hell am I supposed to know anything about your magic?”

“I felt your power,” Nesta pressed. “Something is the same.”

“Is that so?” Elentiya tilted her head, taunting.

“You just called the magic outrageous. You must know something about it.”

“Nesta.” Elentiya leaned forward. “Our magic is not the same. There could be some shared elements, but it is not the same. Trust me,” she added with a half laugh.

Nesta ignored it. “What are the shared elements?”

“I don’t know,” Elentiya asserted. “Why is it such a concern?”

Nesta shook her head, pressing her lips together.

After a moment, Elentiya asked slowly, “Do you not know what your magic is?”

She didn’t answer.

Elentiya moved so she sat at the edge of her chair. “How do you not know what your own magic is?”

Nesta started to pile her stack of books, a shaky vulnerability swallowing her senses. She needed to get away.

“How old are you?”

She ignored the question, gathering the books in her arm and moved to the sweeping pathway.

Elentiya didn’t say anything else as Nesta left.

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

Hours later, the sun was setting a deep orange, casting fiery light across Nesta’s white bedsheets.

She had been laying atop them for too long, bones creaking as she read and thought. She felt as though she could hold the sunlight with her fingers, as if it were molten gold, dripping like lava through her window.

Rolling over to relieve the strain on her right shoulder, Nesta groaned. Her wrist gave a twinge of discomfort.

She was well aware that she was hiding. She’d ran away from the cursed female. Again. It was pathetic. But those questions she was asking…

In no world would it be smart to let Elentiya realise her weaknesses. And yet, she now knew that Nesta did not have complete control over her magic. The panic that coursed through her veins at the thought was only amplified as she remembered that Elentiya was also the only one to know Nesta had any power at all.

Taking in an unsteady breath, she sat up. The air was dense in her lungs.

She moved the pile of books to the empty side of the bed and smoothed down the ruined side of her coronet. She’d best return the books to the House’s small library and just get ready for bed.

The halls were quiet as she headed for the library room. The sun lay in stripes from the doors across the mahogany floors, flashing golden in her vision as she moved. The House felt far too big.

It took her a good ten minutes to fit all the books back into place. The library was small, but only in comparison to the colossal one beneath her.

She was rolling her wrist- testing the angles as she entered the hall that led to the main room. It hurt when she twisted it to the left.

The sun sang its warmth onto her face when she stepped out of the hall, the tall windows like open mouths beckoning and crying for light.

Before she could prepare herself, a hulking figure appeared in her periphery, descending down the staircase that led to the roof.

Cassian.

Nesta clenched her jaw.

She had forgotten about him after everything that had happened with her magic and Elentiya.

“Nesta,” he said with wide eyes, halting when he reached the floor.

“Cassian,” she replied, not entirely stopping in her tracks.

“Wait,” he said suddenly, stepping toward her to hold her wrist.

She tried to repress the wince at the touch, but she knew he noticed.

Cassian’s brows knitted together as he brought his body closer to his grip on her arm. “You’re hurt?” His wings lengthened slightly.

Nesta pulled her wrist from him, shrugging apathetically. “It’s nothing. Just from training.”

She made to leave the room, but he put a hand on her other arm, pulling her back.

“Please, Nesta,” he said, his tone soft. “We need to talk.”

“I think I already have a good idea what you think,” she said bitterly, taking her arm back again and spinning to walk away.

“No, you don’t,” he said, voice strong. “Just let me talk to you-”

Nesta whirled. “Fuck, Cassian! Just talk then!” A wave of icy flame rushed through her veins. She tensed to let it pass.

He hesitated, a muscle flexing in his jaw. Words swam in his gaze, the hazel lighter in the setting sun.

“While you were in the Rite,” he started, pausing to swallow. “Rhys managed to get into Elentiya’s mind.”

Nesta stared at him.

Despite her annoyance, despite the stress that was contorting in her head, despite her evident apprehension to speak to him, she had actually thought he’d apologise. Little brigade was what he had called her friends. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d said to her, but it was the first to bring her friends into it. And that crossed a line.

She had seen regret in his eyes, a brimming sorrow that had sunk in as soon as he had said the words. But she didn’t want to have to use her own eyes to know that he was sorry.

She straightened, swallowing against the ache in her throat. And his words registered.

Rhysand had gotten into Elentiya’s mind.

“What?”

“It was the night before Feyre gave birth, so he only managed to tell us yesterday-”

“What happened to the walls of fire?” she pressed, true confusion fluttering.

“I don’t know,” he said, wings stretching out and relaxing once more. “Maybe he caught her off guard.”

Nesta shook her head, dismissing the idea. It was too odd. Nesta didn’t have to think about her mental walls to keep Rhysand out- they were always there without effort. And Elentiya hadn’t known Rhysand was a daemati until Amren had said it.

“Can we sit?” Cassian asked carefully. He was walking on eggshells again.

Nesta didn’t give an answer before brushing past him and taking a seat on the crimson armchair. He followed.

A loaded silence dangled between them, and Nesta was too aware of his stare.

“Spit it out.”

“Elentiya is not her name.”

Nesta froze. Then asked slowly, “What is her name?”

“Celaena Sardothien. She’s untrained with an insane depth of healing abilities. Only the Mother knows why she’d hide that.”

Nesta frowned. She could think of a few reasons. But how could her magic be similar in any way to a healer’s? It seemed to achieve quite the opposite of healing, actually.

“That’s why I got angry,” he muttered. “We can’t trust her. She lied to us all.”

She clenched her fists. “And you wouldn’t? She is a healer. If anything, the truth makes her less of a threat. In what world would a healer maim anyone?”

“She’s trained in combat,” he pushed. “Az and I thought she might pretend to be useless-”

“But she didn’t.”

Cassian was quiet. Nesta had to keep from scoffing up at the ceiling.

“That was the only reason you and Azriel let her stay, wasn’t it? To test her.”

His mouth stayed shut, eyes locked onto her face.

She laughed low. “I suppose Rhysand already has his confirmation. You surprise me sometimes, Cassian,” she added darkly. In more ways than one, she chose not to include.

“I don’t understand why you’re so quick to defend her,” he said earnestly, having found his voice again.

Anger ripped through her. “Perhaps I want to adopt her into my little brigade.”

And the words hit their mark.

Something banked in Cassian’s eyes. His wings fell to drape over the back of the chair.

“I’m sorry.”

She swallowed. But had she just coaxed it out of him?

“I shouldn’t have said it. You’re all amazing- Az thinks so too. I was just angry and I-” He paused. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Like how you didn’t mean it when you said you were shackled to me?”

Cassian’s face pained. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are.” It was true.

“What do you need, then? What do you need from me?”

“I need you to stop,” she said, plowing on despite knowing that he was filleted by the words.

“Stop?” A panicked sort of confusion swept across his face.

“Stop questioning me. Stop acting like I’ll explode as soon as I show a morsel of emotion.”

“I- I don’t,” he stuttered.

She glared at him. “Yes, you do.”

When he didn’t give her anything else, she spoke again.

“Leave me alone for a few days. Hopefully I won’t need a bargain to enforce that.”

She stood from her seat, fixed the crinkled gown, and moved toward the hallway. She stopped before she left the room, half turning.

“And Elentiya is still coming to training, despite her deeply horrifying and dangerous healing magic.”

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

Aelin’s body convulsed as she woke.

Sweat was sticky up her back, clinging to the clammy skin as she focussed only on breathing.

She had dreamed of home again. But it was far from joyous.

Rowan, Fenrys, and Lorcan had been on their knees before the white walls of Orynth, pain glinting in their milky eyes. Screams tore from their throats as they begged for the sky to help them. The sound was so horrible, so raw and wholly unbearable. Panic stampeded through her like metal, rendering her motionless. Her friends, her bloodsworn, her mate.

The eyes of pine green she loved so powerfully were ripe with agony, and his teeth gritted so fiercely that his whole body shook. Licks of flame wisped in front of her, reaching desperately for him. But they only managed to leap forward a few feet, diluting into empty air like pathetic embers.

She started sobbing at the sight.

Whatever evil that was tearing through the males strengthened, coiling up their arms like black vines. Thin, spindly veins grew as the vine curled, turning their tanned skin sickly and wan. It reached their necks, twining around the muscles gently. Tightly. Their deafening screams turned into something sick. Something horrendously twisted.

Their necks snapped the second before Aelin jolted awake.

Eyes open and staring at the grey carpet, she sent waves of blazing power down the blood oaths. She’d only tried it with the mating bond, but perhaps this would do something. She waited for a few minutes, letting her heart return to a somewhat steady beat.

The other ends of the tethers were silent.

She brought her hands down across her face, glancing at the clock with sleep-ridden eyes. Her grip dropped to her throat, and she held it delicately. It was three o’clock in the morning. Training didn’t start for another four hours, but there was no way Aelin was sleeping after that.

And what a great day it was to live in a library.

The aisles were dark as hell as Aelin meandered through them. She had to talk herself out of using her fingers as a torch. Not only to see better, but because the strain on her magic was reaching a point of absolute madness.

It couldn’t be contained forever, especially without iron. Yes, the day would come when Aelin’s fire would surface in Prythian.

There wasn’t really anything she could do about it. Except dread it, she supposed grimly. She could start small, with something like finger flames. But whether the expenditure be big or small, it would still expose her as a liar. She might as well use it in her favour.

In reality, Aelin wasn’t even entirely certain that her magic could be tracked down here. She would be pissed to find out that she could have used it the whole time.

Regardless, tonight was not the night. Not while she was on edge.

Aelin paused in front of a gilded plaque, squinting through the dark. Something about biographies. She kept moving.

A warm light was seeping through the space on the other end of the third level- likely a torch lit for a late-night reader.

Another plaque was visible in the dark, and Aelin stopped before it. She couldn’t even read whatever the hell this one said.

“Elentiya,” a voice exclaimed from beside her.

Aelin whirled, swearing. A blade hidden in her sleeve was unsheathed in a heartbeat.

She held it loose in her hand, ready to strike. She couldn’t make out the person in the shadows.

“It’s Gwyn,” the voice laughed. “Put that weapon away.”

Aelin frowned, flicking it back under her sleeve. She’d nearly damn killed the priestess.

“So,” she started, gently joining their elbows, “what’s got you up so late?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Aelin responded carefully, looking back over her shoulder as Gwyn led them toward the light.

“I struggle to sleep sometimes. Might as well do something instead of just lying there in sorrow.”

Aelin nodded slowly, the light close enough to catch the pale blue robes draped across the priestess’s body.

Gwyn looked at her. “You didn’t answer my question.”

She just shrugged. “Same as you. I couldn’t sleep.”

They reached the illuminated alcove- one of a deep blue, so dark it was almost onyx. The furnishings were umber and ornate, frilly ridges of swirls up and down the legs of the low table. Each alcove was decorated uniquely down here. Aelin might have appreciated it.

She stayed in the entrance of the alcove as Gwyn broke their elbows apart and made her way to a backless settee. She leaned forward to start rifling through the table before her.

It looked like an entire library had exploded. Stacks of books and parchment were tossed about the space, utterly disorganised. Some papers had been torn and folded, used as a notepad, or scribbled and drawn upon as if a fanatic were figuring something out. Maybe that was what happened.

Aelin stepped through the space gingerly, careful not to move anything. She lowered herself onto a seat.

“What’s all this, then?” she asked the priestess on an exhale, placing each hand on the arms of the chair. “Trying to surpass the speed of light?”

Gwyn laughed quietly. “No, it’s Merrill’s thing.”

“The High Lord’s request?”

She looked up then, teal eyes large and beautiful, yet drooping with exhaustion. “I suppose. It’s just a task to me.”

“What’s it about?” Aelin asked casually, crossing her right leg over the left.

Gwyn leaned back. “A certain species of dark creature that Azriel found near Koschei’s lake.”

“Koschei?”

“Koschei the Deathless,” Gwyn articulated. “A primeval Death-god bound to a lake on the Continent. Far from here.”

Aelin stifled her amusement at the reassurance Gwyn felt obliged to give her. “Actually deathless?”

Gwyn sighed. “So they say. I’m not too worried about the male himself. Just the creatures.”

“What are they doing?”

“Nothing,” Gwyn said. “That’s part of their concern. The things are almost certainly hostile, yet aren’t engaging with anyone or anything. They’re seemingly content in roaming the forests surrounding the area of the lake.”

“So, they’re guards?”

Gwyn nodded. “Possibly. But why have such a hostile creature as a guard instead of a soldier?”

“What makes you think they’re so hostile?”

“It’s not me who says so. According to Azriel and Rhysand, the anatomy of the creatures suggests a nature of unprovoked violence. They’re generously muscled, equipped with sharp claws and fangs, forward facing eyes, fast and agile.”

“Fangs aren’t always bad,” Aelin grinned.

Gwyn’s lips twisted to the side to repress a laugh. “Either way, I’m not questioning their judgement. They just want Merrill to find out more about them. Or, more so, to find out what they are.”

And if Aelin wasn’t convinced of Rhysand’s complete disinterest in helping her before, she most certainly was now. She had been tossed in this bucket of books and forgotten. Until yesterday’s training session, perhaps.

“You can help, if you’d like,” Gwyn smiled, chucking a book at her. “Just sift through it, and note the page numbers if you see any of the traits I listed.”

Aelin obliged, happy to let the distraction chip away at the ice still closing around her throat. She could still hear their screams, see the sallow white of their skin.

She thought as she read, despite trying to distract herself. But not of Erilea. Not of those screams.

Hours ago, Aelin had stayed still long after Nesta had left her, overlooking the level below. The female didn’t know her own magic. Her running away was confirmation enough. It was too strange to be harmless, especially in light of all other suspicious things in this damned place. How was it that a Fae who seemed older than Aelin did not know their power?

Anyone with magic learned as soon as they were able, almost always in childhood. Aelin had been one of the few exceptions she had known of, but only because circumstances were different in Erilea. Here… it was too strange.

There had been fear in her silver eyes when she had released the blare of power. Was Nesta afraid of the magic? She had notably claimed that Aelin had taken the blame for it, like it was some sin. Or, was Nesta afraid of what others thought of it? Might do with it?

Because it was otherworldly. Aelin had been honest with Nesta; she did not believe they had the same power. She agreed that there was some similarity in their essence, but nothing marked enough to take special notice.

But Nesta had seemed desperate for information. And Aelin couldn’t figure out why.

“Something’s bothering you.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You’re frowning. And you are not reading.”

She sniffed, putting the book in her lap. “I’m just not in the right mind to read.”

“What mind are you in?” Gwyn’s eyes twinkled with calm.

Aelin rubbed her face. “The one you get after bad dreams.”

Gwyn blinked a few times, dropping her stare. “There’s a sleep tonic Clotho distributes throughout the library. A lot of us take it.”

Aelin removed her hands slowly, softening. “Oh, I think I’ll be fine. But thanks,” she added quickly.

A silence brewed, and Aelin prayed that it wouldn’t become awkward. To her gratitude, the priestess spoke a few moments later.

“That’s alright. I can keep you as an assistant.” Her face brightened again.

Aelin and Gwyn stayed in the alcove for hours, only departing when the priestess needed to prepare for the worship service before dawn.

Chapter Text

Three mornings passed, and Aelin attended training on each of them. She was surprised she was allowed to. And she was even more surprised that there had been no noise from Rhysand. She’d bet everything she’d ever owned that he knew she was attending the sessions.

But being allowed wasn’t the same as being welcome. Azriel and Cassian were trying to hide it for the sake of the priestesses, but it was clear that they didn’t trust her. They’d grow cold whenever she was near.

The sky was a clear and beautiful blue this morning. Aelin had to squint against the rising sun as she stepped onto the roof, the rock rough under her boots. Gwyn was at her side, Emerie and Nesta behind them. She had gotten used to being dragged around by the priestess and her eager elbow.

After a few more steps, Gwyn detached herself from Aelin and closed in on Ananke, Roslin, and Deidre. The priestesses began discussing something about last night’s service.

Aelin had heard of the ceremonies in passing on one of the first days in the library. They would occur twice daily- dawn and dusk. She hadn’t bothered to attend any of the things; worship had always bored her. The last time she’d been forced to sit through one, she’d fallen asleep on Chaol’s damned shoulder.

Tilting her head back to the sky, Aelin reached her arms behind her and stretched, back cracking up the spine. Despite the trainers’ aversion to her, she’d begun to appreciate the training. Not that it was teaching her a Gods-damned thing. But she appreciated it. And not only because it was one step closer to home.

Aelin looked over her shoulder to see what Nesta and Emerie were talking about. The latter had gripped Nesta’s shoulders as she ranted about some male at her shop the previous evening. Nesta’s face was bunched into a scowl.

Days ago, Emerie had mentioned the chores that the females in Illyria would complete throughout the day. And Aelin hadn’t forgotten it. It was like a rotting thorn festering in her mind. That sliver of information paired with the other questionable inequalities she had encountered had very well consumed her thoughts. That is, when she wasn’t thinking about that rutting Harp.

She’d considered asking Gwyn about it the other day, but… her intentions would have been too obvious. And she didn’t know if the priestess would tell anyone. Aelin would have to be clever about it.

Easy, she thought wryly.

“Ladies,” Azriel called, clapping once. His voice was cool and firm.

The chattering across the roof ceased.

“Today’s session is fairly straightforward.” He gestured to the wall behind Aelin and the priestesses, wisps of shadow following the movement.

“These are fine silver lightweight longswords from the city’s blacksmith,” he explained as they all turned to see. Sure enough, a line of silver swords lay against the rock, glinting white in the sunlight. The hilts were a plain black, adorned with ridges for grip and simple detailing upon the guards.

Decent weapons. Aelin stifled a grin before Azriel spoke again.

“You’ve used a variety of swords over the months, but longswords have a fine art to them. You’ll need to approach the offense more thoughtfully- more delicately. Defense is a different story that we’ll get to another day.”

Cassian appeared from the other side of the roof then, dragging along stacks of wooden planks vertically held up by metal rods.

Aelin watched as Emerie raised a brow at the male.

“For later,” he said, smirking.

Azriel moved and picked up one of the swords. “You’ll need a partner and a bit of space. Once that’s done, use a quick spar to get a feel of the blade.”

He nodded once, finished with the explanation, and moved toward the other side of the roof. The females headed for the wall, picking up and tossing the swords between their hands, brandishing the light weight.

Aelin moved after them, last in line, only to crash into a broad, leathered chest. She stepped back, scowling. But before she could speak, she beheld what was in Cassian’s hand.

A longsword, yes. But it was made entirely of wood.

She cocked her head, looking up at him. Then, reining in as much annoyance as she could at the lazy grin on his face, she asked, “What?”

When he only raised the wooden sword higher, she looked past his wings to the empty wall.

Her gaze snapped back to his face. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m serious.”

He said nothing else as he pushed the sword into her hand and walked toward Azriel, leaving her alone next to the door.

Aelin took in a long breath, shaking with rage. She was getting really, really tired of this bullshit. And she was never, ever, getting down into that city.

She aimed the point of the sword into the stone beneath her, pressing it in as hard as she could. Her fingers went white with the pressure. It took a lot of control to not release an ember and set the thing aflame.

“Nesta,” Azriel called from the edge of the roof. “Can you?” He tilted his head slightly toward Aelin.

It took Aelin a moment to realise what the hell he meant, but then she sucked on her teeth. He was asking Nesta to spar with her so that she wouldn’t slice anyone’s damned head off. As if a stupid little play sword with blunt as hell edges could do any serious damage.

And if Aelin were indeed an actual threat, apparently Nesta’s head was the one they could spare up here. Gods.

She looked in time to see Nesta walking toward her, sword up and leaning atop her right shoulder. As she neared, her eyes went down to the wooden sword, and narrowed. Aelin smiled sarcastically at the female, swept past her with a glare, and aimed for the empty space beside Ilana and Lorelei.

She loosened her body into a defensive position, and only had the time to blink before Nesta went at her.

Aelin dodged the blow- a stab to her left- easily, pressing forward to throw Nesta off balance. The female recovered in time to block Aelin’s returning slash. She cut up against her sword, forcing Aelin to slide out of range before the wood could snap.

Nesta pounced while she had the chance, making to knock the weapon from Aelin’s hand, but the strike was flimsy. Even on wood. The light weight of the longsword was clearly new to her. Aelin lunged and struck right in answer, landing a blow to the base of Nesta’s sword. The female took a step back at the pressure, glaring as she realised Aelin had nearly been successful.

“Used a longsword before too, have you?” she sniped, head high.

Aelin shrugged. “Once or twice.” It was hard to hold back in these situations. What was she going to do? Let Nesta get the sword out of her hand in a second?

Without warning, Nesta attacked again, sweeping for the base of her sword. Aelin pulled to the right- out of the way- then came back in with two hands, landing a blow in the middle of Nesta’s. The sharpness of the silver sword cut into the wood, preventing Aelin from sliding out. Nesta pushed, pressing the silver in further. Aelin gritted her teeth and yanked it away.

Nesta fell forward with the movement, looking up to meet Aelin’s blade as she brought it down. The metal worked as an advantage, helping Nesta as she righted herself. Aelin feinted a retreat, then instantly lunged again, striking faster than an asp. Nesta used both hands to fight back, her silver eyes blazing with determination.

The female was good. A decent fighter, actually. Especially considering this was her first time wielding a longsword. Despite the skill, there were so many opportunities for Aelin to win. She knew she shouldn’t get too cocky and disarm her immediately like she could have. But losing? That wasn’t an option either.

“And how is it that you’re holding your own with that stupid thing against a proper one,” Nesta breathed as they fought, “if you’ve only used a longsword once or twice?”

“Spite,” she shot back after a breath.

Aelin spun and struck low, using a backhand to hit the base of the silver sword again. Nesta parried, breaking the connection, then angled the blade to join Aelin’s again. They met with a thump, making a cross between them. Only after teetering on that edge for minutes did they break apart.

Nesta peeled away, tilting her head back and breathing in the dewey dawn air.

A tie would just have to do, Aelin thought grimly as the sun oozed on her skin.

Azriel let them spar for another fifteen minutes before taking them through some set techniques. Aelin performed them dutifully, allowing a few faults as always, but otherwise keeping camouflaged in the back. The wooden sword was a joke, but she’d deal with it.

An hour passed, and Azriel finally wrapped up the technique practice.

Gwyn cheered and met Emerie’s palm with her own. It was a happy sight, but something in Aelin made it bitter. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know why. Maybe it was the crippling ache in her chest.

Nesta still stood next to her, back ramrod straight. Aelin glanced at the female to see if she was also watching the exchange. But her stormy eyes were on the other side of the roof.

“Something on your mind?” Aelin asked, realising that Nesta often got lost in thought.

She blinked, meeting Aelin’s stare. “No.”

Then, without a second word, the female aimed toward Gwyn and Emerie closer to the edge that overlooked the city.

Aelin was about to wonder why when Cassian walked into view from where he had been setting up those wooden planks.

Indeed, on the other end of the roof beside the training ring, each of them had been placed at equal distance from one another, each with a painted circle of dull grey-blue in the upper centre.

Aelin had been wondering for a while what the relationship between Nesta and Cassian was. No matter what she could conjure up in her head, it didn’t make sense with their actions. Actions, not words, since the two of them barely spoke at all.

They had been standing next to one another when Aelin had first seen him, and Nesta had shared a brief conversation with him on that first day of training. Aelin hadn’t seen them speak since. The only signs of anything between them were the glances they constantly made toward each other. Yet, still, Aelin could not read what was in those looks. It was even too loaded to be former lovers.

It didn’t impact any of Aelin’s plans, of course. She was merely curious. Besides, Cassian had the wings to fly down to the city. Getting to know him- and Azriel- was smart.

“Over here, ladies,” Cassian shouted loudly from across the roof.

He was to run the second half of the session, then.

Aelin flung the wooden sword around her wrist, catching it deftly as she spun on her foot and headed to where the male stood. She let herself fall behind so she stood near the back of the priestesses.

In front of her, Emerie whispered something into Nesta’s ear. The female pushed Emerie’s shoulder lightly, snorting and shaking her head as she moved to stand closer to Gwyn.

Emerie swivelled and gave Aelin an innocent look. She dropped her face to hide her smirk, pressing her weight against the pommel of the wooden sword.

“Pretty easy,” Cassian announced, pointing to the planks with his own sword. “Combine what you’ve just done with Az with the punches we went through a few days ago. Use the planks as targets- the paint is the head.”

“And we are to slice it off?” Gwyn asked, earning snickers from all the females.

“If you can get that thing through the wood,” Azriel replied, nodding to the priestess’s longsword as he appeared at Cassian’s side.

Gwyn angled her head, assessing the wood for a moment. Then, “Challenge accepted, Shadowsinger.”

“And with that,” Cassian interjected before they could keep bickering, “one plank to one female, sword in one hand, but use your fists and elbows this time. In the last half hour, you can try against us.” Cassian put an arm around Azriel, waggling his eyebrows.

The priestesses dispersed, positioning themselves before the wooden planks.

Aelin made her way to the back left stand and attacked the thing for a good ten minutes, getting a little lost in the soothing flow of it.

The thrum in her bones, the beat of the strikes and blows. Some might think she’d be sick of sparring and combat after all these years- after the war she had been ripped from, but it was an essence irrevocably streaming through her veins.

Training had been one of the few tethers that kept her from crumbling completely after escaping Maeve and Cairn. That and her friends. The two weeks spent sailing across the Great Ocean had been some of the hardest of her life.

Sometimes she could still feel the pain. Sometimes she’d wake up hazy, a scream breaking on her lips when the bed beneath her felt a little too stony. Sometimes she’d daydream, the feeling far too reminiscent of the illusions the Valg bitch had spun for days. And that other cruel, sadistic face lived in her nightmares.

Aelin knew she hadn’t processed any of it properly. She had been planning on letting it all go when the Lock was forged, after all. But she had somehow- begrudgingly- managed to survive that, too.

A gentle hand pressed onto her shoulder. “Elentiya?”

She blinked.

“Are you okay?” A thumb rubbed against her leathers.

Aelin turned, finding copper hair and teal eyes scrunched with concern.

She smiled quickly at the priestess, realising she’d been staring at the wood for the past two minutes. “Fine.”

“You sure?” Gwyn asked, the warmth of her hand a balm.

Disoriented, Aelin opened her mouth to confirm again, but two voices raised slightly above the din of chatter and swords. She and Gwyn pivoted at the sound.

“Not now, Cassian.”

“Not even a little spar, Nes?”

Nesta was before her own plank, silver sword raised and prepared for attack. She wasn’t looking at the male, instead utterly fixated on the wood.

“No,” she repeated, slashing at the plank.

Cassian leaned against it, wings shifting. “Are you pretending it’s me?”

Nesta didn’t reply. She lunged and sliced with fervour, spinning to elbow the wood in the centre. It would have winded any male.

Cassian bowed his head slightly and murmured something too soft for them to hear.

Nesta pulled back sharply, blade clattering to the ground. Then with a voice like ice, she demanded, “Find someone else to spar with.”

Some of the priestesses had stopped their own practicing to watch. And Nesta clearly realised it.

As Cassian peeled off of the plank and headed for the training ring, she turned and bent to pick up the weapon. Silver swam in her eyes, but amongst the molten metal swirled a void of exhaustion. And- shame.

Aelin took a step forward, teeth gritted. Gwyn carefully grabbed onto her arm.

“Leave her,” the priestess explained quietly. “It doesn’t help in the moment. Trust me.”

Aelin glared at Gwyn. “You’re telling me that this happens often enough for you to know what helps and what doesn’t?”

The priestess watched her. Frowned. “She doesn’t talk about him much.”

That wasn’t an answer. But Aelin didn’t say anything else. She could see enough with her eyes.

“Deidre,” Cassian called. “You good to go?”

The female in question nodded, then tightened the straps of her leathers and jogged over to the ring.

As the clamour returned to the roof, Aelin pulled away from Gwyn and resumed her own exercise, letting the rhythm drown her again.

Another half hour passed, and Azriel and Cassian had made their way through the individual sparring. Nesta had ended up sparring with Azriel- and doing an impressive job at it. Ilana was currently occupying the right side of the ring with the same male. Aelin knew what she was in for at the empty left side.

“Elentiya, you’re up,” Cassian shouted from the edge of the ring.

Aelin eyed the wooden longsword in her hand. She flipped it once, splinters catching against her fingertips. She glared at it.

Scuffing her boots once against the rock to test the grit, she began swaggering over to Cassian. The more bravado up against this bastard, the better. Especially when she had a puny, brittle little sword as a weapon.

But after only four steps, Gwyn moved in front of her. Her eyes were bright, determination having returned after watching that exchange between Nesta and Cassian.

Aelin halted, brows raising at the priestess.

“Take this,” Gwyn said, raising her silver longsword between them so the males couldn’t see.

She met the priestess’s hard gaze, finding the silent request in there. Or maybe Aelin was imagining it.

That didn’t matter though. Not when a fire scorched in Aelin’s soul and she gripped the hilt of that longsword. Not when she smiled in understanding at Gwyn and gave the priestess the wooden one instead. Nor did it matter when she brushed past the female and headed for the ring with a whole new entirely reckless idea ringing in her head.

The weapon was a jewel after suffering with the other one. She twirled it in her hands, feeling its weight. It was a blade she had wielded so many times before. She could fight with it while sleeping. And win.

She positioned herself in the ring, cracking her neck once and sweeping her long braid off of her shoulder.

When Cassian turned to her, his stare went straight to the silver sword gripped in her hand.

“You’re going to take it off me?” she asked, daring him. “In front of all these people?”

He glared at her, and she could practically see the snarl building in his throat. When his eyes went to the expanse of the roof, scanning for who had swapped swords with her, she continued.

“Or are you afraid of what I can do with something that could do a little damage?”

Cassian snorted then, starting into a circling prowl. “You want to spar, Elentiya?” He said her name mockingly.

It was stupid, but… Aelin cocked her head. “I do. Although, I also feel an ethical need to warn you that it might not be what you imagine.”

“Likewise,” Cassian grinned. She wanted to punch it off of his face. Maybe she would, if she played this right.

She’d watched him for days now. His weaknesses, his strengths, his preferred tactics and favourite side. She had done the same with Azriel. They fought very similarly at first glance, as if they had been trained by the same master. But where Cassian was tough with brutal strength, Azriel was slick with stealth and lethality.

Cassian tossed his longsword into his right hand. His preferred hand. “I’ll go easy on you.”

Aelin nearly barked a laugh. Gods help this unfortunate male.

“Same,” she crooned softly before letting loose completely.

Swords clashed as she struck, quicker than a flash of lightning.

She went low, slashing at his lower abdomen. He deflected rapidly, slicing back to push the blow away. Twisting, Aelin jammed the sword back toward his side, meeting the silver of his sword in a piercing clang. She pulled away before it turned into a contest of strength. Agility was the play.

Aelin didn’t give Cassian any time to think. Any time to realise that he was not yet on the offense.

She lunged again, angling the sword underneath the hilt of his own. The metal sang under her fingers, the vibrations stirring her skin. His hulking body cast her in shadow. But before she could pull upwards and disarm the male, he twisted outwards, freeing his weapon from hers.

He kept up the pace, lurching forward and gripping the wrist that held her sword. Aelin knew the move, ducking in advance to dodge the punch he threw. She cut upwards, using her now free arm to elbow his right hand and twist underneath to grasp the hilt of his sword. With her back to his chest, he brought his arm in, trapping her there.

His thick, muscled bicep was tight against her neck, lifting up slowly. That would be a sure defeat, but it also allowed for an easy escape. The ruby red stones on his hands glowed as he pulled in, as if magic was strengthening him. Aelin growled, stomping down onto his boot before he lifted her too high. It threw him off balance, enough so she could get out of his hold.

They separated, breaths coming in quick. She whirled her longsword around her hand, not caring to notice the silence that had fallen across the roof. She was too busy swallowing away the rise of power that had flurried in the wake of the spar. She was so used to fighting with magic. It was getting unbearable to keep it so contained, especially when she could incinerate her opponent in a second.

A deep breath put the power to sleep again, and Aelin flicked up her eyes. Cassian’s were intent, predatory. But there was shock there. Confusion.

That surprise only worked in her favour. Aelin pounced again.

She swung with a backhand strike, meeting Cassian’s sword directly in the centre. They clashed and duelled for a few seconds, as chivalrous as anything. She let him move backwards, attacking further and further forward as she increased her pace. He met her, incredible skill shining in his defense. If it were any other time, Aelin might have complimented him.

But it was with a hot conviction that she broke the sword away and wrapped her fingers around his forearm. She yanked it down and brought her knee up into his stomach. His weapon clattered to the ground, and a snarl ripped from him as he hurled a fist toward her. Sword still in one hand, Aelin caught the blow with a smack before it crushed her head. With his fist in her hand, she clenched her teeth and shook with the effort to push him back.

Fury and ecstasy glinted in his hazel eyes as his fist neared, as he started to overpower her.

He was strong. Gods, he was strong.

His fingers were rough beneath her own. A single breath whooshed through her gritted teeth. His fist was now only an inch from her cheek, and she dropped her sword to use that second hand to push back.

Let this male think he was winning. Let the glory seep through him prematurely. As her boots forced themselves deeper into the stone beneath her, the next few seconds played out in her mind. Oh, she would be in trouble after this. Rhysand knew she had been trained in combat… but this much?

Maybe she’d get killed for this. Maybe they’d lock her up more obviously again. They could rutting try.

She’d once ensconced a city in flames. What was stopping her from doing it again? From the look in Rhysand’s eyes as he had beheld Velaris, she knew it’d hurt him. She only wished her next move would hurt Cassian just as much.

For there was no force in the universe that could hold Aelin Galathynius back from thoroughly wrecking a male’s pride. Especially one that brought out a look of such weariness in a female’s eyes.

Using her hold on Cassian’s fist as a propeller, Aelin swung low under his arm and wings, sweeping through to reappear behind him. He whipped back immediately, a killing elbow flying into the spot her face had been a second before. But he only struck air. Aelin dodged the strike, lunging to his left side to simultaneously kick the back of his legs and lob herself into his ribs.

His knees knocked into the stone, right fist punching down to balance his fall. But before he could stand again, or even realise that Aelin had grabbed her sword again and swivelled to his front, she sent her fist barrelling straight into his face. The sound it made was terrible and so very rewarding. Flame danced in her throat as she watched the power in her blow lift him slightly into the air, and toss him back onto the rock.

In a heartbeat, Aelin straddled his chest, trapping his arms underneath her legs and bringing her sword to his throat. She gripped his hair with her free hand as she gently leaned over his bloodied face. He growled at her, the rage red-hot and palpable in its vibration.

But still, her lips lay a hair’s breadth from his curved ear, and a fiery heat escaped from her mouth as she whispered, “Make sure to tell your High Lord about this, too.”

She stayed there for a moment, letting the message soak in. Then she jerked back, deftly removing herself and her sword from his body.

Chucking the weapon into her left hand, she strolled from the training ring, and headed for her wooden plank once more. The entire roof was still and silent, utterly enraptured by what they had just seen.

But Aelin did not regret it one bit. Nor did she feel good or satisfied. Not when weathered silver eyes flashed in her memory.

Behind her, she heard a hand clasp Cassian’s to pull him up. She didn’t look back to watch, instead pausing before Gwyn and swapping weapons again. The priestess said nothing, and Aelin didn’t check to see what her expression beheld.

It was only when Aelin reached her plank that she looked around.

Nesta was motionless beside her own plank, watching Aelin unflinchingly. Her eyes were somehow both wide and narrowed, and her silver sword stood underneath clasped hands. Then, a slow blink.

Aelin knew what it said. She also knew what it meant. She lifted her chin slightly in response.

And when Nesta turned to continue her practicing, Aelin brandished her shitty wooden sword, and hacked at the plank.

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

Training only had another fifteen minutes. So the limited time hadn’t exactly allowed for the tension to diffuse.

Regardless, the females had all returned to their sparring after Aelin and Nesta had.

Aelin hadn’t thought about what Cassian and Azriel’s reactions would be, but the virtual silence was a little surprising. In the last minutes, Azriel had only spoken in small amounts to the priestesses. And Aelin hadn’t bothered to check where Cassian was. Perhaps it took a large amount of isolated masculine energy to rebuild his pride.

Now, as Aelin stood on the roof underneath the blistering mid-morning sun, both males were gone, and the last of the priestesses had headed down the stairs to the library seconds ago.

She lingered beside the water canteen, towel in hand, and eyes on the far side of the roof. Or rather, the female who sat there, legs hanging over the edge that overlooked the city.

Aelin had heard Emerie and Gwyn try to speak to her once Cassian had flown down and away. She had muttered a response too soft for Aelin to hear, but it had been enough to get her friends to leave her alone.

There was a lot that Aelin knew about the world. Her world, technically speaking. She might not have seen it all, might not have experienced everything, but there was no denying that she had experienced sadness. Grief. Regret. Remorse.

That look in Nesta’s eyes had been something Aelin had seen in her own reflection for months.

The thought sent her into a walk.

Aelin didn’t give Nesta any warning as she bent down and sat beside her on the edge of the roof.

Her gaze went over to the sprawling city, its twinkling river and pale colours bright under the sun.

In silence, they sat there.

Birds twittered and chirped, their melody so cheerful and pure. A constant reminder that goodness would always find a way to trickle itself into the darkest of times. The sunlight’s reflection on the river flashed as the water moved, and a tender breeze wisped through their hair.

Minutes passed by before Aelin decided to glance to her side.

Nesta’s eyes were on the horizon, not the city. And they were pricked with a vulnerability Aelin hadn’t seen from her before.

She shifted in her seat, moving to place the towel to her side, then returned to the view before them.

Then, with a certainty and peace she had no explanation for, Aelin spoke.

“If I tell you one of my secrets, will you tell me one of yours?”

Chapter Text

Nesta had awoken this morning to clarity.

She hadn’t questioned it; it had been the first nice feeling she’d felt in… a while. The first that she didn’t feel a need to dissect.

It turned out that there wasn't any need to question the feeling in order for an answer to manifest itself. As she had dressed and tidied her hair, that clarity had slowly melted away to reveal its truth. There were other things underneath. Things that felt like sadness.

Sadness was foreign to Nesta. Anger was much more familiar. It was part of who she was, and it always had been. Maybe it always would be. She couldn’t even remember what she used to be angry about. The only thing she could remember was the feeling, the way it had latched onto every single thing, and the way it made her want to scream every time it came out.

She didn’t cry much. One of the only times in her life had been just months ago, at the end of that week hiking in the mountains. It had brought about such visceral pain, a ripping agony that had even anger speechless.

Nesta had felt clarity after that, too. She still believed that something had forged in her as she had cried before that lake. For a while, she had been under the impression that it was peace. Acceptance, easiness, and happiness. But after these weeks… Maybe the trick was that she needed to figure out what had built in her that day.

A soft wind blew over her face. Blew something light off of her skin. Like dust off of a broken bone. For there was a solid, unmoveable heaviness that remained, pressing her deep into the ground.

And no amount of sleep, no amount of bathing, no amount of fighting or thinking or bargaining was getting rid of it.

So when Elentiya sat beside Nesta and spoke, she listened.

“If I tell you one of my secrets, will you tell me one of yours?”

She blinked slowly, dropping her gaze to the city as she opened her eyes again.

She knew she was already in deep shit for inviting Elentiya to training. She was still waiting to face Rhysand and her sister for it. Especially after- Nesta faltered on the memory. Especially after today.

Elentiya had sparred with Nesta as usual. It was clear that she had experience with longswords, but it hadn’t been anything inconceivable.

But then, Elentiya had suddenly fought with a mastery unlike Nesta had ever seen or heard of before. Had fought Cassian like that. It had been an unthinkable sight, as if a needle-sharp inferno had torn free from its cage of flesh. She moved like a viper made of scorching, flickering flame, agility and dexterity at implausible levels.

And she had beat him. She had punched Cassian in the fucking face and immobilised him.

Everyone on that roof had been voiceless. Wordless. The General of the Night Court’s armies had been rendered powerless by a female from another world. And no one had moved. No one had said a word.

Nesta couldn’t remember what had run through her mind in the moment. And it had only been afterwards, when Elentiya had lifted her chin in that imperial way of hers, that Nesta had realised what the female had meant by the victory.

It was the thought of that gesture that had her raising her eyebrows to get Elentiya to continue.

“I once stole a priceless mare from a lord in a desert. An Asterion mare.”

Slowly, Nesta turned her head to face the female.

“I named her Kasida. Drinker of the wind. They tried to kill me for it.” The female was facing the horizon, the breeze sending pieces of her golden hair flying behind her.

Watching her for a moment, Nesta felt as though she could sense the mountains and stories inside Elentiya’s mind. Maybe she had lied about being nineteen. In some ways, Nesta felt a lot younger than her.

Drinker of the wind. It was a good name. Ataraxia was better.

Yet, Nesta had no qualms in what she said next.

“I know that your name is not Elentiya.”

A surprised smile coloured the female’s face, and she let out a short, breathy laugh. “And what is my name?”

“Celaena,” Nesta replied, not caring whether or not she was permitted to share the knowledge. “There is a second name. It slipped my mind.”

“Sardothien. But I prefer Elentiya.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes, aiming them at the stone. But it wasn’t the female’s answer that bothered her. Elentiya was almost completely unruffled at the information, as if she had somehow been waiting for it.

A slick feeling rushed through her. A feeling that reminded her that no one else had been present when Rhysand had confronted Elentiya the day before Feyre gave birth. And suddenly Nesta felt as though she knew nothing at all.

“How old are you?” Elentiya asked, looking over at her with turquoise eyes.

Nesta swallowed and took in a long breath. She should have known this cursed female would bring up their conversation from the other day. “Why?”

Her answer was immediate. “Because it is strange for someone who seems older than me to not be educated about their magic.”

Nesta shook her head, abandoning the doubt. “Twenty-five. Was your landing here really an accident?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Elentiya said. “I do not want to be here. Let alone start a war like Rhysand believes I so strongly long for.”

Nesta’s brows scrunched as she assessed the female’s face. “So how did you end up here?”

“You want the truth?”

Nesta only stared.

Elentiya pulled back with a chuckle. “There was something I needed to fulfill, and the plan was for me to then fade into the Afterworld. Instead, I started falling through the worlds and accidentally landed here instead of home.”

“What did you have to fulfill?”

Elentiya fixed her with a glare. “That’s your third question in a row. It’s my turn.”

Nesta repositioned herself on the stone, nodding her head in reluctant acquiescence.

“How is it that you do not know what your power is? How to control it?”

Nesta paused. Elentiya hadn’t yet earned the right to hear the full answer to that question. And the thought of uttering the words out loud had a fluttering panic churning the contents in her stomach. “It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got time.”

“I’m not answering that question.”

Elentiya frowned, and twisted so one knee now lay on the stone. “Why not?”

Nesta watched her for a long moment, waiting for the warning bells to chime, roaring at herself to stop what she knew would get her into trouble. But she only saw the curious face in front of her, that ring of gold in Elentiya’s eyes that glinted and shone like jewellery.

“Why does it bother you so that I don’t know about my magic?”

Elentiya's lips curled up a little. “If I answer that question, will you answer mine?”

Glowering, Nesta ticked her brows up.

“Typically, in Erilea at least,” Elentiya explained, “magic is taught from a very young age. I figured that your world works similarly. So, it’s strange for a powerful Fae to be unfamiliar with the essence of their magic- let alone how to wield and warp it.” She paused for a beat, and seemed to hesitate before continuing slowly. “I’m not trying to imply that there is something wrong with you. There are many possible explanations for your… circumstances. I was just curious which one it was.”

“Why?”

Elentiya clicked her tongue. “That’s question number…” she said as she looked up, feigning deep thought, “five?”

Nesta inhaled, loosening the irritation that had now returned to her roiling blood. Better than that numb, dazed 'clarity', she supposed. She also supposed that Elentiya was being fair enough, given that Nesta had only really answered one question.

“I do not know what my power is because no one else does.”

After a few seconds of silence, wherein Nesta was holding her breath, Elentiya gave her a bemused look. “I’m going to ask for a little more than that.”

She glared and added bluntly, “I was not born with magic.”

Elentiya’s stare didn’t leave hers. Only her eyebrows creased slightly. “Does that… happen often in Prythian?”

Nesta opened her mouth, but hesitated. The answer was more complex than she had thought. “I don’t think everyone is born with magic.” She had met all kinds of faerie in Velaris who had none at all. “But they don’t-” She sighed. “It’s different.”

Elentiya only tilted her head in request.

Nesta took in another breath, but the shaky wisp of it only managed to reach her throat. “Something happened,” she started, but needed to swallow. “And it left me with magic.”

She felt Elentiya's gaze on her when she stopped speaking. Nesta knew she was being cryptic, but she hadn’t exactly spoken about it before. That… day, was something she hadn’t dared to touch in the past two years, and talking about it felt like sticking a burning iron rod into a bloody wound.

Another light wind blew through them, and the birds twittered.

“Your turn,” Elentiya said eventually, crossing her legs on the stone.

Nesta straightened but held her tongue for a minute. She felt a little like she’d been ripped raw. But, she realised as she frowned, she didn’t feel like running away- as she so often did. Elentiya was simply a vessel in which Nesta could expel her thoughts into, certain that they'd be kept secret in a different world.

She pressed her lips together. “Do you know anything about mates?”

Elentiya looked to the horizon, steadfast against the gentle wind.

Nesta had meant to ask about her own situation, but… it all went tumbling away at the expression strangling Elentiya’s face.

“Do you have one?” She failed to disguise the surprise in her voice.

Elentiya said nothing. And didn’t reply for a minute.

It was no rejection; Nesta was content in the silence, knowing to wait. The sea glimmered in the distance, waves rippling sunlight, its vast expanse a great blue blanket. One of the chirping birds landed on the stone beside them, and Nesta turned to watch as it hopped about. It humanised Elentiya in a way, to see her quiet like this. And the fresh air was nice.

Tenderly, Elentiya inhaled. And Nesta looked up to see a thin thread of silver lining her eyes, glistening like the river below.

Finally, she answered, her voice uncharacteristically delicate. “His name is Rowan.”

Nesta’s lips parted, somewhat startled at the piece of truth Elentiya offered her.

“Do you love him?” she asked boldly, the first question that popped into her mind.

Elentiya nodded with a slow blink.

Her next question was quicker. “Does he love you?”

Golden hair swayed as Elentiya rotated to look at her, the tears having faded. “Yes.” A pause. “Why?”

“I-” Nesta broke off. The words were stuck in her throat, and she felt stupid. Of course Elentiya’s mate loved her. Feyre’s mate loved her. Elain’s mate loved her, even though she never spoke a damned word to the male. She had just thought…

She had thought that maybe Elentiya, having a sharper disposition, might be in the same boat as Nesta. But Elentiya’s mate loved her.

In the past days, there had been a tendril of doubt making its way into Nesta’s mind, whispering that maybe, she might not be the only problem between her and Cassian. She scoffed silently. Nesta was kidding herself. Elentiya might have claws, but she was still loveable. Loveable.

Nesta knew what it was to be loved now. It was a warm hand, cupped to hold her in its palm. One that stayed unmoving in a rough sea, or an erupting volcano. It was big teal eyes and long brown braided hair. It was laughing and friendship.

A burning lump formed in her throat, pricking warmth into her eyes. Cassian had spoken to her. Those nice words- after their hike. He had told her that there was another side to the guilt and self-loathing that had drowned her for years. He had said there was a better side, a relief that she would reach if she kept fighting, and discarded the need for forgiveness. His large hand had stroked her hair as she wept, telling her that he wouldn’t change her sharpness and boldness for the world. He had said that he never wanted her to cage herself.

But she was. She was caging herself. She was caging the sharpness, the boldness. She’d hold her tongue and scream and scratch inside her mouth. And still, it was not enough.

Elentiya was watching her, brows furrowed. “Did you-” She hesitated. “Did you have a mate?”

Nesta frowned in return, blinking the tears from where they had laid in her eyes. And the words registered. Elentiya thought that Nesta’s mate was dead?

“I… no,” she responded, mentally kicking herself to just spit it out. “I do.”

Elentiya’s whole face scrunched up, and she asked confusedly, “What are you saying?”

Nesta sighed and rolled her eyes, exasperated. She couldn’t say it; her mouth kept flinching back. She warred within herself, pushing and pushing. Eventually she just counted down from three.

“He is my mate,” she breathed. She had never said the words aloud. They were unwieldy as jagged rocks on her tongue.

“Who?” Elentiya pressed.

Nesta looked behind them, checking for any lingering ears. The roof was empty.

“Cassian.”

Elentiya pulled back, positively floored. Her mouth fell open slightly. “Really?”

A stone dropped into Nesta’s stomach at her reaction. Could she tell that something was wrong? Did Elentiya know something she did not?

“I-” Nesta stuttered, and cursed herself at the weak sound. But she pushed it away, desperation for knowledge overriding all else. And Elentiya would return to her world soon enough, along with the truths Nesta was giving her. “I think so. Why are you surprised?”

Elentiya shrugged, wide-eyed, and carefully leaned back onto her hands. “I suppose I got the sense that you were… different.”

“What?” Nesta urged.

“I don’t know,” Elentiya said. “It’s difficult to not read into situations. It has been rather obvious to me since my first days here that there is a good amount of strife among the ruling court of this territory. I had thought it was just regular political conflict at first, but…” she trailed off.

Nesta must have looked as thrown off as she felt, because Elentiya’s next words were softer. “I don’t mean to discredit your mating bond. I only met you a little over two weeks ago; there’s no way for me to speak about it accordingly.”

“You don’t understand,” Nesta breathed, shaking her head. “It hasn’t been accepted yet.”

Elentiya blinked. “Accepted?”

“With the food,” Nesta said, waving a hand.

And when the female frowned, blinking at her, Nesta realised. “You don’t do that in your world?”

Elentiya watched her closely, then said slowly, “No.”

“So in your world, if someone meets their mate, that’s it? The mating bond is official and irreversible?” The thought terrified her.

“It’s… I don’t-” Elentiya stumbled. “It’s not as binding as you make it out to be. You usually consummate the bond, which makes the instincts more active, but you’re officially mates with the other person the whole time. It’s much like how your parents are your parents, and your cousin is your cousin. Your mate is your mate.”

“And what if you don’t want to be their mate?”

The question hung in the air.

“Then…” Elentiya shrugged softly, “you leave them alone.”

Nesta inhaled shakily, straightening her posture again. Leave them alone.

Turquoise eyes dropped to scan her. Slowly, Elentiya murmured, “You don’t want to be?”

Nesta’s mouth was shut, and she watched as a spark of realisation lit in her eyes.

“Why are you being kept up here?” Elentiya’s voice was hard and penetrating.

Nesta shook her head. “It’s not like that. I swear it,” she added when Elentiya glared at her. “My being up here is an entirely different story,” she hedged, shifting on the stone. “It’s your turn.”

Elentiya smiled sweetly. “Tell me the story.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes at her, but explained anyway. “After the war two years ago, I was… off the rails. I had become such a wretch, drinking and fucking everything in sight.”

Elentiya snorted. “A true sin.”

Nesta continued, ignoring the comment. She should have known that Elentiya of all people would be the only one to approve of her behaviour earlier this year. “My… family couldn’t stand it. After I spent a ridiculous amount of gold marks on one evening, my sister summoned me and gave me an ultimatum.” There was no embarrassment anymore. She’d told Emerie and Gwyn the same story in the Blood Rite. “Train in the House of Wind, or return to the human lands.”

A pause. “So, you aren’t here voluntarily?”

She sighed. “That doesn’t matter. It ended up helping-”

“Of course it fucking matters,” Elentiya said, nearly growling. “I understand that sometimes people need help, but freedom and liberty should be valued above all else. No one deserves to be manacled.”

“I’m not manacled-”

“And did it really help? Does it really matter that you’ve stopped sleeping with the city and drinking down to the dregs if there is still an exhaustion so bone-deep in your eyes and soul, dulling and muffling you?”

She said nothing, dumbfounded. Was the feeling that strong now? That it spilled atop the edges of her, painting her exterior with pain?

“I’m not going to pretend to be all-knowing, but I find that the Gods will never give you peace in something you were never meant to settle in,” Elentiya said. “I find that nobody is coming to save you. And it’s up to you, and you alone, to get up.”

She frowned. The words weren’t entirely comforting. “But other people can help.”

Elentiya sighed, and her hard-set expression loosened. She paused for some time before continuing. “You’re right. But it is unwise to rely only on them. You need to be enough for yourself.”

And that was enough talking for now.

Giving in, Nesta relaxed her posture and dropped her head into her hands. The skin was still heated and sweaty from training. Her fingers traced down her face, stopping to press into her eyes.

She let the silence still her. Let the presence at her side exist. She didn’t know what to think.

She didn’t know who she was. She didn’t know why this wretched female was here. She didn’t know how to explain what felt so lost inside her.

A tingling memory itched at the edge of her mind. Words from the day she and her best friends were stolen to compete in the Blood Rite. She hadn’t thought about them much when Eris Vanserra had spoken them in the Spring Court- had pegged it as some feeble attempt to careen her. But now…

Stay with the Night Court and you risk your ruin.

The knowing rage, the cunning glare on the Autumn heir’s face flickered as her fingers pressed deeper into her eyes.

Abruptly, Nesta yanked her hands away and gulped in a load of air. “Do you miss your horse?”

“That’s your question?” Elentiya asked, a little incredulously. When Nesta said nothing, she continued. “I miss her.” She thought for a moment. “I don’t even know where she is. The last time I saw her was months ago.”

Nesta gave her a small smile, and hoped it didn’t look too forced.

Elentiya smiled back in a brief laugh, evidently unfooled by her. “You said you had a sister?”

“Two. Both younger. You met Feyre, and only the Mother knows what the hell Elain is up to these days.”

“Feyre the High Lady?” Her eyes sharpened.

Nesta grimaced at the title. Feyre would always be her youngest sister, not some ruler. Still, she nodded mildly.

“I always wanted a sister,” Elentiya said, maybe more to herself. “I was blessed with a bothersome, snarling cousin instead.” Her smile belied the insults to said cousin, and Nesta felt her own lips curl up.

“Anyway, I’ve had enough of these questions for now,” Elentiya huffed, standing. “Have you?”

Nesta watched the female as she rose, but looked back at the horizon instead of joining her. The blinding sun was now steadily making its way to its apex. But before she could get lost in the sky again, she felt deft fingers grip onto the collar of her leathers, heaving her upwards.

Through a groan as she pulled, Elentiya said, “I’m not going to leave you out here wallowing, either.”

Nesta didn’t have it in her to argue. This female was almost an exact cross between her, Gwyn, and Emerie. A blazing fire that was best left in its own path, untouched and uninterrupted.

Elentiya let go of her collar, and turned to head for the door. “You’re coming with me to research a way for me to get home.”

Nesta only rolled her eyes to herself, in this deep, pathetic hole she’d dug herself into. There was no point in even running away from the consequences now. Maybe they’d finally execute her for fraternising with the enemy.

“And as for Cassian...” Elentiya said from across the roof, gesturing for Nesta to follow her. Once she reached her side, she continued. “At the end of the day, being mates doesn’t really matter if that's all it is. Why would you stay with someone who you aren’t good with? After all, it is a decision. But if Cassian was my mate, and he kept prodding at me like he was doing to you,” she smirked, “I’d do more than just punch him. He’d be launched off the rutting roof.”

Elentiya grinned and descended the stairs when she saw the tiny smile on Nesta’s lips.

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

“Do it,” the prince ordered, dark and low.

The forest clearing was shadowed and cool, despite the midday winter sun gilding the canopy of leaves above them.

The snows had lightened two days after the battle had been won. Delicate snowflakes had cascaded as the enemy fell, landing on the cheeks of the upraised faces, crying gratitude and victory to the skies. Unrelenting celebration had boomed and wailed for hours. The glaciers of winter remained, the frigid ice still frosting the walls of Orynth, but a warmth and relief had melted the frozen, fearful hearts of Terrasen’s long-suffering children.

Gavriel had fallen. Murtaugh Allsbrook. Manon Blackbeak’s Thirteen. Hundreds of witches and beasts and warriors and healers. The heavy coat of grief was palpable- draped in a quilt across the ivory castle.

But that grief was nothing- nothing, compared to the tangible, yawning agony rippling and pulsing from the prince before him.

Fenrys stood in the centre of the clearing they’d found in the Oakwald, barely a ten minute run from the palace. The scent of moss, wet rock, and pine floated around him.

He looked down, rotating the vial of clear liquid held between his thumb and forefinger. A blinding resolve enveloped him, steeling his bones.

It had been fifteen days since Aelin had… had left. The memory of that morning, that horrible dawn they had awoken to, had that all-encompassing ache blooming in him again. It hadn’t really ever left. Even as Erilea had been freed. Even as he had plunged Goldryn into Maeve’s rotten heart.

They knew Aelin wasn’t dead. At least, Fenrys, Rowan, and Lorcan did. The other end of the blood oaths- and Rowan’s mating bond- was viable. She was out there somewhere. Alive. And potentially alone and powerless.

“Don’t stay as long this time, okay?” a softer voice said.

Fenrys glanced to his right, where Elide stood beside Lorcan on the edge of the glade. Worry creased her dark brows, but determination was set on her face. The vial in her own hand was corked and full to the brim.

His gaze returned to the vial he held, and he swirled the contents once, preparing. It had to be quick, and he had to be precise. It had been Yrene Westfall’s idea. So the four of them had been out here for hours each day for the past week, starting the morning after Maeve and Erawan had been killed. Rowan had started the moment their bodies dropped.

It wasn’t working. Fenrys kept failing. And everyone could see the noose around Rowan’s neck getting tighter and tighter. He had lost a mate once before, and Fenrys wasn’t sure he’d survive it a second time. Especially a real mate.

But if Aelin never came back, it wasn’t just a mate Rowan would lose. The entire territory of Terrasen would mourn the loss of who had been their only hope for years. Fenrys would lose the only person who could even begin to understand his shredded soul.

He and Aelin hadn’t gone through all of that for nothing.

The continent had celebrated when Terrasen had won, yes. But how long would it be until they started questioning the date of the coronation? How long would it be until the people of Terrasen ask to see their soon-to-be queen?

Fenrys gripped the vial tighter. Took in a long breath and set his boots harder into the ground.

“Careful,” Elide murmured again.

He raised his eyes to look at Rowan. He was staring at him, green eyes severe and pained. Fenrys knew the prince hated asking this of him, especially after Maeve and Cairn, but none of them had any other choice. It was the only plan they had.

Rowan only nodded at him once before Fenrys closed his eyes and tilted his head back, downing the contents of the vial.

He stiffened as the liquid scorched and burned his throat, and the glass fell from his hand. Immediately, a twisting pain gripped his chest as he reached deep within himself to find those two tethers. The blood oath, and the thread of magic that allowed him to jump between places. He found both with ease and grasped them tightly, testing and coaxing them slightly as he waited for the fever to reach his head.

His body began to convulse, and he scrunched his eyes tighter. A few painful seconds later, a milky haze appeared in his vision. Movement warped the mist, sending wisps floating and contorting like white, murky ribbons. Fenrys waited for a few seconds more, as long as he could, until the mist darkened at the edges.

Only then did he yank on the two tethers and dive into the haze, disappearing completely from the forest clearing.

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

Minutes passed before Fenrys reappeared.

His knees hit the mossy earth, fists following promptly. He heaved and shook, pain wrenching through him.

He felt more than saw when Elide rushed over to him, dropping to her knees and pouring the antidote in his mouth. He spluttered as it went down, cool and thin. After he swallowed it all, he hung his head between his shoulders, taking in quick breaths.

Only when the pain started abating did he slowly, weakly, shake his head. He heard Elide’s exhale as she placed a hand on his shoulder.

And when Fenrys eventually looked up, he only saw the speckled wing of a white-tailed hawk flapping out of the canopy and into the sky.

Chapter Text

Somehow, four more days trickled down that celestial hourglass.

Aelin knew there was only a few more at best before her magic would burst and rage in an inferno through every pore on her skin. She needed to let it out. It was making her more irritable than usual. And violent. She wanted to snarl and bite and rip the walls to shreds. And then burn them.

Underneath that, though, panic was creeping in. She needed more information. She needed something new- something different. Her chances of ever making it back had somehow shrunk even more than before.

But even if she did return home… would there be anything to return to? The thought was nauseating.

Their odds had been dismal. But she would know if Rowan were dead. She’d know if Fenrys or Lorcan were, too. They’d have made it to Orynth days ago now; they’d have to have encountered Maeve and Erawan.

But what if being in a different world warped the connections she had to them? What if they were all dead and killed? What if the presences she could feel on the other ends of those tethers were lying to her?

Aelin inhaled stiffly and straightened in her seat before Merrill’s desk.

“Next,” the priestess ordered sharply.

“For Scythia,” Aelin replied, reciting from a historical essay. “Peace with Prythian and Vallahan had formed the foundation of their immunity against the immortal creatures dwelling above the Wall.”

“Continue,” she grunted.

Aelin took in a slow breath. “However, decades into their alliance, the more populous territories slackened with their promises, forcing Scythia to fortify its borders and terminate all trade routes with Prythian.”

“No- no. Not what I’m looking for, Elentiya,” the priestess huffed, glaring. “Just-” She leaned over the desk and snatched the volume from Aelin’s hands. A curled strand of her ivory hair fell onto the desk like snow as she whipped back around to read.

Merrill had sent Gwyn to find a brick of a book for the High Lord’s request, leaving Aelin to bear the brunt of her impatience. And she knew Gwyn would take as long as possible to retrieve that book.

Now suddenly bored, Aelin raised her hand to the wooden desk and started picking at the fraying edges.

After their conversation four days ago, Nesta had actually helped Aelin research. And, she had joined her each following day for those evening hours after Merrill. She didn’t quite know what Nesta did while Aelin worked, but it didn’t really concern her as it might have.

What had concerned her was something else.

Nesta had not wanted to reside in the House of Wind, but she had so anyway under the High Lady’s orders. That situation was bound to be more nuanced than what Aelin had been told. Indeed, the High Lady also happened to be Nesta’s sister. Aelin didn’t know exactly what led to Feyre making that choice for her older sister, and she didn’t know if it was the ultimatum of a sister or a ruler.

Regardless, Aelin stood by what she’d said to Nesta. No one deserved to be locked up. To Aelin, the only possible tolerable reasoning behind Feyre’s decision was that she’d tried everything else to help her sister. Fortunately for the High Lady, there wasn’t really any way for Aelin to find out, besides outright asking.

But if Aelin obtained any information leading her to believe that anyone was being truly, unlawfully, detained… Well, she’d snarl and bite and rip the perpetrator to shreds.

To make matters infinitely more complicated, Cassian was Nesta’s mate. That had been a guess Aelin hadn’t made in her own mind, observing them over the weeks. Their interactions had been a little more strained and… non-verbal than what Aelin might have guessed mates tended to be, but she’d only ever seen Emrys and Malakai. And her own didn’t really count as a typical situation.

The worrying fact, however, was that Nesta had been close to admitting that she did not want to be with Cassian. That had flickered warning bells.

The compounding knowledge that Nesta did not want to be in the House of Wind, and might not want to be with Cassian, was a little too alarming for Aelin’s liking.

But she hadn’t prodded further into Nesta’s relationship with Cassian. She had seen the tears in her silver eyes when talking about it. Had heard the uncharacteristic desperation in her questions. Mates would usually spend their lives together from the moment they’d meet, yes. But she and Rowan were proof that things could tilt and vary.

She knew that she was of no more help to Nesta there. Only the female herself could figure out what she wanted. What she needed.

But… Aelin would gladly beat Cassian’s face whenever Nesta asked.

Aside from her conversation with the female, Aelin had spent virtually all of her time thinking about her own little spat with the very bastard Nesta was fretting over.

In a clearer head, the verdict was: regret was still nowhere to be seen. Aelin had actually slept extra soundly, reliving the memory of her fist in his face. And then she’d simply gone back to training the next morning. And Gods, it had been as if she’d imagined it all. Not one person had mentioned it. Not one.

Aelin had been wholly prepared for execution or exile. She had planned an entire damned escape plan for it. One for Nesta too. But there had been nothing. She could hardly believe it.

Azriel and Cassian taught and trained as usual, but ignored every move and word from Aelin. From the gleam in their eyes, it was obvious that they were under orders to act that way. She just knew Cassian was dreaming of ripping her in half. She could see it in his fuming, hazel gaze.

To make matters worse, Aelin also knew that Rhysand had told them all her ‘true’ name, and likely the rest of what he’d seen in her mind. Which also meant that they knew she’d been lying about her combat abilities.

Yet, still nothing.

It was getting eerie. And the slivers of anxiety bubbling in Aelin about the consequences were likely exactly what they wanted. So, she ignored it just as they ignored her.

A sharp flit of paper swiped at Aelin’s hand, launching her from her thoughts.

“Insolent urchin,” Merrill sniped, scowling at the fingers pulling at the flaky wood.

Wide-eyed, Aelin pulled her hand away and placed it in her lap, only to catch a book tossed over the shoulder of the priestess. She spun the book around to see the title. The Mother’s Cauldron, it read.

“Check if that one contains anything about Cauldron-cursed creatures. Not the political history.”

Aelin tilted her head back and groaned silently while Merrill was looking away, then flipped open to the table of contents. She was quite sure she knew more about Prythian than the average citizen now. And yet, still nothing about those creatures Gwyn and Merrill were studying.

Aelin didn’t give a shit about it, really. But it was only natural for curiosity to spark when she was so consumed with the research. From her own guesses, she was beginning to believe that the creatures were the first of their kind.

Running her finger down the paper, she paused at a chapter entitled Beasts and Demons.

She read the entire chapter in silence for minutes, skimming for any mention of eight feet tall clawed creatures with packed muscles and forward facing eyes.

But, the majority of the text’s descriptions covered creatures of far more magical inclination. Aelin read of the Bogge and the Puca, both manipulating fears or desires to ensnare the minds of their victims, the Martax and the Naga, who were much more interested in preying on mortals, the monsters keen on female flesh, Lubia and Blue Annis, and Aelin’s favourite: the Suriel.

The beasts next to Koschei’s lake weren’t so magical. They were stronger. Earthier, meatier.

Aelin shook her head slightly and flipped to the next chapter.

It only took the title for the opportunity to reveal itself to her.

“What about the Dread Trove?” she asked.

Merrill whipped around, twilight eyes narrowing at Aelin. “Irrelevant.”

“Are you certain?” Aelin shifted on the seat. “It says here that they’re some of the strongest weapons in the history of Prythian. They’d be helpful in an attack, would they not?”

“Perhaps,” Merrill said curtly, lips curled in distaste. “Maybe you’d be helpful if you remembered our role in this research. I need to find out what these blasted creatures are, not how to destroy them.”

“Well, we’re not really getting anywhere, aren’t we? I thought I’d try to be helpful in another way.”

Merrill leaned over the desk. “Don’t. And enough of that Trove talk. Unless you’d offer yourself up as the vessel for the things, you’re being utterly useless.”

Aelin shelved the information for later, then shrugged, unaffected. “They’re lost to the winds anyway, right?”

The priestess pulled back, scowling. “Right. Back to it.”

A slight screech of the door from behind her sounded Gwyn’s return, and she sank down on the seat beside Aelin, sighing.

“A hard find. Sorry for taking so long,” she said, placing the heavy book on the desk.

Merrill only glared knowingly. Aelin had to hold her breath to stop from snorting.

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

Nesta’s steps echoed through the main room of the House as she aimed for the stairs that led to the library. Clotho had told her that today's stacks to be shelved were fuller than ever, thanks to the order Merrill had placed a few days prior.

She’d taken a little longer to clean and dress after training. Not just to procrastinate the High Priestess’s task for her. She’d caught herself staring at the wall for minutes as she soaked, fingers pruny and skin wan. A few things had… changed recently. And not just externally.

Her hand was reaching out to twist the golden knob when heavy steps sounded from the hallway.

“Nesta.” His voice was a bit breathless, as if he’d been looking for her. Or waiting.

The reflection of her stagnant fingers stretched in the shiny gold. She cringed for a silent moment, then steeled herself before turning around. She didn’t speak as she beheld Cassian, leathered up and wind-swept as always.

He seemed to realise that she wasn’t going to answer him, and walked closer to her. “You need to come with me.”

Nesta frowned immediately. “Why?”

“There’s a meeting down at the Town House.”

She said nothing, calming the blood that had started to pump too fast through her. “About what?”

He grinned at her. How he still felt comfortable doing that, she didn’t know. “A few things. I think you’ll find it interesting, though.”

She swallowed, keeping extremely still. She’d been waiting for the aftermath of Elentiya’s outburst, festering for days in the anxiety that brewed in the dead silence from the entire Inner Circle. Were they going to execute Elentiya? Or would they end them both?

“And why am I needed, may I ask?” Her tone was far from polite.

Cassian approached further, shrugging off the question. “You'll find out when we get there. Come on, Nes.”

And she scowled at the nickname- at the way he was trying to act all normal again.

Just as he was a foot away from her, she slid from the wall and strode toward the stairs. The ten thousand stairs. And although she felt Cassian follow, her dread at being requested at this meeting overpowered any anger, so she didn’t bother to push him away.

She passed through the stone archway bordering the stairs, and started down them.

Cassian leaned on the wall beside it, watching her go. “What are you doing?” His tone wasn’t as amused as she might have guessed.

Nesta did not reply, the height of each step still a shock despite the few times she’d conquered them.

“Nesta,” he said, his voice telling her that he’d started to follow her.

The tight coiling of the descent was dizzying her already, and she was only on the eleventh step. She hated these fucking stairs. More than that, she hated the shaking that had consumed her limbs at the thought of facing her sister’s family.

“Nesta, what are you doing?” Cassian was only one step behind her now.

“Going to the Town House.”

A beat. “Me too,” he replied. “Which is why I am going to fly us both.”

“I don’t need you,” she responded in a released breath. She didn’t know where the words came from.

He scoffed, the sound grating on her bones. “Seriously, Nes?”

A large hand wrapped around her shoulder, and she spun around and yanked her arm back.

“You are seriously going to act like a child after that shit the other day?” He spat the words like they had sprung free, and Nesta narrowed her eyes as she realised he had been ordered not to speak of it. She should have guessed.

“What shit?” she asked as she looked up at him, standing still on a step. “It’s not my fault that you got your ass beat.”

Something flashed across his face, eyes darkening before a voice cut in from above.

“Cass.”

They both looked up at Azriel, arms crossed over his chest as he watched them severely. He hadn’t spoken to her in the past few days either- hadn’t even attended training today. That had surprised Nesta. Shadows clouded around him, wisping and twining more than usual.

“I’ll fly you,” the shadowsinger said, jerking his chin at her.

And Nesta said nor did nothing else before shoving past Cassian and making her way up the stairs again.

Azriel flew gently, as he always did. And Nesta blocked out the city noises as they alighted on the grass before the Town House. Why they were holding the meeting here instead of the brand new opulent River House, she did not know.

Cassian landed behind them, and Nesta didn’t wait before walking up the path and opening the door. She wanted whatever this was to be over quickly. And suddenly, shelving Clotho’s millions of books seemed a much more appealing task.

The door was heavy and smooth as she pushed it open, and she veered left toward the dining room where the meetings had been held before. But her velocity halted completely in the doorway to the room as she saw neither of her sisters surrounding the great wooden table.

Rhysand, Amren, and Mor silenced and looked up from the papers strewn across the table, assessing her hovering in the threshold.

She hadn’t seen any of them since Feyre gave birth over a week ago. Only Rhysand had spoken to her then, but any gratitude he had felt or shown in the moment had vanished- if Nesta was judging his cutting expression rightly.

The looks on Amren and Morrigan’s faces contended with their High Lord’s, though. But Nesta could have sworn something else danced in the ancient one’s sharp gaze. She wasn’t surprised to find Amren back in and accepted after the friction.

It was the two presences at Nesta’s back that made her move further into the room and aim for the far end of the table, beside the window that looked out onto the little garden Elain had tended before being shipped to the River House.

As soon as she settled with her spine straight, Cassian and Azriel took their places around the table, the latter closer to the wall.

The room’s attention was a set of daggers poised an inch from her face, but she felt no fear for herself. It was another female who Nesta was afraid for.

Despite their stares, she kept her own gaze on the papers they had been poring over. They varied in stains of white and cream, crinkled and smooth. They looked much like reports or records, but some were structured as formal letters. Partly obscured by an enveloped letter was a sketched drawing made of charcoal, the art style scathingly familiar.

“Where are my sisters?” she asked the room, not bothering to look up or hide the fact that she was surveying the table.

“With Nyx,” Morrigan responded, head angling.

Nesta blinked. Nyx. That was the name Feyre gave her child.

No one had bothered to tell her. It wasn’t as if she’d been open to conversation with any of them recently, she supposed. But it wasn’t just Feyre who was with Nyx. Elain was there, too.

Pushing the small hurt away, Nesta raised her head. She met the intensity in Rhysand’s violet gaze, fortifying the fortress around her heart and mind. She might not be prepared for what this meeting had in store for her, but she’d damn act like she was.

Beside the High Lord, Cassian shifted, the expanse of his wings and the red of his Siphons drawing her eye. She flicked her stare to him for a split second, then brought it back to Rhysand. She narrowed her eyes at him and lifted her chin, the movement infinitesimal.

“We were just discussing the situation in the East,” he explained, the velvet of his voice not at all diminishing the ice.

Oh, yes. He had thoughts about Elentiya. About Nesta.

She didn’t break his stare. “Well, you’ve brought the wrong female. Gwyn knows more than I do.”

“You’re not here as a source of information.” Mor’s words were as sour as audibly possible.

It was then that Nesta felt amusement. A grim, dark sort of humour. Here she had been, believing that she might have been getting somewhere with Feyre’s family. But the looks in their eyes had adopted that same malice she had spied when they had first stormed into her father’s manor.

Nesta had accepted and made peace with the fact that she’d never entirely fit in with them, but after Nyx and the Blood Rite… she had thought it might have been the turning of a new leaf. She hadn’t saved her youngest sister to get in the Inner Circle’s good books. But now, Feyre and Nyx were healing. And the Night Court’s gratitude had expired.

Staring blankly at the hatred written all over Morrigan’s face, Nesta did not deign to inquire what she was actually here for.

“These beasts,” Amren started, swiping up Feyre’s drawing and holding it up. “Are a larger threat than previously assumed.” She tossed it back down onto the table, lifting the glass of wine she had put down before. “If it were up to me, I’d ignore them and let them feast on the mortals. But it seems that the risk is bleeding into the lives of the Fae, which- of course- means that it suddenly matters to this continent.”

Mor glared sidelong at Amren, who only stared with challenge over the top of her glass.

Rhysand placed his hands firmly onto the table and said, “The creatures are utilised as sentries- guards of the lake in which Koschei resides.” His demeanor strained subtly, as if he did not want to be telling her this. Regardless, the restraint made it one of the first times he’d ever spoken to her fairly normally. “They’re somewhat humanoid, intelligent, and sentient. Reminiscent of the Attor, but…” His head tilted, the movement curious. “Worse.”

Nesta had never encountered the Attor, nor did she know the extent of danger it had posed. She had only heard of its gruesome, fear-mongering nature in passing during those nights in the taverns of Velaris. But she didn’t care if these beasts were worse than the Attor. It was not her problem.

“They possess a magic that prevents my spies from infiltrating their forces or patterns,” Azriel added, moving from the wall.

Nesta then began to question why this was feeling like some sort of intervention. She had blamed it on what she had thought would have been an execution order for Elentiya, but this had nothing to do with the female. It involved Nesta. But how? How did espionage or creature studies involve her at all? They believed she had no magic, and they all seemed much happier when she wasn’t around.

She swore to the Mother that if they asked her to use the Trove to fight these demons, she’d rip out their throats.

“Cass and Az tried to take them out yesterday,” Mor said, her tone nearly gloating, as if the knowledge gave her a one up on Nesta. “But they were unsuccessful,” she added, nodding to the two males in question.

Instantly, claws gripped her heart, and Nesta snapped her gaze to Cassian, scanning his entire body and wings. When she found nothing, she did the same to Azriel. A thick, white bandage wrapped around his thigh, so obvious that Nesta stifled a jolt at her failure to notice before. That explained why he hadn’t been at training this morning.

Face now in a scowl, Nesta tore her gaze from the bandage and spoke to Amren. “Why are you telling me this? I am of no assistance.”

Mor snorted before Amren responded. “First, you can deliver this to your priestess friend,” she said, snatching Feyre’s drawing up again. When Nesta took the paper, she did not fail to notice the shadowsinger dragging a deadly gaze toward Amren. At least Nesta wasn’t the only one to not want Gwyn too involved in this bullshit.

“Second,” the female continued, pausing to sip the wine. “The beasts will be dealt with, but since these dogs are unequipped for the task, some bigger cards need to be called into play.”

Nesta glowered, a whirlwind of questions varying from panic and distaste and dread threatening to rear its head. She couldn’t keep being thrown into battle like this.

Rhysand pressed two tanned fingers into a flat, pristine piece of paper, and pushed it toward her. “A High Lords’ meeting has been requested by the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court.”

Nesta blinked. A High Lords’ meeting was completely unimpressive and unimpactful to her, but relief bloomed in her chest. Maybe they didn’t want the Trove.

“It will be the ambition of the assembly to amass a small force of powerful High Fae to depart and abolish the creatures in the East.”

“Don’t act like the beasts are the only reason, Rhysand,” Amren snickered, black hair swaying as she turned to Nesta. “The High Lord of Autumn has threatened outright war if the power felt across the continent is not claimed responsibility.”

Rhysand snapped his head toward the female and snarled, clearly pissed that she had gone off script for what Nesta was permitted to hear. The High Lords were still worried about that? The sensitive, megalomaniac pricks had to be joking. The female to blame was wholly focussed on getting away from them all, not attacking.

“What does any of this have to do with me?” she asked bluntly, eyeing the clear distaste for the situation on Morrigan’s face.

“We are asking you to be in attendance at the High Lords' meeting,” Rhysand said, pulling his hands back from the table.

Nesta froze. “What?” she bit out, fingers clenching into fists. Not again.

He folded his arms across his chest. “Feyre is not yet at her strongest again, and we’ve agreed that she should stay with Nyx.”

Nesta stared at Rhysand, letting her eyes contract into a piercing glare. Was every single other person in the Night Court unavailable? There was no way on the Mother’s green earth that he really wanted her representing him at this meeting.

“My answer is no,” she responded impassively, not breaking his stare.

Silence filled the room, coloured only by the faint wind that blew past the window behind her. Mor turned her head to widen her brown eyes at Amren.

Nesta had been under the impression that she was done. No more fighting, no more being used for her magic, no more fucking discussions with Feyre’s family, and no more High Lords' meetings. But she was well-versed in this sort of request. And she knew there was no winning, unless she was willing to let Elain take her place in this meeting. And she was not.

Cassian shifted on his feet again as Rhysand spoke, his words so clipped that Nesta thought he might snap in two. “Would you like to hear the conditions before refusing?”

“I have already given you my answer, but I presume it’s not the one you were all looking for.” She angled her head, exhaustion suddenly mixing with the rising anger. Nesta saw Cassian frown at something she said.

“You will always have a choice here,” Rhysand said.

Nesta rolled her eyes at the empty words, and although she knew she’d be made to attend one way or another, she said, “Then I am not going.”

Mor scoffed and swivelled to step away from the table.

“They listened to you last time, Nes,” Cassian said. But despite the meager hint of warmth in his voice, he was still on the other side of the invisible bridge, as if he were with them telling her what to do. She ground her teeth.

They were using her to weasel their way out of their untrustworthy reputation. Again. Was this how it was always going to be? They’d retrieve her from the House whenever they needed to use her? Even while they thought she had no magic left? Dread hung heavy in her limbs, but she could barely feel it above the anger. She flexed her fingers as a wave of power brewed low in her gut.

Whirling, Mor snapped, “Your youngest sister has just given birth to a beautiful boy, and you can’t muster up a sliver of selflessness to make her life just a little bit easier?”

Nesta wondered whether Feyre knew about this discussion at all. She pinned the blonde with her gaze, swallowing the mountain of silver flame longing to swim in it. “Why don’t you attend the High Lords’ meeting then, Morrigan?”

She laughed darkly. “You’re a real bitch, you know that?”

Ruby Siphons flared as Cassian snarled softly. Azriel moved and put a hand to Cassian’s chest, pushing him back from where he’d inched toward Mor.

Nesta ignored them, and turned her attention toward Rhysand again. “I’ve told you once before. It is not my problem if the High Lords cannot trust your word alone. I’m sure you’ll find a suitable attendee in your family,” she added. Cassian looked at her again.

“We cannot force you, of course,” Amren articulated thoughtfully, earning a warning glare from Rhysand again. “Although, you should know that if it’s not you going, it’s Elain.”

It was Nesta who laughed this time, anger turning into something incredulous, disbelieving. She seethed at their blatant willingness to smack Elain into the middle of some faerie meeting, but more than that, she raged at the fact that the Inner Circle knew that this would always work on her. She’d do anything to keep Elain safe.

“And you’ve spoken to Elain about this?” she asked, suppressing the roaring fury.

“No.” Amren’s silver stare was a challenge. Of course they hadn’t. “But she’d go if we asked.”

“Fuck you,” Nesta said. She hated this. She hated how small she felt whenever the ancient female spoke to her. She hated that she and her sister were stuck and caught up in this bullshit. And she hated that her other sister was tied for life.

Amren only chuckled. Mor scoffed again, and the sound dragged its nails down the walls of Nesta’s mind.

“Your answer?” Rhysand cut in, rage slick in his violet eyes. He suppressed it, for whatever reason.

“You know what my fucking answer is. But don’t come crying to me when the High Lords need a little more than my sympathy points this time.”

And with that, she left the room, making a beeline for the antechamber. The one set of footsteps behind her turned into two, and before she could reach the door, Cassian spoke.

“Nes-”

She whirled. “Don’t say another fucking word, Cassian.”

The anger was blinding her so thoroughly that she couldn’t even speak to him. She’d say something that would rip out his heart if she opened her mouth.

Her words held enough finality, because Azriel stepped in front of Cassian and asked her, “Do you want me to fly you back now?”

Nesta had turned away before he had spoken, but as she aimed for the door set in the attached room, she muttered, “I’m going to the bathroom first.”

As soon as the door slammed behind her, she pressed her hands into the jade, sparkling washbasin and hung her head between her shoulders.

Her mind was spinning. A storm of wrath and tiredness. She had known that she’d be at the wretched High Lords’ meeting as soon as the words had left Rhysand’s mouth. He, Feyre, and their little family always got what they wanted from her. Especially when they had Elain to dangle like a carrot before her face. Her arguing had been nothing but a stupid waste of energy.

But what brought that heavy, dark dread, was the knowledge that there was no end to this. She was cursed with an immortal lifespan. For as long as she lived- maybe even a thousand years- she would be at the Night Court’s mercy. And there was something in her that was becoming very, incredibly sick of it.

She turned on the tap and splashed cold water on her face. It did nothing to stifle the swarming power in her. Suddenly impulsive and panicked, she scrubbed at her face and took in fluttering breaths, feeling the droplets of cold water under her clammy, shaking hands. The room felt too small, and her body too brittle against the magic rising in her.

I am the rock against which the surf crashes.

She repeated the mantra. Over and over for minutes. The jade under her hands was grainy and cool. She saw the waves falling over her- the maelstrom of blue and ocean foam swallowing the body she inhabited as she held utterly still. She was the rock against which the surf crashed, and nothing could break her.

Slower, calmer, she unlocked the bathroom door and cracked it open. Cassian and Azriel were speaking in the antechamber, clearly waiting for her. She took a breath before opening the door fully, but a spark of golden light glinted in her eyes.

She squinted, tilting her head so she could see what the sunlight was reflecting off of.

On the mantelpiece, a bit of curved, gilded metal was tucked behind a frosty snow globe. And when she spied the flash of cerulean, she recognised it.

Elentiya’s necklace.

Cassian hadn’t sold it for liquor in Illyria. Yet.

She knew, immediately, what she was about to do. Her eyes snapped back to Cassian and Azriel, still immersed in deep conversation. She didn’t care to give attention to Cassian’s expression.

Nimbly, she slid out of the door and darted to the fireplace, out of their sight. She was careful not to disturb the ornaments when she reached over the snow globe and put her hand around the necklace. It was as heavy and thick as she remembered, the imperial stag bright and white against the cerulean base.

But as she examined the necklace, she saw a warped image blurring through the glass of the globe. Not inside the ornament, but behind it. She reached behind again, feeling further until- there. She pulled the small object over the mantelpiece.

It was a golden ring. Small, and shiny. The rectangular emerald mounted atop it was absurd and glorious. Nesta knew without a doubt that it belonged to that blonde devil in the library.

Looking over her shoulder, she wrapped the golden chain around the wide pendant and stuffed it into her pocket with the ring. They barely fit, but it would have to do.

She didn’t say a word to Cassian or Azriel as she re-entered the antechamber and was flown back to the House of Wind.

Chapter Text

“You always have your hair braided like that,” Aelin said, peering from the side of her eye.

Nesta’s didn’t move from the book in her hands. “What of it?”

Aelin shrugged, fingers brushing the book titles as she skimmed the shelf. “I think I’d get sick of it.”

“It is proper,” Nesta replied curtly, turning a page.

“I’m not scorning you for it.” Aelin cut her an amused look. “It’s impressive.” Her fingers stilled on a cover of dark red, the spine soft and leathery. “No one else seems to give a shit about propriety here,” she noted, tugging the book from its place and opening to the table of contents.

“Not even you,” Nesta retorted, seated in a low, brown chair. Her posture was more rigid than normal.

Aelin snorted and pointed at her offhandedly. “I walked into that one.”

Cases and Philosophies, the title read. Chapters upon chapters of philosophers and physicists and their little theories and experiments. The information was almost bound to be useless, but Aelin was beyond skipping anything with potential.

It was interesting, nonetheless, to consume the knowledge and research of a different world. Everything was so similar, yet so unique. The magic of Prythian was drawn upon and originated by the essence of the Cauldron, and it was becoming clearer and clearer that the big basin was essentially the center of this world. Aelin much preferred Erilea, and the earthy, elemental way that magic was wielded.

Although, she wasn’t entirely sure where magic originated from in her world. It just always… had been.

As Aelin read, she was beginning to consider running away to the Day Court. Virtually every featured scholar in the majority of academic books and records hailed from that territory. And maybe they wouldn’t lock her in a tower there.

“Is the High Lord of the Day Court nice?” Aelin asked, looking up.

Nesta met her stare and glared. “Why?”

“Curiosity,” she smiled, knowing Nesta would without a doubt see through the word.

Nesta took in a breath, placing her palms on both pages of the open book before her. “You’d like him.”

Aelin raised a brow.

“To put it kindly,” Nesta began, and Aelin snorted, “I would not be surprised if he has read Sellyn Drake’s complete collection.”

“Ah,” Aelin grinned. “A male of taste.”

Emerie had given Aelin all but a vat of novels by the esteemed author about a week ago now. And she would be lying if she said they weren’t good books. They were filthy things, even for her, but she’d still gone through four of them. It took her mind off of other things when she needed it to.

What that meant for the High Lord of the Day Court? Nesta was probably right. Aelin would probably like him.

“I’d like to go there,” Aelin said, skipping to the next chapter.

“The Day Court?” Nesta frowned.

She nodded. “Most of these scholars work in its libraries. I’d have more of a chance at freedom, too.”

Nesta didn’t flinch at the honesty. “You might be allowed to stroll through the cities, but Helion wouldn’t let you anywhere near his libraries. They’re famous. And precious.”

Involuntarily, the words stabbed Aelin. Of course, Nesta did not know of the fire in her veins, but it didn’t stop the ringing in her ears, the flashing memory of Orynth’s librarians shouting and wailing through the flames encompassing those ivory, soaring aisles.

“I can be very persuasive,” she smirked, regardless.

Nesta shook her head and returned to the book in her lap. “I’m sure.”

“You know, I’m actually going to go and tell Rhysand to transport me there in that magic way of his,” Aelin continued, dropping into a seat across from Nesta.

She didn’t even look up. “You’ve got better luck making a deal with the devil.”

Aelin hummed, angling her head. “I’ve done that before. Doesn’t always work out so well.”

Nesta’s eyes flicked up, but she said nothing.

They read in that alcove on the second floor for minutes, the silence smooth with focus. Aelin was getting wrapped up in a study done by a Day Court scholar six hundred years ago, testing the relationship between the magic of the High Fae and ‘lesser’ Fae. It seemed that the lesser Fae had a similar stature in Prythian that the demi-Fae did in Wendlyn. Aelin wondered, heavily, if oppression was inescapable, even across universes.

“Winnowing.”

She paused. “What?”

“The way Rhysand and Feyre move through space like that. It is called winnowing.”

Interesting. “And you cannot winnow?”

“No.”

“Only Rhysand and your sister can winnow?”

“No.”

“Who else can?”

Nesta watched her. “Mor.”

Aelin grimaced. She had enjoyed forgetting about that female. But… “Those three are the only people in Prythian who can winnow?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. None of them would ever agree to take Aelin anywhere.

“Obviously not.”

She cocked her head. “Who else?”

“The High Lords.”

Useless. “I’ve seen Azriel do it before,” Aelin said.

“He’s different.”

Interesting again. “How so?”

Silver burned in Nesta’s eyes. “You’re chatty today.”

Aelin met it with flame. “I’m chatty every day.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, giving her attention to the book again. “I know.”

Aelin only chuckled to herself and threw her legs over the arm of the chair.

They each went through a handful of books in the next hour. The scraps of arguably valuable information weren’t valuable at all. One witness claimed that Urisks successfully carried magic into Prythian from another world to enrich the roots and shrubs of the Spring Court. A physicist in the Dawn Court worked with a healer to attempt a connection to the Afterworld using herbs and potions. They had been unsuccessful.

At this point, Aelin wasn’t even sure whether or not anyone alive had ever actually touched the Harp, let alone used it to walk between worlds. Let alone even considered trying to use it to walk between worlds. She was close to scratching her eyes out.

The feeling was only made worse by that damned fire stroking and slicing underneath her skin, screeching and twisting to escape. Her clothes were constantly drenched in sweat. Hopefully she just looked nervous to the priestesses. She was good at ignoring her power, but… she was definitely going to have to do something about all of that. Soon.

The evening was waning into night when Nesta stood and put her fourth book back.

“I was at a meeting with my sister’s family yesterday.”

Aelin raised her head from the pages. “About what?”

“Gwyn and Merrill’s research.”

Those demons and that death-God. “I didn’t think you were a part of it.”

Nesta pivoted to face her. “I’m not. I was summoned for another reason.”

Aelin put her chin in her hand. “Do go on.”

“There is to be a High Lords' meeting about… taking action.”

“Well, that’s exciting.” And it sounded much like hell, too, if she were honest. A room of seven powerful males who thought they were better than each other. It remained unclear how any of this affected her, though. They still thought her a healer; they couldn’t be thinking to use her as a weapon.

“So what?” she asked. Then added with a grin, “Did you all talk about me?”

“It’s-” Nesta rolled her eyes lightly. “It’s not about what we spoke about.”

Aelin eyed her archly. “That wasn’t a no.”

Nesta glared, making Aelin raise a hand lightly in apology. But in the next second, as Nesta pulled an object out of her pocket, Aelin forgot about the fire burning her skin, closed her book, and straightened to sit normally.

“I have reason to believe this is yours.”

The Amulet of Orynth sat in Nesta’s slender fingers, glinting and glorious as ever. The pendant lay in her hand, and the thick, gilded chain untangled itself like a ribbon of molten gold as she held it out.

Aelin had no words. She had completely forgotten that she had pocketed the necklace when she forged the Lock.

Nesta was watching her carefully as Aelin stood and moved toward her. But that wasn’t it. Crowning the pendant was a small, golden ring, adorned with one sparkling emerald. Warmth pricked from behind her eyes.

“I don’t know if the ring is yours. It was with the necklace, so I presumed.”

Aelin wordlessly picked up the ring and slid it onto her fourth finger. The metal felt like silk as it sunk down, hugging her finger and flickering a gentle spark to life in her chest. In that fleeting moment, she let herself imagine a wind of pine and snow tousling her hair. Deep green eyes, twinkling with love. A large, inked hand holding her face. Moving a fly-away strand behind her ear. Come back to me.

She felt the understanding in Nesta’s mind as the female murmured, “A wedding ring.”

Aelin ignored the realisation and took the Amulet of Orynth from Nesta’s hand. The weight was still a shock. She only flipped it once to spy the scrawl of wyrdmarks on the back before putting it around her neck and tucking it into her white tunic.

Nesta opened her mouth to say something, but for whatever reason, she closed it again. And Aelin knew. She knew that Nesta had taken the amulet and ring without permission.

“Thank you,” was all Aelin said, before taking a seat in the armchair again.

Nesta must have sensed Aelin’s unwillingness to discuss the topic, because she said nothing for the next while.

Aelin tried to comprehend the words on the thin pages before her, but she could not take her eyes from the gemstone gracing the golden ring. Her wedding ring. Match to the one she knew still bejewelled Rowan’s tattooed finger.

The weight against her chest, both literal and figurative, was crushing. But the amulet was no longer as heavy as it had once been.

For years- a millennium, even- the Amulet of Orynth had housed one of the three wyrdkeys. Only once Aelin had removed the thing to stuff it into her bleeding forearm, had the pendant been relieved of that burden. So, although the amulet was bulky in itself, it had never felt more weightless.

The reminder of that moment, the minutes painting the wyrdmarks and slashing the wound into her arm, grasping Dorian’s warm, sliced hand and pressing each sliver of obsidian stone into her blood, had something prickling in the back of her mind. A murky, piddling intuition she couldn’t quite make out. She shook it off, snapping her attention back to the book. But…

She couldn’t help but face the newfound resolution steeling her ambition. Fuelling. Kindling. Not only with grit, but a familiar- and an exceptionally welcome- defiance. Come back to me.

Aelin had been spending far too long dawdling in the depths of this mountain cage. She had thought to gain the trust of the ruling court, but if anything, the rift had only grown. Now she was just wasting time. They’d locked her in here. But Aelin could get out. Hell, she could get out of this world. A burning wrenched through her, from toe to scalp.

“What do you know of the Dread Trove?” Aelin asked, her steady words belying the roaring in her head.

A subtle jolt iced over Nesta’s sharp features. Aelin let the female stare at her. She felt no fear that she would tell her sister’s family of the question. That had been obvious to Aelin for a while.

“I know that they are very old.”

Aelin nodded slowly. “What about the Harp?”

The long stretch of silence already started answering the question.

Nesta did not break Aelin’s stare. “I know that it has the power to open doors- spatial and temporal- that other magics are incapable of.”

“You’ve studied it?” Aelin probed.

“It’s more of a legend.”

But Nesta was uptight. Enough so, that Aelin pressed, “It’s lost, is it not?”

Nesta looked away, lips pressed together. An anticipation buzzed above Aelin’s skin as she watched the answer thrum and wait on Nesta’s tongue. The female leaned back to see down an aisle, and Aelin realised Nesta was looking away not only to avoid the question, but to check for any listening ears.

“For centuries, it was.”

“Was?” Aelin latched onto Nesta’s eyes. She averted her gaze again, but Aelin caught it, leaning over. “Was lost? Do you know where it is?” Gods, she should have just asked Nesta in the first place.

Nesta snapped her head toward her. “It was lost, but I’ve seen it. And it is likely impossible to reach anymore.” Her words were clipped, hushed.

“Have you used it?”

Silver eyes sharpened and pierced her. “There’s no use asking questions,” she hissed. “You’re not getting the Harp.”

Aelin gritted her teeth. “Why not?”

“It’ll be warded by now. And nowhere in Velaris.”

“Tell me where.” Nails pricked into her palms.

“They’ll kill you if they find out you’re asking about this.”

“I don’t care.”

Nesta glared. “You’re happy to return to Erilea, dead?”

Aelin bared her teeth, hearing but not caring for the words. “Tell me where the Harp is.”

“I don’t know,” Nesta seethed.

Aelin scanned her angular face, set with sleet and frost. “Then find out,” she said, calmly, eyes blazing with flame.

Nesta held her gaze for four heartbeats. “You cannot drag me into this.” Her words were more tired than irate, and a load of dread hung in her tone.

Aelin swallowed the guilt at the words, and leaned forward, imploring her. “All you have to do,” she explained quietly, “is ask one question. They won’t know.”

Nesta nodded her head slowly. “They’ll know.”

“Nesta,” Aelin said. “Please.”

“I can’t.”

Aelin pinched the bridge of her nose. “People’s lives are at stake- my country, my people. Please.” She was not above begging for this.

Nesta’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Aelin panted weakly, grappling for an explanation that didn’t reveal too much. “I have a power that could save a lot of lives. I need to get back.”

“You said your country is at stake.”

“My world is at war,” Aelin said plainly. Nesta’s face went blank. “I appeared in Prythian after an attempt to end a part of it. I succeeded, but I never thought I’d be able to aid any more than that.” Nesta’s eyes dropped to the ground, then raised again. “Now I’m sitting in this library with magic that could help to end the war in earnest- help to save my friends.”

Nesta said nothing. Aelin could almost hear their powers thrumming. Licks of flame purred like cats brushing their tails around her bones. She had forgotten that Nesta was dealing with a similar feeling- that she was also keeping her power secret.

Nesta asked steadily, “How does healing magic win a war?”

Her words dropped into the air like a pebble in a hidden pond. Aelin paused and mulled on it. If she had to trust one person in Prythian, it would be Nesta Archeron. So, throwing it all to hell, Aelin looked into her stormy eyes, beseeching the truth to reveal itself like ripples in that still water. She saw exactly when the realisation dawned.

“Fine,” Nesta whispered. “But I’ll kill you before they can if you reveal anything about me.”

Wildfire flared in Aelin’s chest, and she smiled. “I’d expect nothing less.”

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

Ten minutes passed, and Nesta was surprised at the calm flowing through her veins. The tranquil acceptance. Like knowing that the betrayal of her sister’s family she had agreed to- however small- was somehow the path she was supposed to follow. The inevitable thing.

But she would kill Elentiya if she ever decided to reference their agreement in a little joke or show of arrogance. She would kill her happily.

Not that she’d need to. Rhysand would send a torrent of darkness into Elentiya’s heart if he found out she was going for the Harp. Then he’d obliterate Nesta with a glee like no other. And perhaps he’d destroy everything either of them had ever touched, just for good measure.

She rifled through the reports in her hand, scanning the subtitles for the names of old herbs some old wives’ tale claimed would help to access the dead. She kept reading, despite knowing there wasn’t really any use for it anymore. Elentiya was irrevocably set on the Harp.

“I’m going to pull my hair out,” a soft voice hissed from the darkness of the aisle.

Nesta jumped, and Elentiya swore under her breath.

A flash of coppery-brown hair identified the priestess before her pretty face came into view. How she managed to get so close without making a sound, Nesta did not want to know. She was learning too much at training.

“I’ve scoured this library three times today.” The skin under her eyes was tinted with purple. “Three times,” Gwyn urged, “to look for one singular match to this fucking drawing.” She slammed Feyre’s sketch of Koschei’s creatures onto the small circular table separating Nesta and Elentiya.

Nesta stiffened at the curse word. Gwyn never swore. It would have amused her that she and Emerie had that much of an influence on their friend, if Gwyn didn’t look like she hadn’t slept in days.

“You’re still on with Merrill?” Nesta asked. “You usually get off at seven.”

“She’s working me into the early hours of the morning,” Gwyn panted, wide-eyed, “every day.”

“Why?” Elentiya asked, dropping the yellowed tome into her lap.

Nesta’s eyes went to Feyre’s charcoal drawing as Gwyn explained, “Apparently there’s an important meeting that could happen within the next week, and the High Lord needs answers about Koschei’s creatures before then.”

“A High Lords’ meeting,” Elentiya recited, grinning, and ever proud of herself for the display of knowledge.

“I do not care at all,” Gwyn shook her head rapidly, and Elentiya snorted quietly. Nesta glared at her. “I need to get back before she notices how long I’ve been gone,” Gwyn continued, snatching up the sketch and holding it to show Nesta and Elentiya. “If you never see me again, please know that she’s chucked me into this thing’s den.”

And with that, Gwyn spun around and dashed back into the aisle, silence ringing in her wake.

Nesta stared at the darkness Gwyn escaped into and let out a long breath. “I hate Merrill,” she said, turning to look at Elentiya.

But instead of mirth colouring the female’s fair features, her face was lined with solemnity. Those turquoise eyes were distant and calculating, as if some bomb of information just dropped in front of them. Something Nesta just happened to entirely miss.

“What?” she asked harshly.

Elentiya snapped her head toward her, softness seeping back into her gaze as quick as the sun glaring again after a passing cloud. “Nothing.”

“Why do you look like that?”

“Well, that’s very rude,” Elentiya frowned wryly, that typical amusement plastered on too thick to be true.

“Did you find something in the book?” Nesta went on, eyes flicking to the tome Elentiya held.

“I am reading about the exhilarating discoveries of a deceased, radical analyst.” Sarcasm dripped from her words.

Nesta held back the irritation clawing its way up her throat. “What did you just realise?”

Elentiya sighed roughly. “That it is getting awfully late and I must return to my bedchamber at once.”

She stood after she spoke, lifting her pile of books with her. All of their research was concentrated in the area, so Elentiya only had to take a few steps before she started putting the books back.

Nesta followed without a second thought, slotting the two books she had retrieved back into place.

When she opened her mouth again, Elentiya interrupted.

“Don’t ask me again, or I swear to the Gods-” Elentiya’s words turned into something of a command, her stare penetrating. “I’ll tell you. Tomorrow.” She set off down the aisle, pulling down the white sleeves she had rolled up.

Nesta just stood in the dark.

When Elentiya turned again, her entire face had eased, eyes shining golden in the soft faelight. “Thank you, again, for this.” She held up her left hand and wiggled her ring finger. “You have no idea how much it means to me.”

This time, Elentiya kept walking until she disappeared. And silence engulfed the library.

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

Maybe Elentiya found a way to get the Harp tonight and she’d never see her again, Nesta thought as she trudged up the last of the stairs leading to the House. Or maybe she had heard something in Gwyn’s words, or seen something in the charcoal. Or maybe- she gritted her teeth- Elentiya simply delighted in testing Nesta’s patience.

It was nearing eleven, and that was late enough for Nesta to feel like she wasn’t guaranteed to cross paths with Cassian before she could reach her room. Despite the late hour, she did not feel tired. She did need to speak to Cassian, though. And not for the reasons he’d think.

Nesta needed to… she needed to find out where Rhysand had put the Harp after she had used it during Feyre’s labour. So that Nesta could tell Elentiya. So that Elentiya could get to it. And steal it. And use it.

It wouldn’t be too hard, right?

At least, that was what Nesta was telling herself when she gripped the handle and opened the door to her youngest sister sitting in the main dining room of the House of Wind.

“Nesta,” Feyre said, surprise colouring her tone as she straightened in her seat at the table, as if Nesta was not confined here or anything.

But that fragment of annoyance disappeared on a phantom wind as Nesta properly took in her sister’s face. Exhausted, yes. The type of tired only a new parent could be. But her light blue eyes sparked and twinkled with an unparalleled bliss, brighter than any star.

“Feyre,” Nesta replied, quieter than she intended. Why was she here? “Where’s Nyx?”

Her sister smiled, standing. “You know his name?”

“Morrigan told me.” Not a complete lie.

Feyre’s brows furrowed briefly, but the smile remained. “Damn it, Mor,” she laughed. “I wanted to be the one to tell you. He’s sleeping in the Town House.”

Nesta didn’t let herself dwell on the fact that Feyre hadn’t yet brought him up. Instead, she made her lips curl up in a weak smile. “How is he?”

The beam that painted across Feyre’s face was pure, undiluted joy. “He is wonderful. He is the greatest joy in my life, and I’ve only had him for ten days.”

Nesta didn’t need to force the soft smile this time. “And you?”

Feyre huffed, moving closer to Nesta so the gap wasn’t so awkward. “Sore. And fucking tired.” Nesta breathed a small laugh. “But happy.”

They hadn’t spoken since the birth. Since they had told each other that they loved each other. And there had been peace. But the lightness Nesta was hoping to find between them now was marred by every other problem weighing on her chest.

“That’s good,” Nesta said anyway.

“Yeah,” Feyre nodded, slim fingers curling a lock of golden-brown hair behind her pointed ear. “I’m not sure if anyone has told you yet,” she continued, “but Amren managed to decipher the symbols that were on Elentiya’s necklace and forehead.”

Nesta fought to keep her features neutral. It didn’t seem like Feyre knew the necklace was missing, but…

“Nameless is my price,” her sister articulated, tone both humoured and contemplative. “But only nameless was written on her forehead.”

“What does that mean?” Nesta asked. Nameless is my price. The necklace was priceless- invaluable?

With every day that passed, it seemed more and more as if Elentiya was not only a piece of a puzzle, but the entire damned thing. How many secrets did this cursed, smirking female have? Who was she?

Feyre shook her head. “We don’t know yet. Mor’s taking the translation to a temple priestess in Velaris for another perspective. Amren has Rhys convinced that it’s a prophecy, which sounds fitting, but… I’m not so sure.”

“Could just be a family heirloom. A bit of nonsense.” Nesta didn’t believe her own words. But Feyre nodded anyway. A prophecy would indeed be more than fitting for a female like Elentiya. In fact, Nesta wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if that was the case.

“Did you come all the way up here to tell me this?” Nesta asked, shifting to wrap her arms around her torso.

“Oh- no,” Feyre said. “I’m waiting for Rhys.”

Nesta’s heart jumped to her throat, but she forced herself to cock her head in innocent curiosity.

“He’s gone down to the library,” Feyre explained. “He wants to ask Elentiya about the symbols.”

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

The halls were eerie as Aelin made her way down to the living quarters. The muted thumps of her boots against the floorboards were quick and strong like the rapid, fluttering beating of her heart.

A blur of sketched darkness flared in her mind. She shook her head, failing to get it out.

The streaks on the paper had been sparse as they rounded the sculpted, lean muscles. The way the lines sharpened to accentuate its long, lethal claws dripping in venom. The spiked, leathery wings, towering over its already tall form. And that devilish, humanoid face, scrunched into a bat-like nose that revealed the rows of needle-sharp teeth.

Koschei the Deathless’s creatures were not just creatures. They were ilken.

Aelin reached the corridor leading to her bedchamber, eyes droning into the line of forest-green carpet laying along the length of it. She wrung her hands, catching the golden band hugging her ring finger, the Amulet of Orynth a steady beat in comparison to her heart as it hit the skin of her chest under her tunic.

The death-God’s creatures were ilken.

Valg.

There were Valg in Prythian.

She shook her head again when violet, starry eyes flashed in her mind- when the memory of invisible, scraping talons reared its head.

But what the hell could she do? She’d explain it all to Nesta tomorrow. Maybe. But for what reason? To plant a sense of impending doom in the female’s braided head? It felt cruel, especially when it would put Nesta into yet another difficult position.

Aelin took in a long, stuttering breath as she reached for the bronze handle of her bedchamber, slid the key inside, and opened the door.

All feeling in her body dropped into the mountain beneath as she took one step inside. A killing tidal wave of wildfire surged, and Aelin’s nails drew blood from her palms as she fought against it with every ounce of power she could muster.

Rhysand was sitting at her desk with a charming, glossy smile, legs folded over one another as he watched her expression carefully.

She kept her face utterly bored. Even as she desperately forced the inferno back into its too-small cage.

A roaring awareness rang in her head, paralysing her, screaming its attention to the ring on her finger and the heavy metal against her chest. If Rhysand knew Nesta had stolen them for her, he’d probably kill them both. And Aelin would not let Nesta get into trouble for her. The stupid female shouldn’t have taken them.

Aelin released her palms and fisted her hands, crossing her arms to hide the ring. She leaned against the threshold of the still open door, and let a cat’s smile stretch across her face.

Silence clanged in the air- a thick, rigid tension blanketing the space in a way that only immense power could achieve.

Not magic- Power.

And Aelin wagered that he thought it was only emanating from him.

“Rhysand,” Aelin drawled, eliminating all magical flame from her gaze. “I’ve missed you so much.”

He released a small laugh, eyes glittering with malice. “The feeling is mutual, Celaena.” She made herself stiffen at the name, and his eyes darted to her shoulders as they tensed. “Although,” he continued with a smile, “I have not been left entirely unaware of your… antics- shall I put it?”

“I see,” she nodded solemnly. Then, “Come to kill me?” she crooned through a smirk, half wanting him to say yes just so she could release her damned magic.

His smile stayed as he tilted his head at that predatory angle. “Is that an invitation?”

Aelin laughed lightly.

“Cut the bullshit, though,” he said, untangling his legs. “You’re not as clever as you think you are.”

“Oh?”

“Nameless is my price,” he enunciated into the room, eyes looking around as if the answer to his question lay in the walls.

Aelin plastered playful confusion across her features. Features that wanted to twist and scream as she drove the blade at her thigh through this male’s forehead. “I’m afraid I don’t have any coffers,” she said, lacing puzzled amusement in the words.

Violet eyes twinkled as he nodded slowly. “Of course not. I was referring to the writing on the back of a necklace you had in your pocket when you first invaded my city.”

She held in a barking scoff. The mind-reader was one to talk about invasion.

But Aelin only shrugged. “Oh. I’ve never been able to read it.”

His smile twisted a little. “Ever heard of the words, though?”

“Nameless is my price?” she asked mockingly, then shrugged again. “A few snobbish merchants have shouted similar things at me.”

Just then, those dreadful talons grazed at the inner walls of her mind. He thought she was lying. But there was no way she could try to fool him at his own mind game now. Not with the knowledge she possessed, and not when her power was so volatile that she might not be able to conceal all of it. She’d just have to deal with his mistrust.

So Aelin kept those fiery walls blazing. Unapologetic and unrelenting.

The talons recoiled.

“Is that all?” Aelin asked, yawning. She knew there was a reason he hadn’t brought up her spar with Cassian. What the reason was, she did not know.

Rhysand stood abruptly and walked to her bed. Stars rippled behind him. She had to force herself to not rip his arm off when he picked a piece of lint from the blanket.

“You should know,” he said patiently, “that I am not above evil, should any threat rise against my people.”

Aelin’s fingers twitched under her arms. “A controversial quality- for a ruler to possess.”

“It’s worked for five hundred years,” he said, still scanning the expanse of her bed.

“Has it?”

He met her stare, blackness engulfing the violet.

“Is locking the people you don’t trust in this mountain something you do frequently? Or only on occasion?” she went on. “Nesta resides in this court- is one of your people, but it seems that the biggest threat to her is you. Are you doing anything about that threat?” she smiled, kindling this flame she had been longing to ignite. “What about Emerie, and the females in Illyria who face maltreatment and inequality for their gender? How has that been going for the past five hundred years?”

Rhysand’s face was all thirsty fury.

“I can’t judge your lovely Velaris, though,” she continued with a laugh. “From all the way up here it looks like great fun.” The words were sardonic, but she plowed on, knowing how much the city meant to him. “Maybe you could buy me an apartment to match your palaces-”

Her words were cut off as a gripping hand swallowed her throat.

His lips brushed her ear, starry smoke wafting as he snarled, “You say one more word-”

Quicker than he could have anticipated, Aelin slung her leg around and brought her forearm slamming down onto the hand gripping her throat. Her knee came up into his stomach as her elbow linked and twisted his shoulder, spinning him until his back was against her chest and her blade was slicing a thin line on the throbbing artery lining his neck.

“And you’ll kill me, yes,” she breathed, flame dancing in her throat. “I suppose my name is now on the list of threats to your people.” She chucked him into the corridor. “Right under yours.”

Their stares were cinched as she calmly put the dagger back in her waistband, and shut the door slowly with a faint click.

Aelin did not sleep that night.

Chapter Text

Vibrations rang up Nesta’s arm as her daggers crashed into Emerie’s. The female’s face was set with a fierce determination, concentration furrowing her dark brows. The blades made a cross between them, fighting strength as they each pushed.

Despite being simple extensions of her hands, sparring with daggers was far trickier than swords; Nesta’s fingers were much closer to the blades at any given moment.

Emerie pulled away and swung from underneath, dagger clanging into one of Nesta’s. She pushed up and out, forcing Emerie to drop the attack and reform herself into a defensive position. Nesta struck this time, blade lightly grazing Emerie’s low between them, making an ear-piercing screech that scraped its claws across the roof.

Nesta gritted her teeth at the sound, flinging herself harder at her friend. Emerie did not hesitate to match the intensity, putting them in a near twenty-minute cycle of offense and defense.

In the back of her mind, she could hear the clamour of metal on metal all around her, particularly the virtual war occurring to her left. Gwyn and Elentiya were sparring- the first time Elentiya had engaged with anyone at training aside from Nesta since she’d beat Cassian five days ago.

Elentiya hadn’t said a word about Rhysand. The moment Feyre had said that the High Lord was in the library, Nesta had feigned exhaustion, casually excused herself, and tried to deny her panic as she hurried down the sloping pathways. Elentiya hadn’t been with Merrill, or in the vermillion alcove. Clotho hadn’t seen her, nor had any of the females that came to training. On the way to Elentiya’s room, Nesta hadn’t even bumped into Rhysand. And when she had knocked on the female’s door, there had been no answer.

Nesta had tried to pry inside Elentiya’s eyes this morning, but she showed nothing. Maybe Rhysand had decided against speaking to her.

She shook her head at the thought, slicing and striking at Emerie’s side. There was no point in bullshitting. Something had gone down- that was clear enough if the cold death darkening Cassian and Azriel’s gazes meant anything. Nesta didn’t know how Elentiya found the will to come to training with those killing stares pinned to her.

Regardless, the female wasn’t holding back. Elentiya really was the best fighter Nesta had ever seen. Gods, if she participated in the Blood Rite, all those Illyrians would have been nothing but flesh and bone. But Gwyn…

Gwyn was good with daggers.

Nesta almost wanted to take a seat on the stone with Emerie and watch.

The priestess and the female from Erilea had also been sparring non-stop for twenty minutes. Although Nesta had full confidence in Gwyn’s abilities, she had a feeling that Elentiya was dragging out the fight for her own entertainment. Or satisfaction.

Emerie pounced at the opening Nesta had given her, and she had to twist to avoid a nasty slash. She spun back around and glared at Emerie, whose warm hazel eyes shone with an oncoming victory. Nesta had absolutely none of that, lunging with both blades in upward motions, forcing her friend backwards. Emerie grinned at the sudden vigour, meeting each blow as they came quicker and quicker.

On Nesta’s final upward strike, her arm loosened with lack of energy, veering too high. Emerie laughed as she went stumbling backwards at the force, wings splaying slightly to stop from falling. The daggers fell from Nesta’s weak hands, clattering on the stone.

“Sorry, Em,” she said through quick breaths.

“You’re good,” Emerie assured, still smiling as if she were amused by the whole thing. She probably was.

Elentiya and Gwyn paused their fighting at the words, the former’s head tilting.

“What happened to your wings?” she asked, using the sharp point of her dagger to tuck a piece of blonde hair behind an ear.

Nesta’s stomach dropped as a gust of springtime wind flowed over the roof. Emerie didn’t often splay her wings- it was easier for her to keep them tucked in. Which meant Elentiya hadn’t seen…

From the ends of her vision, Nesta saw Cassian and Azriel turn their heads toward them. Not good. No, not good.

Elentiya moved forward more, turquoise eyes scanning the scars tearing through Emerie’s wings. Gwyn’s gaze darted between them.

Emerie’s smile wavered, then died. “They were clipped.”

Elentiya stopped dead. “Someone clipped your wings?”

Hazel eyes narrowed at Elentiya. “Yes.”

A deafening silence fell over the four of them, and Nesta caught Gwyn’s stare as the priestess shook her head slowly.

“Who?” Elentiya asked flatly, and Nesta didn't think she was imagining the lick of flame swirling in her eyes.

Emerie hesitated at the violence limning Elentiya’s body. “My father.”

Nesta thought to inch closer to Elentiya in case she decided to be extra stupid today and attack something, but… Elentiya didn’t move.

She was hiding it well, but Nesta could see the emotion flooding her face. The raw emotion. The silence was stretching on for too long, and for a second, Nesta thought Elentiya would keep staring at Emerie forever.

“I’m sorry,” Elentiya said, almost choking it out. “Where is he?”

Emerie sniffed, tossing a dagger between her hands. “Someone did me a favour and killed him in the war.”

“Good,” Elentiya said, suddenly casual. But Nesta didn’t miss the shadow flickering across her face. “May he burn in hell.”

Then, she turned around and prepared her daggers for sparring once more. Emerie followed suit, settling in a defensive crouch across from Nesta. Gwyn looked over at her again, and she knew the priestess was thinking the same thing that Nesta was.

That if Elentiya heard one more thing about the horrors of their world, she just might be pushed over that edge she was so obviously teetering on.

Nesta knew it was true at the undiluted rage caging itself behind those turquoise eyes. The only solace she could tend was knowing that Elentiya’s priority remained getting back to Erilea. But she’d be lying if she said that there wasn’t a part of her that wanted to see what might happen if Elentiya was to fall off that ledge.

Training finished an hour later, and Nesta felt Elentiya’s presence at her back as she made her way down the stairs to the House proper. She thought nothing of it as she listened to Emerie in front of her interrogating Gwyn about the bags under her eyes.

Her two friends headed for the door encasing the library once they hit the floorboards, and it was only when Nesta veered left instead to aim for the House’s bedrooms that she frowned at the footsteps still behind her.

Apparently, Elentiya wasn’t bothering with stealth.

“They clip females’ wings in Illyria, too?” she snarled softly, moving to walk at her side.

“Rhysand outlawed it,” Nesta said without looking at her. “But the males clearly don’t care,” she added bitterly, remaining quiet at the Illyrian warriors still above them on the roof.

Elentiya scoffed, the sound angry. “You should have told me before.” Then she laughed darkly. “If I had known this yesterday…”

Nesta turned her head then, glaring in question.

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” Elentiya grinned, their footsteps thumping down the otherwise silent hallway. “The mighty guy paid me a visit last night.”

She kept her face neutral, even as her heart picked up. “What did he say?”

“Not much,” Elentiya explained, the harsh smile still cutting over her features. “I suppose he managed to convince himself of his benevolence before I shut the door in his face.”

Nesta shook her head, not letting herself unpack the words as she reached her bedroom and opened the door. “You shouldn’t do things like that. He’s powerful.”

“You’re afraid?” Elentiya asked, palm flat against the door as she passed through the threshold after Nesta.

“I’m smart,” she replied, halting in front of the mirror to unravel her wind tossed coronet.

“Smart? Or picking the easiest option?”

She gritted her teeth. “The last time I did something he disagreed with, I was barred from the city for a week.”

Nesta could see in the mirror as Elentiya made to say something, but decided against it. Her face, though… Her face was contorted into calculation.

“You’re strong, Nesta. And capable. And you have power.” Her eyes blazed golden. “Use it.”

Elentiya must have lost her mind. “Are you insane?” Nesta snapped, keeping her voice low.

She didn’t back down. “And lucky. I also know what I would do if I were you.”

“And what is that?” she asked sharply, hair loosening from its braid and tumbling down her back as she turned to face her.

“Fight.”

Oh, she really had lost her mind. Nesta could only stare stupidly, trying to see past the seriousness in the female’s face. When nothing changed, she all but spat, “I’m not going to fight them.”

“Not in the physical sense,” Elentiya said, rolling her eyes as she followed Nesta into the attached bathroom. She could have sworn she muttered a silent ‘yet’ after her words, but Nesta chose to ignore it. Elentiya pushed, “You’ve just accepted everything, haven’t you? The way they rule over you?”

“What do you expect me to do?” Nesta sniped, anger flaming through her as her hands gripped the washbasin. “You don’t know how this world works. You haven’t even been here three weeks, and you’re criticising me for my situation? My choices? You don’t know anything.”

“I know enough,” Elentiya shot back, and Nesta scowled at the arrogance. “But tell me. What am I missing that makes your subservience so understandable?”

Icy cold magic sluiced through Nesta’s body as she bared her teeth. The strangle of words jumped around in her mouth, frigid and fiery- too tender and heavy on her tongue to speak aloud. “You know there was a war two years ago,” she bit out.

Elentiya nodded, crossing her arms. “What? You fought on different sides?”

Nesta ignored the question and closed her eyes strenuously, pulling every morsel of strength into her head. “A little more than two years ago, I did not live in the Night Court.”

She was glad she couldn’t see through her eyelids when Elentiya asked, “Where did you live?”

She swallowed. “The mortal lands.”

A pause. “You lived in the mortal lands.” It wasn’t a question. And the flat tone reminded Nesta that Elentiya didn’t know what she meant- didn’t know of the Wall or Hybern or anything.

She turned around, clammy hands peeling from the washbasin as she met the female’s turquoise stare. “Before the war, I was human.”

Elentiya watched her for what felt like minutes. “Human,” she said quietly, brow furrowing and eyes flicking downward as if she were connecting dots in her mind.

“You know the Cauldron,” Nesta managed.

Elentiya nodded, eyes narrowed.

“I was taken from my home and forced inside it." The sentence tumbled out like dropped beads.

She cringed as the realisation dawned on Elentiya, her mouth parting slightly as her golden gaze snapped back to her face. “That made you Fae?”

She nodded stiffly.

“You were born entirely human, and became entirely Fae two years ago.”

Another nod.

“So,” Elentiya began, posture relaxing, “this is all rather new to you. It’s why you struggle with your magic.”

She ticked up her eyebrows in confirmation and prayed to the Mother that the female wouldn’t turn all soft on her now.

There was no way Elentiya could really know what happened in Hybern, and Nesta wanted to keep it that way. It was enough for Elentiya to know just of the transformation. She was about to open her mouth and eagerly switch the topic to something else. Something that would piss the female off again- or maybe she’d just kick her out of her room, but Elentiya spoke.

“You..." she started. "Are you okay?”

Nesta paused, the roaring in her head coming to a screeching halt.

She stared at Elentiya, who was watching her closely.

Are you okay?

The words sang in her ears.

She couldn’t remember if anyone had asked her that question after Hybern. Feyre hadn’t even been there, and Elain was either asleep or more focussed on surviving each minute to check on Nesta. She hadn’t seen anyone or anything but Elain and her bedroom in the House of Wind for the first few days after it all happened.

Nesta looked at Elentiya. Let the silver flames envelop her irises. And lifted her chin. “No.”

Elentiya nodded. Nesta could almost feel the understanding emanating from the motion. Not pity, but- recognition. Her eyes had always been far too wise to be just nineteen. And it was undeniable that Elentiya had been through something- some things.

And what a relief it was. To be looked at like there was nothing wrong with her.

“I know what will cheer you up,” Elentiya said suddenly, picking at her nails- much to Nesta’s revulsion. “I’ve been lying to you.”

She immediately felt her face screw up into an accusatory stare, the rawness of their conversation healing over a little.

Elentiya smiled slightly. “I’ll tell you if you answer one question.”

“This shit again,” Nesta mumbled.

Elentiya snorted a real laugh, but turned serious. “If you tell anyone about this conversation, I’ll kill you.”

Nesta knew the threat was whole-hearted. “I know,” she said. Elentiya could definitely kill her. Nesta would expect nothing less at this point.

A small smile. “If I release a shred of my magic, will it alert anyone? Will anyone be able to track it?”

She frowned, finding herself curious. “Not that I know of.”

“A straight answer,” she ordered.

“No.” Nesta wasn’t completely certain, but she had never known her own magic to be tracked in the House of Wind.

Elentiya frowned back at her, squinting as she raised her right hand between them so her palm faced the ceiling. Her jaw hitched and her neck clenched slightly as they stood in silence. She let her eyes fall shut, and Nesta nearly retreated at the consuming concentration painted across Elentiya’s face- the way her eyelashes fluttered across her cheeks.

Then, a wisp of royal blue magic danced from Elentiya’s palm, streaming and twining upward like a freed bird. Not just magic- flame. Nesta’s mouth fell open just as Elentiya opened her eyes and smiled. The golden ring around her pupils had flared into a great, fiery orange, the twirling blue flame reflecting in the brilliant mixture of gold and turquoise.

Elentiya raised her other hand then, flexing them both so the lines of her palms pulled. Nesta stumbled back into the washbasin as bursts of fire flickered in the air all over her bathroom. Rubies and citrines and tigereyes and the deepest of sapphires coloured her grey walls, shadows and light decorating the room as if a goddess of joy held it in her hands.

Each ribbon of bright magic spun and twisted through the air, weaving with one another, expanding, shrinking, and spitting out sparks of burning colour. And Nesta laughed. She laughed, truly, from happiness as she moved into her bedroom and saw the wisps of flame dancing in every corner. Elentiya followed behind her, a similar expression beaming on her face.

It was the most beautiful magic Nesta had ever seen. Maybe one of the only displays of power she’d seen that was just… nice.

Elentiya fell onto Nesta’s bed with an exhale, facing upward to watch the ceiling. Nesta laid down as well, basking in the feel of her unbound hair not digging into her scalp.

“You have fire magic,” she finally said, eyes still on the flames.

“I can heal people,” Elentiya responded from beside her. “So I didn’t completely lie.”

“Why did you?”

“Why’d I lie?” Elentiya breathed a short laugh. “My power is easily and often interpreted as a threat in itself. I failed to mask the scope of it to your brother-in-law, so the next best thing was to label it as something as harmless as healing magic.”

But Rhysand had read Elentiya’s mind… Nesta frowned. “My brother-in-law saw healing magic in your memories. He got it wrong?” She hadn’t thought that was possible.

She felt Elentiya shrug. “I’ve met people like him before.”

Oh. There were daemati in Erilea. Enough of them, perhaps, that Elentiya had enough practice to withhold her defenses against their power. And despite knowing her own subconscious defenses were strong, maybe she should ask Elentiya to teach her more.

“I’m to assume that the whole Celaena name is false, too?” she asked, all of a sudden realising that Elentiya hadn’t properly claimed either name when they had first spoken about it.

Elentiya hummed. “No. Both names are… applicable.”

She scowled, rotating her head to look at her. “Which one is it?”

Elentiya seemed to ponder over something for a moment before, “I’d like to think Elentiya fits me a little better.”

Nesta returned her gaze to the ceiling, and she knew then that neither name was her true one. “You’re never going to tell me.”

“You can call me whatever you’d like. I’ve had them all.”

Nesta raised a brow but didn’t look at her. “How about Nameless?”

Blonde hair fell over Elentiya’s shoulder as her head turned. “The High Lord told you, then.”

Nesta almost laughed at the absurdity of such a thing, but the memory of who did tell her dampened the amusement. She sat up as she said, “No. Feyre did.”

Elentiya just nodded.

Nesta looked down at her. “What does it mean?”

“What does what mean?” she smirked.

Nesta wanted to curl her lip up in distaste at the expression, but she only stared blankly.

Elentiya sat up too, legs hanging off the bed. “Nameless is my price were the words of a prophecy that has been fulfilled and does not impact you.”

A prophecy. Amren had been right. She thought to ask if the ancient female would be parading her victory soon but… Nesta knew better than to wonder whether Elentiya had given this information to Rhysand.

“What was the prophecy?” She knew she was pushing it with the questions, but… she wanted to know.

Elentiya made a face and tilted her head. “To make it as concise as possible, a descendant of a long-dead Fae in my world was doomed to bear the Nameless mark, branding them as the destined price to the Gods.”

Nesta blinked. Elentiya must have seen the confusion, because she swallowed before explaining more.

“An ancestor of mine- Elena- was fighting a losing battle in a great war one thousand years ago. She decided to use a magical tool- the Lock- incorrectly, out of desperation. The Gods were furious, and decided that the war would be passed down to her descendants. One of which would need to be used as the Lock, and close the gates to Erilea.”

“That was you?” Nesta asked, recalling the symbol also on her forehead.

“Like I said- lucky,” Elentiya grinned, but the bitterness was unmistakable. “I was told I had to give up my life. Every last drop of my magic. I know I succeeded in locking the gates and murdering those terrible Gods, but I knew something clearly went wrong when I woke up in a dungeon instead of the Afterworld.”

Nesta shook her head, the explanation too loaded to comprehend. But- “Murdering?”

Elentiya sighed. “I just wish I had been there to see those hellish creatures rip them to pieces.”

“You-” Nesta stared at her. “You are Nameless, then. And Nameless was their price?”

“Was Nameless,” she corrected. “I’m not sure what the Gods would have considered me now.”

Nesta frowned, exhausted. “I think you should stick to Elentiya.”

Elentiya gave a grim smile.

But despite her tiredness, Nesta couldn’t help but prod further, the same question on her lips that had been there since their first meeting. “How is it that I feel something familiar in your magic if yours is just fire?”

Elentiya laughed lightly at something in her question, but answered anyway. “I'm not sure. I’m not the best person to ask, either. The most I can say is that your power almost reminds me of moonfire.”

Nesta raised her brows, heart starting to beat harder. “Moonfire?”

Elentiya was shaking her head. “Don’t ask me about it. I know next to nothing. You’d be better off researching in the library.”

“Next to nothing still means-”

“No,” Elentiya snapped, but her tone was softened with jest. As she stood up from the bed, she said, “We’re leaving this rutting place. How long does it take to get down those stairs?”

“What?” Nesta asked, her voice laced with a now familiar bewilderment.

“Places to be, Nesta Archeron,” she called from over her shoulder as she aimed for the door. “Things to achieve.”

Nesta let herself be still for a moment, taking in a sharp breath and letting it out in a sigh.

There was much more to Elentiya’s story, she could tell. And maybe she would never explain anything else, much like how Nesta would not talk any more about what happened to her in Hybern two years ago.

She didn’t quite know what she was getting herself into by spending time with this female from another world. Nor did she care. Her sister’s family already disliked her. Proving their point couldn’t make their distaste sink much lower.

So Nesta could do nothing else but follow after Elentiya.

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

Aelin didn’t care that she was still in her tattered, sweat-soaked training leathers. She needed to get out of this prison. Especially after that blessed- albeit restrained- release of her magic left her reeling to let it all out in one crashing, tumultuous wave of wildfire.

And who better to join her than a female who also needed to get out of this prison?

Aelin swung open the great oak door to the spiralling staircase, and peered down.

“Holy Gods.” She couldn’t even see the damned bottom. “How many did you say there were?”

“It’s not too late to back out,” Nesta said from beside her. Aelin glared at her sidelong. “Ten thousand. It’s the dizziness that gets you, though.”

Aelin scoffed. “Speak for yourself.”

“I’m the one who has made it down twice,” she replied, pushing past to walk down the first two steps. Each stair was so tall that the female almost had to squat. “And one thing you cannot be immune to is vertigo.”

Aelin frowned. So it wasn’t impossible for Nesta to leave, only torturous. “You’ve made it down to the bottom before?” she asked, following after her.

“The first time was out of anger, but I was taken from the city anyway.” Nesta must have felt Aelin’s imminent interruption at the information, because she held a hand up as she continued downwards. “The second time was more an accomplishment than a desire to get to the city. I just walked straight back up.”

She shook her head, giving a dirty look to the female’s re-braided golden brown hair. “And you called me insane.”

Nesta only shrugged. “The city has nothing for me anymore, really.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Five minutes into the descent, Aelin’s thighs were just starting to tingle. She still hadn’t gotten used to the height of each step, and she had nearly stumbled into the stone wall twice. She could only hope she wouldn’t accidentally kill Nesta by toppling forwards into her and sending them both careening down the stairs. The space was tight and coiling, and the dizziness (that she’d now forever refuse to admit to experiencing) blurred the stone walls and stairs into one big haze of dazed grey.

“We’re on step one hundred eleven.”

“You’re counting?” Aelin asked, sounding far more stunned than she’d intended to.

Nesta nodded, her descent steady and balanced. Aelin decided that actually, she was glad to be behind her.

“Each window marks twenty steps,” Nesta explained, heading jutting down at the oncoming slit in the wall now six steps below them.

“This is such bullshit.”

Nesta snorted.

They continued in quiet companionship for another ten minutes, reaching what Aelin thought might be around the two hundred fifty mark, when Nesta cleared her throat.

“You told me last night that you’d explain your sudden departure.”

Ah. She’d forgotten about that. Not the realisation- oh, not at all. The knowledge was a storm cloud darkening the back of her mind. But she had forgotten that she’d promised to explain it to Nesta.

“The drawing your sister made,” she started, throwing discretion to hell. “I recognise the creature.”

Nesta paused and turned, a hand braced against the rough stone. “You do?”

Aelin jerked her chin. “Keep walking.”

Her lips pursed, but she obliged.

“Have you ever heard of ilken?” Aelin asked as she took a step. She was almost certain that Nesta hadn’t, but it was worth asking.

“No,” Nesta replied. “But I haven’t heard of many faerie things.”

Faerie things. As if Nesta weren’t one. Aelin was beginning to question how she hadn’t figured out the female’s past earlier. Even Gwyn had mentioned something about Nesta and humans weeks ago.

She took in a grimace-breath, figuring out the easiest way to explain. “Ilken are a type of creature belonging to a race of beings called Valg. I’d describe them as more of the lackeys- or aerial legion, really.”

“And?” Nesta asked as they passed a window, the midday sun flaring through in a thin rectangle.

“They’re… not nice.” To say the least. Nesta’s head rotated enough for Aelin to see the unamused look. “Killable, though,” she continued. “With flame most effectively, but other magic can do it if it’s strong.”

“Cassian and Azriel tried and failed a few days ago,” Nesta said, voice echoing down the stone.

She nearly laughed, even as her eyes widened at the information. “I guess they just weren’t skilled enough.”

“They’re good fighters, though,” Nesta countered, almost to herself. “And Azriel was injured.”

Aelin smirked through a pout. “Poor guy.”

“Have you fought them before?” Nesta asked, hand skimming across the wall.

Even though she was behind her, Aelin tilted her head, taunting. “Why the questions? I thought you weren’t a part of Gwyn and Merrill’s research.”

“Don’t speak if you’re going to get all pompous again,” Nesta muttered.

“Yes, I have fought them before,” Aelin sighed, recalling the army of five hundred she had burned to ash. “They’re easy enough to slaughter if I’m energised enough. I don’t know how Cassian and Azriel couldn’t take them down.”

Nesta said nothing for a moment. “Was that race- the… Valg,” she intoned, “on the other side of your war?”

“Still is, if it’s going to shit,” Aelin answered as steadily as she could. She had been trying not to think about it. “Ideally they’re all dead now.”

“So the use of this Lock would have done a lot to end the war?”

Aelin cringed. It was supposed to, but she hadn’t really succeeded in doing anything to harm the Valg at all. “No.”

“Unlucky,” Nesta said, angling her head.

Yes, Aelin thought. Although, it was also something she could have avoided. But as much as she was irked by Elena, Aelin couldn’t regret trying to help her in the Gods’ realm. Not after everything the female had been subject to.

She and Nesta fell silent, and their walks thudded into a steady, conjoined rhythm as they made their way down the stairs.

Around one hour later, Aelin lightly tapped on Nesta’s back with her boot, asking for a break.

“Three thousand, one hundred sixteen,” Nesta breathed as she sat beside Aelin on the stone.

Aelin swiped up a piece of sharp rock that was laying on the ground and started scraping the four numbers into the central pillar. Once she was done, she chucked the rock down the stairs and leaned her head back as the echo sang.

“I asked Cassian about the Harp last night,” Nesta said from beside her.

Aelin pulled upwards, the words waking her up completely. “What did he say?”

“Just like I told you,” she said, meeting Aelin’s stare. “Guarded with the other two.”

“Where?” Aelin pressed, not missing that Rhysand was in possession of the other two items. The Crown and the Mask.

Nesta breathed in deep. “It’s locked in impenetrable wards in the Moonstone Palace- Rhysand’s property above the Hewn City.”

“The Hewn City?” Aelin repeated, brows furrowing.

“You don’t know?” Nesta raised an eyebrow. “I thought you had been reading up all about Prythian.”

Aelin gritted her teeth at the barb in her storm-silver eyes. “Just tell me.”

“The Hewn City is irrelevant. Something for you to research when we get back.” Aelin rolled her eyes as Nesta smirked and continued. “What you need to know is that you need wings or winnowing magic to get there.”

Aelin stared dumbly. “Is that a joke?”

“Better start making friends with Rhysand,” Nesta said dryly, tapping Aelin’s knee as she stood and took a step down.

Aelin shot up and followed after her. “You only told me because there’s no chance I’m getting to this Moonstone Palace.”

Nesta only snickered.

Aelin rolled her eyes again. Harder this time.

It was almost late afternoon by the time they made it down the stairs. And if they had to have gone for another minute, Aelin might have squeezed herself through one of those tiny windows and crashed into the city instead. She had survived the fall once. She’d risk it again.

Nesta paused at the door, a hand hovering above the silver handle.

Her legs were jelly, but Aelin took the last step down and stood beside Nesta, panting slightly, and watched the slender hand as it hung in the air.

Right. Nesta had only made it down twice before. The first, it sounded like it hadn’t been a great experience. And the second, Aelin wasn’t sure whether the female had ventured into the city at all. She said she had just gone straight back up. Frankly, Aelin couldn’t think of anything worse right now.

But Nesta was frozen, eyes boring into the door.

Aelin looked at her face then, and saw only a blank expression. She’d learned that Nesta wasn’t one to often show her emotions on her face. But Aelin knew that the female was doubtful. Perhaps even afraid.

Maybe the thought of that fear was the reason Aelin reached out her own hand and pushed down Nesta’s onto the handle.

The door opened slowly as Nesta moved forward, the sun deepening to a warm golden as it ached and sunk into their faces.

The sounds of a bustling city chittered and clanged down a winding cobblestone pathway- such a contrast to the eternal quiet of the house above them. The sky was clear, the air was fresh, and the scent of bread and roses wafted into the stairwell.

At last, Aelin and Nesta set foot into Velaris.

Chapter Text

It was always a strange, jolting shock to remember just how little places changed over time.

That was Nesta’s second thought as she and Elentiya took their first steps into Velaris.

Her first, however, was an entirely unwelcome panic that had nearly sent her up that stairwell again.

She knew she wasn’t breaking any law by being down here, but her feet hadn’t touched these cobblestones since the day she’d stormed into Amren’s apartment and wrenched tears from her youngest sister’s eyes. Discomfort coiled at the memory.

What if she saw one of them? What if the permission to venture into the city had been rescinded after everything happened with Elentiya? What would they think if they saw her with Elentiya?

The questions disintegrated into a clinging mist as the familiar scent of bread and roses blew past her face. For suddenly, she was back in her old apartment building, the moonlight weak as she walked softly enough to not creak the floorboards and disturb the downstairs neighbour.

The scent had not changed at all. Nesta scanned the city: the glow of the sun on the steel streetlights, the sapphire river, the green-roofed townhouses speckled with white chimneys. The view was both familiar and utterly foreign. So strange- it was so strange to see the city properly when she had only seen a miniscule version from the House of Wind for months.

She’d been down here to attend some of her sister’s family’s meetings, yes. But many of their properties were on the outskirts, and Nesta was never really granted the time to take in the landscape anyway.

Elentiya was a few paces in front of her, eyes wide as she took in the city. They still stood on the outcrops of Velaris, tucked up against the towering red mountain; they’d have to walk along the cobblestones for a few minutes before they would reach anything.

Elentiya spun around slowly, letting out a low whistle as she tilted her head back and peered up at the House of Wind. And when the female met her stare, Nesta nearly groaned as she realised it was mischief widening her turquoise eyes, not awe.

“Do not get me into any of your trouble,” Nesta said, her tone not failing to convey the seriousness of the request.

Elentiya held up her hands, golden plaited hair bright in the late afternoon sun. “Nesta, my intentions are pure.” But the solemnity faded as she tugged a folded piece of parchment from her pocket.

“What is that?” Nesta demanded.

“Our itinerary, of course,” Elentiya replied, eyes glinting as she unfolded the parchment.

Nesta’s nose scrunched before Elentiya continued. She had to have put the damned paper in her pocket before training.

“We need to visit the bookstore, the cosmetics parlor, ideally somewhere that provides decent body lotions,” she added in a mutter, rolling her eyes, “and then a good blacksmith or armoury. Perhaps if we pass a confectionery on the way, we can look inside.” Elentiya’s eyes narrowed as she cocked her head. “Do you have any money?”

Nesta glowered at her, leaving her bewilderment at the list to deal with later. “No. But even if I did, you can’t truly have been expecting me to fund such things.”

Elentiya only frowned and pointed at her. “We will find another way.”

Nesta stiffened as Elentiya pivoted slightly and grinned, fangs bared to the city.

“We are not stealing anything.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Elentiya countered with a frown over her shoulder, starting across the cobblestones.

Minutes later, she was walking beside Elentiya through the townhouses towards the Palace of Bone and Salt. Nesta knew this area. The southernmost side of Velaris was reserved for the taverns she had frequented months ago and the apartment she now supposed would be demolished.

Elentiya smiled broadly at everyone they passed. They all smiled back, used to the polite sort of exchange. They must not have noticed the sharp canines piercing through the grin.

Nesta stifled the resentment that tore through her. She hadn’t appreciated the smiles when she had lived down here. Hadn’t even noticed them. And though she had no right to long for the belonging they all so clearly felt… It would have been nice.

She hadn’t been deemed good enough for this City of Starlight. Not in her sister’s family’s eyes, nor her own. Elentiya had been accepted by the people in a matter of minutes.

The cobblestones turned crumbly beneath their feet, heralding the small myriad of streets twining around the southern taverns. Before, Nesta had doubted that Elentiya had ever faced squalor, but the female’s gait bore no hesitation as they entered the shabbier side of Velaris.

Overhanging striped roofs blotted out the golden sun every few steps, casting them in shadows that wrapped them in cold. Chatter and door chimes peppered the air, evening out into a hum that was only broken by the odd crashing of waste bags tossed into side alleys.

Take us to the grittiest, Elentiya had asked her at the foot of the mountain.

So here they were, coming to a halt outside of Nesta’s old favourite.

The Wolf’s Den.

Maybe it wasn’t what Nesta would have described as a favourite. Perhaps frequented was better equipped to describe her relation to the place.

And Gods, if anyone saw her in here…

The tavern’s damp oak wood exterior was bare beneath the few flakes of muted blue paint still clinging on. Two large windows adorned each side of the wooden door, sliced in quarters by slimmer wooden beams that looked about one small breeze away from collapsing.

It was the same as it had been months ago.

Of course it was. Everything else had looked identical as they’d made their way to the ends of the city. That is, everything apart from her old apartment building they hadn’t yet walked past. She had no idea what she’d feel at the sight. And she’d like to keep it that way.

Elentiya peered at her and angled her head in question.

Nesta just let out a rough sigh and shoved through the front door.

The place was predictably full for the late afternoon. The familiar clinks of glasses and thuds of downed pints weaved into a rhythm that became the drumbeats for the four-piece band playing in the far corner. The sound was merry, quick, and bright. Two fiddles, and two lyres. As it had been for the months Nesta had spent virtually living in these rickety seats.

Elentiya followed from behind her, and Nesta saw the satisfied expression spread across her features.

“Will this work for you?” Nesta asked dryly as they stood in the entryway.

Elentiya’s lips tugged down as her eyes smiled, and she nodded once. “For us,” she amended, and wasted no time before sauntering through the tables, no doubt in search of some worthy opponents.

A few eyes followed Elentiya as she made a beeline for the back corner, and Nesta could have sworn candles flickered in her wake. It made her roll her eyes. The few gazes of the patrons watching Elentiya thawed into recognition as they saw Nesta following behind.

Their presence, though, was hardly an interruption in comparison to the music still trampling through the air. And patrons never much cared for who decided to visit the Wolf’s Den. But Nesta did wonder what they thought of the months-long break in her own visits to the tavern.

They passed one of the bars, Elentiya running a finger along the chipped wood as they went. Nesta was about to hiss at her for the obnoxious display, but the female paused at a medium round table, second from the back corner. Two males were sitting before it, jugs of auburn ale in one hand and cards in the other.

The sight yanked Nesta back through time. The flimsy paper cards. The games. The dampness of the tables softening the wood enough to press her thumbs into.

The numbness.

Fists clenched, she moved to stand beside Elentiya, who smiled down at the males.

The bigger one had dark skin and darker hair, cut right up to his scalp. He had probably used a sharp razor to carve those detailed, artistic lines into his temples. Silver jewels were pierced down his pointed ears, spanning from the lobe right up to the top. The second had the same coloured hair as Nesta, falling over his forehead in weak curls. But his eyes were the swimming brown of a pine tree trunk. They both emanated a startlingly… poised aura.

They looked up at Elentiya, the warm faelights glowing onto their faces.

The female’s smile broke into a smirk as she asked softly, elegantly, “Interested in two more?”

The smaller male gave a sidelong glance to the bigger one, who raised his chin slightly as he frowned. Although the expression was good-natured, it made Nesta scan the room as she had done twice already, lest someone in her sister’s circle see her in here.

“What’s with the teeth?” the smaller male asked, eyes flicking down to Elentiya’s elongated canines.

She sighed, a little too dramatically. “They’re really something you don’t get a lot around here? I’d hardly describe it as abnormal.”

Slowly, Nesta craned her neck toward her, blasting disapproval through the air. Her attitude was… tolerable. Sometimes. But not when they were trying to get into people’s good books.

“Do you like them?” Elentiya added, and Nesta had to clamp her lips together to stop from throttling her.

The smaller male shook his head as he snorted softly. “They’re nice.”

The male with the jewelled ears caught Nesta’s eye then, and she stood straight-backed as he appraised her. She could only hope he hadn’t laid eyes on his High Lady to notice the resemblance.

“What are your names?” Elentiya asked, blessedly pulling the bigger male’s gaze from Nesta.

He jutted his head up in a nod. “Joss.”

“Calden,” the other replied, smiling a little at Elentiya.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Elentiya said, smiling back. “I’m Lillian, and this is Ansel,” she said, tilting her head at Nesta. Why she felt the need to lie- what she was planning to consider it necessary to hide their identities, Nesta did not want to know.

As she spoke, Elentiya pulled out one of the extra chairs and slid into it. Nesta followed suit, not caring to make the movement as irreverent and charming as her… friend’s.

Friend?

Elentiya was not her friend.

The thought shook Nesta enough that she missed the way Calden was all but gazing into the female’s turquoise eyes.

What was she doing, actually growing familiar enough with her to think such a thing?

“We’ve got a few others joining in a bit,” Joss told them, his voice smooth and deep. “You good to start now?”

No, she was not good to start now. This entire plan was folly- she was practically asking to get berated by whichever of her sister’s friends found her first. And they would find out about this, Lillian and Ansel or no.

But Elentiya’s eyes went to Nesta, lips stretching into a smirk.

And Mother save her, so did hers.

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

One and a half hours later, Aelin and Nesta walked out of the Wolf’s Den with six hundred gold marks.

She was shit at cards. Gods, she always had been. She had always relied on Sam to win those games.

If Nesta hadn’t been frighteningly skilled, they would have left with Aelin's ring and amulet tossed upon the table. Or rather, she’d have grabbed the winnings anyway and ran out the door. She really should have mentioned to Nesta her complete and utter lack of proficiency at cards, but what good would that have done?

They needed money.

And now they had some.

Six hundred gold marks should be enough.

The coins jangled in the small pouch slung across Aelin’s waist.

Nesta was beside her as they reentered the streets, the sun now low and rich enough to kiss the horizon in a marigold glow. Luckily, the city’s shops and services were open rather late, Calden had mentioned after Aelin had asked. She almost felt bad for pulling away so abruptly as soon as she and Nesta had won the money. Well, as soon as Nesta had won the money.

Their opponents had been friendly and honest, handing over their earnings cordially. It was one of the first times Aelin had ever obtained a big sum of money based on such honourable actions. Strange.

What was stranger, though, was the city itself. It was awfully familiar. At Rhysand’s excessive praise for it, she had been expecting something grandiose, not an expanse of citizens and businesses so reminiscent of Rifthold. She doubted Velaris was home to an Assassin’s Guild, though.

She supposed, however, that she couldn’t judge the city properly until she saw more of it.

“Are there any confectionaries?” Aelin asked Nesta, peering through some passing windows to what looked and sounded like another tavern.

Nesta took in a long breath, but her stare was still on the cobblestones. “Yes. We’d have to turn around, though.”

Aelin frowned. They had been heading back the way they came, but…

Nesta had been distant since they’d been down here. Aelin would bet it had something to do with her dreadful relationship with the territory’s ruling court. But the whole point was that she was allowed in the city if she braved the ten thousand steps, wasn’t it?

Aelin swiftly pivoted and caught Nesta’s elbow with her own, steering them back for the Wolf’s Den area.

“What?” Nesta asked sharply, letting Aelin change their direction. “You cannot live without candy?”

The question wasn’t exactly amused, but it was better than that removed look Nesta had plastered on her face.

No, she could not live without candy, but… “It’s on our itinerary,” Aelin replied blandly, as if the scrunched parchment in her pocket had any worth. “And you can?”

At that, something cleared up in her silver eyes.

Well, damn.

Aelin hadn’t actually thought Nesta had a sweet-tooth, and she would have led them to the confectionery anyway, but… damn.

She laughed, shaking her head to face forwards.

Aelin had no idea where they were going once they passed the Wolf’s Den again, so Nesta started to walk slightly in front. The streets were cracked and crumbled here, making it somewhat difficult to navigate their steps. A potent smell lingered in the air, sharpening her senses, while chunks of rock flew and rattled over the stones as people made their way down the streets. Aelin was surprised that she noticed the sound at all.

A pleasant melody suddenly jingled through the air like raindrops in sunlight, making Aelin snap her head up. Just up ahead on the right, the confectionery stood with great, sparkling windows and wooden beams of pale pink. The sun was setting behind it, darkening the front of the shop, but it was still a stark contrast to the subdued woods and steels of the rest of the area.

Aelin practically felt her body brighten at the simple pleasure. At the sight of something so baldly joyful. She didn’t even need any candy.

The music got louder as they neared, and Aelin was turning to ask Nesta if she’d ever purchased from the place before when she saw where the female was looking.

Staring.

Directly across from the confectionery- on the left of the street- a ruined, half built structure stood unsteadily, surrounded by a group of Fae who were clothed in drab mason’s gear.

“What?” Aelin asked, coming to a stop.

It was a construction site, she realised more clearly. And it was wet cement that Aelin could smell so strongly. And the rocks- they were looser around here from the work these Fae were doing. She moved back to where Nesta stood.

“What is it?” she asked again, a little more patiently.

Nesta assessed the demolished building, an unreadable look hardening her features. “I used to live there,” she said simply.

Aelin frowned, and pointed to the structure. “Here?”

She nodded.

A whirlwind of questions flurried through her. “When?”

Nesta cocked her head slightly. “Around six months ago.”

“Before the House of Wind?”

Another nod.

Very slowly, she asked, “Why has it been destroyed?”

Nesta frowned, eyes flicking over to the group of Fae. Her mouth opened slightly, then closed as she shook her head. “Feyre said the building was going to be redone for another function, but I can’t remember what. I wasn’t…” she trailed off. “I wasn’t entirely concerned about that at the time.”

Holy Gods… Aelin could have laughed if she wasn’t getting angry all over again. “The building her sister happened to be living in? The same sister she was intending to give an ultimatum to? The same building that would be awfully convenient to destroy?”

Nesta turned to face her and snapped, “I don’t need you to get all riled up for me. I know what happened. I know why it happened.”

“Then do something about it!” Aelin said, exasperated. This female with all of this power and potential… It was painful to see it all so suppressed. And not just by her sister’s family.

“I’m not talking about this again.”

“If you really wanted to, you could walk up to them,” she said, jutting her head at the masons, “and tell them to stop construction.”

Nesta scowled. “You must be stupid if you think that would work. I have no authority here. Besides,” she added, “it’s already demolished, so what is the point?”

Aelin grabbed onto her arm harshly and yanked her away from the street. Stopping under a shelter next to the confectionary, she continued in a hushed, pressing voice.

“I’m aware that your sister and Rhysand would hear of it and interject.” She glared when Nesta did. “I am aware that you have no authority here. But do you know what you do have?” Her silver stare was unyielding. “You have power. And not just the magic type. You spent months living around here, did you not? Months spent patronising the local stores and markets. These people know you. And I know they do, since they clearly recognised you in the Wolf’s Den. So the point, Nesta, is not to have those Fae rebuild your old home. Nor is it to appease the spite I’d personally be eager to release.” She enunciated her next words carefully. “It is to stay difficult.”

Aelin held Nesta’s stare as it wavered.

“Do not let them change that about you,” Aelin said, quieter, but no less demanding. “Do not let anyone frame your resistance as a flaw. It is the one trait every fighter must have. Please, do not let that light go out.” The words left her mouth in a plea, stuttering her breath.

The words… It was what Nehemia had once told her. Nehemia.

Do not let that light go out.

Aelin had let it.

She had let it, but she did not intend on seeing another’s go.

Nesta’s gaze had moved back to the masons manning the site when Aelin blinked back into the present.

Swallowing roughly, she straightened and looked back at the Fae as well.

“Otherwise, you’ll never really be at peace.”

Chapter Text

Nesta had never spent so much time inside the beauty parlor, and she firmly believed she never would again. She only wished she had a handful of coffee beans to inhale that bitter punch and rid her nostrils of the assault.

Elentiya had tried what must have been twenty scents of lotion, and looked as though she had too.

With a smile as dazzling as the jangling bell above the door, the female came out of the parlor and aimed for Nesta, who had been waiting on the little wooden porch outside.

She had spent the past few minutes watching people. Partly out of curiosity, and partly in paranoia of who might walk by. At least if someone were to bump into her now, she was here instead of the tavern. At least she was doing acceptable things instead of reverting back to old habits.

Elentiya popped off the lid of the lotion she chose and shoved it up to Nesta’s nose. She scowled and pushed it away.

“Nice, right?” Elentiya asked anyway as she clicked the lid back into place.

“About as pleasant as horse shit,” she lied, eagerly stepping back down to the cobblestone street.

“That’s what they say about us both, I’m sure,” Elentiya said, hopping down and pocketing the small bottle.

Nesta found herself halfway through a grimace and a smile. One she felt as though she had been balancing on for the past few weeks.

Elentiya had offered to burn the construction site to the ground as they had made their way to the beauty parlor. Nesta failed to see what good that would have done, while Elentiya had claimed that petty revenge was occasionally reason enough, only if the victim wouldn’t be crippled by it. And although Nesta would bet mounds of gold that Rhysand and Feyre would financially recover from the act, the innocent citizens of Velaris were another story.

“The bookstore, next,” Elentiya said from beside her as they walked, face turned away and scrunching to see inside colour-stained boutique windows.

Nesta shook her head mildly, scowling. “You speak as if I am your attendant.”

A shrug. “I told you I had a list of things to do; I never said you had to join me. And you didn’t have to come down here with me at all. Just tell me where the bookstore is.”

“I don’t care about that,” Nesta dismissed, avoiding a gaping crack in the street. “You just have the manners of a misbehaving child.”

Elentiya’s head turned to face her, and she smiled. “I reserve my manners for my attendants.”

Nesta gripped onto Elentiya’s sleeve as the street split into two, pulling her away from the path she had begun to steer down, but frowned. “You have attendants?” She certainly seemed the spoiled type.

But Elentiya only snorted. “No. Unless-” She whirled dramatically. “Are you interested in the job?”

Nesta didn’t have it in her to curse the female out. Not with so much attention fixed on her periphery and the people who filled it. She let her face give Elentiya her answer.

Tucked in between two lime green apartment lofts, the small building was quaint and welcoming. Nesta had crossed paths with the owner a few times when she had lived down here, but had never bothered to ask his name.

The front desk was vacant when they entered, and the entire store was still enough that Nesta might have believed it to be abandoned. The two little windows were dotted with small plant pots that drooped with hundreds of tiny dark green leaves, and the entrance was lined with a plush rug of wine-red. Five aisles branched off behind the desk- too dark to look all the way down.

Elentiya was trying to do the same when a short female parted through the clinking curtain of pāua shell beads behind the desk.

Not the owner. But she had the same gap between her front teeth.

“I do apologise if you’re looking for my father,” she said softly, tucking a lock of red-gold hair behind her pointed ear. “He will be back within the hour, but I can help you in the meantime.”

Nesta only nodded at the female, letting Elentiya ask whatever the hell she wanted to ask.

“I’ve heard you stock Sellyn Drake novels,” Elentiya began, walking up to the desk and resting her elbows atop it. The small female’s hazel eyes flicked down as she recalled.

Nesta’s nostrils flared. That was a bullshit request if she had ever heard one. Emerie was a constant supply of books from Illyria. Elentiya’s excuse for coming down here in the first place was having things to achieve. And Nesta was yet to see her purchase a single thing that would help her achieve anything of substance.

She watched as the owner’s daughter hummed and stood, leading Elentiya and her chattering into the darkness of the center aisle.

On the plain wall beside the front desk, a foot of red fabric hung on the wall, layered with roughly-sewn pockets. One for each day of the month, Nesta realised as she walked over. Each pocket had a small plant cutting bunched inside- some flowers, some herbs, and some shrubs. Nesta recognised a few from Elain’s pitiful garden at their cottage. But never had she seen such an arrangement. Strange.

Each pocket had a number sewn to its front, and a small label pinned beneath. A learning tool, Nesta guessed. Perhaps for the children who patronised the bookstore. She found herself a bit consumed in the descriptions, but stopped reading when one of them claimed that the small curling ivy was specially retrieved from the faraway mortal lands.

Blinking the feeling away, Nesta turned to scan the entryway again, finding a cushioned bench beside a rackety stack of what appeared to be new books. Local authors, Nesta realised as she sat. She flipped over the topmost novel and read the back. A historical mystery. Intriguing enough, she supposed as she finished it off.

Countless blurbs later, she huffed and stood, peering down the aisles and straining to listen for Elentiya and the other female.

They reappeared just then, the female smiling quietly as Elentiya made what was bound to be some absurd comment. Nesta really should have gone with them to spare the poor female.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Nesta asked pointedly as they reentered the front room.

The female returned to the desk as Elentiya came to Nesta’s side and grinned. “I certainly did,” she said despite her very empty hands, then added, nodding to the female, “Thank you.”

“I’m glad I could be of help,” she smiled wider now, and Nesta suddenly felt like she was missing something. She cut a glance at Elentiya, who looked right back unapologetically and flicked her eyes to the window- a silent tell that she was done in here. Nesta’s glare didn’t stop Elentiya from brushing past and reentering the streets of Velaris.

“Are you going to share what you found in there?” Nesta asked Elentiya as the golden sun washed across her face. “Or will it be revealed as you please it?”

Elentiya paused to wait for Nesta to catch up. Her brows furrowed lightly. “You need only ask.” At Nesta’s sharp silence, she continued. “I want to know more about the High Lords. Among other things. I find the non-fictional books in the House of Wind rather outdated.”

Nesta blinked slowly, facing forward as they walked. This did not surprise her, but it was not comforting how Elentiya happened to become so interested in the topic after learning of the High Lords’ meeting, and the fact that they could winnow. Did Elentiya really think befriending a High Lord was a viable option? Mother above.

Elentiya jerked her head back towards the bookstore. “I told her I was writing a book for your birthday. A romance between you and the High Lord of the Day Court.” She gasped mockingly, a hand to her throat. “Gods, she blushed like a damned lunatic. I nearly laughed.”

Nesta tried to fight the upward curl of her lips, then asked, “And what must you learn about the High Lords? There is no way for you to attend the meeting.”

Elentiya patted her on the shoulder and grinned again. “Not with that attitude, there’s not.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. Elentiya had to be insane. “And how would you even get there?” she spat.

Elentiya tutted. “Don’t start worrying about me now, Nesta. You might get attached. And I might get killed.”

A scoff. “I doubt that. You don’t seem the type to die.”

Elentiya gave a genuine laugh. “That,” she said, “is a truth.”

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

She had been wrong before.

Aelin would never admit it, but Rhysand was right about the pride he had for this city. It was jovial and bustling, as Rifthold might be when Dorian ruled over it. It couldn’t compete with Orynth, of course. Or Doranelle’s beauty. But of all the things she had encountered in this world, it was near the top of the list. Not that it had much to compete with.

As much as the city was nice, the same could not be said of the ruler. Rulers. The masons had just been doing their jobs, she told herself. They'd just been doing what they had been ordered to do like the boisterous confectioner and the small female in the bookstore. But- no. Aelin would never admit to Rhysand her praise for Velaris.

With her new sweet apple lotion in her pocket beside the small sack of chocolate almond bark, she and Nesta were now nearing the bridge that would lead them to the Palace of Hoof and Leaf- the quarter that housed the city’s blacksmith.

The sun was reaching low enough to the horizon that Aelin had accepted that they’d be shopping in the dark soon enough. Not that it bothered her. It was Nesta who might be. She’d been tense since they’d first hit the cobblestones, but Aelin could tell that something else was wrong from the female’s slowing pace.

“What’s over there?” Aelin asked her, peering across the glittering river.

Nesta’s face was hard, but she explained, “They all live on that side.”

Aelin frowned at her, appraising the well-concealed worry. “And? You’re not doing anything wrong.”

Nesta only shook her head, shutting off the conversation. She set into a fast walk, and Aelin had to jog for a moment to catch up.

They took a left once they reached the other end of the bridge, the small buildings now curling around a sprawling, verdant garden. It seemed that this wasn’t a residential area, not with the single-storey buildings.

A rugged signpost jutted from the edge of the grasses, pointing toward Velaris’ Blacksmith. They stepped up the few stone steps to the porch, and Nesta raised her fist to the door. Aelin didn’t think she imagined the small hesitation before Nesta knocked.

A stout, greying male opened the door for them, his tanned fingers wiping soot onto his leather apron. A sweltering mist blasted from inside, forcing Aelin to flutter her lashes.

The blacksmith’s tawny stare went straight to Nesta, then widened with recognition. Aelin flicked her eyes to the female, seeing nothing but a blank expression.

“Lady Nesta,” the male said, brows furrowing oddly. He stuttered for a moment before clearing his throat. “I’m not certain I can be of service to you.”

Aelin scowled. Surely he wasn’t denying her service? “She doesn’t want anything from you. I’m looking for a few daggers.” She pressed closer, the male stepping back to let them inside.

As he limped around the large workbench to kill the raging fire in the furnace, Aelin peered at Nesta in confusion. The female closed her eyes, shaking her head. Later, she mouthed. Nesta had been here before… but why the shred of apprehension in the male’s gaze?

“What’s your name?” Aelin asked him, head angling as she observed the scalding metals scattered across the bench.

“Nikolai,” he grunted, bracing his hands on the railing beside the furnace. “What style are you wantin’?”

Aelin looked around, face scrunching in consideration. “Ideally a rondel and stiletto, but anything of the sort will do. I just need them to be small.”

Nesta stood beside a towering shelf tucked in the corner of the small space, surveying the ancient, shining blades propped up on it.

Nikolai narrowed his eyes at Aelin. “And you have the coffers for what I do?”

She smirked at the arrogance- an earned thing, if she were judging his displays correctly. She only tossed the pouch atop the bench, coins clanging through the thin fabric against the metal.

Nikolai’s eyes widened with appreciation. He huffed, “You’re sure two daggers is all you’re wantin’?”

Aelin snorted, but didn’t reply.

The blacksmith went into his backroom- probably another workshop, to find what Aelin was hoping to be either a rondel or stiletto. They were skinny things- able to be slipped in a boot comfortably, but no less durable.

“Why do you want a dagger?” Nesta asked from her right.

Aelin looked at her, but those silver eyes were appraising a great sword hung on the wall, curling vines embossed on its thick hilt. “Why is the blacksmith wary of you?”

Nesta met her stare. Blinked. “Why do you want a dagger?”

Aelin scoffed lightly, rolling her eyes at the absurdity of their conversations. “I am preparing.”

A scathing glare. “For what?”

She shrugged, letting a conspiratory smile bloom on her lips. “None of your business. Why is Nikolai wary of you?”

“I think he’s scared of my magic.”

“Ah.” Aelin nodded. “Why the hell did you use it in here?”

Metal clinked against metal as Nesta put down the knife she was inspecting. “It wasn’t-”

She cut her sentence off when Nikolai walked back into the main room. Two gleaming daggers were held in his sooty palms, flaring orange against the sparks of dying embers in the furnace. One rondel, and one stiletto.

“How do these suit you?” the male sighed, sniffing roughly.

They were artfully designed weapons, the grips a deep, regal green against the dark silver blades. The gleam shining from them was a threat of a clean cut itself. She longed to feel them against her palms.

Aelin grinned. “Perfectly.”

She gave the blacksmith two hundred of their remaining five hundred and ninety gold marks, though he kept reminding her that the daggers were only worth one hundred. She had just threatened to double it to four, since the only other thing she needed from the city was kohl. And that would only cost ten marks at most, according to Nesta.

“You’d think people wouldn’t be so unreceptive to free money,” Aelin muttered to Nesta as they aimed for the door, even though she had witnessed that exact sort of apprehension first hand during those days she had trekked into Terrasen.

Nesta scoffed a small laugh- in agreement, Aelin supposed. Nesta grabbed the handle and hoisted the door open as Aelin tucked her new daggers into her waistband. But a tall male was in the doorway, and Nesta halted abruptly before she walked straight into him.

She stumbled back slightly, an apology half coming out of her mouth, but then Nesta froze.

Aelin scanned the male swiftly. It wasn’t Cassian or Azriel, and thank the Gods it wasn’t the other one. This male had long, fiery red hair, and an eye so wholly golden that Aelin had to force herself not to marvel. He wore light, well-fitted clothes- something Aelin had not seen much from the males in this city. She didn’t think she’d met him before…

But Nesta clearly had.

“Nesta,” the male said, something like genuine surprise colouring his tone.

Nesta took in a breath. Then, “Lucien.”

Lucien. She racked her brain, but she’d never heard the name. Aelin peered at Nesta, who remained utterly still.

“What…” Lucien began, apparently at a loss for words. He blinked once, then shook his head, scanning Nesta. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking around,” Nesta replied blandly. “Why are you here?”

Lucien gave Nesta a look, but answered. “Weapons.”

Nesta tilted her head. “Is there another war on the horizon?”

That golden eye whirred, the centre ring swivelling as he glanced at Aelin for a split second. “You never know,” he said, but the mirth she supposed he was trying to exude fell flat. He seemed tired. Was he a warrior?

“There’s a meeting coming up that I am to attend,” he said. When Nesta narrowed her eyes, he added, “In the company of the High Lord of Spring.”

Tamlin. The shape-shifter. Aelin had just read about him in the bookstore before. And- before that- probably in hundreds of books in the House of Wind’s library. This Lucien was from the Spring Court, then. And he was to attend the High Lords’ meeting. Aelin straightened.

“No weapons are permitted,” Nesta said. “They’ll just be confiscated.”

“Trust me, Nesta,” Lucien sighed, “everyone will be armed.”

Nesta didn’t reply, and Lucien didn’t say anything either. And for the life of her, Aelin couldn’t unpick the tense dynamic between them. Who in hell was this male?

Aelin flicked her eyes to the planks beneath them to where Lucien’s booted foot was propping the door open. A look over her shoulder told her that the blacksmith had retreated to his workshop.

She turned back and smiled at Lucien. “I’m Elentiya.”

He looked at her then, his warm russet eye locking onto hers. “A priestess?” he guessed warily.

“No,” Aelin replied right when Nesta said, “Yes.”

Aelin just looked over at Nesta and snorted, twisting her waistband to readjust the daggers’ grips on the leather.

But the female kept her gaze on Lucien. “An aspiring one.”

He went silent for a moment, observing them both. “I see.”

“Well,” Aelin said, slipping past the male onto the porch, “we need to be home by sundown, so we best get going.”

Nesta gave her an incredulous look as she stepped down onto the porch beside her.

“Right,” Lucien ticked his brows up. “Do they know you’re down here?” The question was for Nesta, Aelin assumed.

“Should they?” Nesta asked flatly.

He frowned. “I didn’t mean it like that.” But something in his gaze told Aelin that he knew it sounded exactly like it.

“Goodbye, Lucien,” Aelin said smoothly, drawing his eyes again. “It was nice meeting you.”

And with that, she moved down the last of the steps and hopped onto the cobblestone, Nesta following behind her. The sun had been swallowed by the horizon now, the air colder and darker, the streetlights warmer and softer.

“Who was that?” Aelin asked Nesta as they turned around another street corner.

“Lucien Vanserra. Emissary for one of the courts. I lose track these days.” She waved a queenly hand.

Aelin’s brows creased. “What is he doing all the way up here? Can’t he find a blacksmith in the Spring Court?”

Nesta’s gaze slid toward her. “My sister is his mate.”

Oh. Shit. That was information Aelin hadn’t expected to hear. She frowned again. What was the other one's name…?

“Elain.”

Aelin nodded absently. “Thanks. They are… not on good terms either?”

Nesta released a sharp breath. “I don’t think they’ve really spoken at all.”

“All three of you have mates,” Aelin mused aloud, then cracked a laugh. “What are the chances of that?”

“I have no idea,” Nesta replied, her tone clipped enough that Aelin backed off.

Half an hour later, she and Nesta were nearing the bottom of the mountain. The mountain they’d have to climb. In the dark.

More weeds had overgrown the crumbling footpath the further they ventured from the main town. And the streetlights had stopped minutes ago, forcing Aelin to release small plumes of flame to swim ahead of them. There was a part of her that wondered why the city hadn’t expanded to the foot of the mountain. The soil seemed solid enough, and there were no trees to be cut down. It only made the House of Wind seem more isolated.

She craned her head back to spy their destination, neck bending so far that she nearly toppled over. She was seriously considering sleeping on the steps. Aelin groaned.

“Come on,” Nesta said, already slightly fed up with her indecision at the cosmetics parlor. Aelin hadn’t thought she’d taken very long at all, actually.

“If only they hadn’t destroyed what could have been a perfect place to sleep,” Aelin grumbled.

Nesta glared over her shoulder, jerking the door open without looking.

Aelin dragged herself through the threshold, pausing to lean against the thick cement beam in the middle of the circular room. Nesta clicked the door closed behind her and leaned against it herself.

“Can I ask you something about those gates you mentioned earlier?”

She cracked her eyes open, narrowing them at Nesta. “Yes.”

“You said you succeeded in locking them, so how will you be able to get back?”

Aelin blinked. Nesta frowned- narrowed her own eyes at Aelin as if she hadn’t just thrown her off a cliff.

She hadn’t… She hadn’t thought about that.

Her heart was unspooling into her stomach, but she shrugged, taking the first step onto the staircase. “It’ll work out.”

It… It had to work out. There was no alternative. Not once had Aelin actually considered having to stay in this world for the rest of her life. And if she had actually succeeded in locking herself out of her own home… It was too cruel a fate. Even for her.

She’d leave the morning to deal with that one. And she would make it back to Erilea. She wouldn’t accept anything else.

It took them hours to climb the stairs. Fortunately, the upward trek was nowhere near as dizzying as the descent had been. Still, Aelin’s eyes were drooping and dry by the time they could see the archway into the House of Wind.

But when Aelin crested the landing before Nesta, any trace of exhaustion snapped away as she beheld Cassian and Morrigan in the armchairs of the main room. She paused, moving her hand slightly behind her to warn Nesta.

They both looked up, unreadable expressions hidden by the shadows cast by the lights around them.

Nesta came to a stop beside her, and Aelin felt the female stiffen.

Cassian stood from the armchair, his eyes flicking from Nesta to Aelin as he moved to stand beside the table.

Aelin half-smiled at him. “How’s your face?”

From behind Cassian, Aelin saw as Morrigan shook her head in disgust. The female stood too, glaring at Nesta as she moved closer.

“Is this funny to you?” Morrigan asked Nesta. “He’s your mate and you don’t give a shit that some random female hurt him?”

Aelin rolled her eyes. “It was sparring. He’s a grown damned male. And I don’t think it’s Nesta who is failing to act like a-”

“Just go,” Nesta said without looking. Aelin blinked at her. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She tried to catch her eye- to judge whether she actually wanted what she was asking, but Nesta kept her stare on Cassian. Aelin knew Nesta would want to speak to him. Although, she wasn’t so sure how the other female fit into the equation.

So Aelin swept her gaze over Morrigan’s figure lazily, letting embers flare around her pupils as she dragged it across Cassian too.

“If you deem any of Nesta’s actions today wrong or against your law,” she told them as she headed for the door that would lead her to the library, “divert the punishments onto me, and we can discuss.”

“Done,” Morrigan answered to Aelin’s flash of a grin.

She stifled her retort and pushed the door open. Before she took a single step down the staircase, two large hands grasped her upper arms tightly. She jerked, twisting, but the hands only gripped with more force. Her fingers just grazed her stiletto as she looked up to twinkling, violet eyes blazing down at her. She paused before she could grip the dagger, knowing instantly that it was better to keep that weapon a secret. For now.

Instead, she allowed Rhysand to push her back into the main room.

Aelin turned to see Cassian, Morrigan, and Nesta watching the exchange, the latter’s eyes swimming with sparking silver. Aelin silently urged her to contain that power. Not for her. Not now.

Rhysand broke the silence, eyes roving over Aelin. “I’d like to talk to you. Alone.”

Chapter Text

An arrow of unease hung in Nesta’s middle as she stood in the main room of the House of Wind.

Rhysand had taken Elentiya to the bedchamber beside them. To talk about what, Nesta did not know. It could be anything, she realised: The fight with Cassian, their venture into the city, the missing necklace and ring, or maybe he had found those strange symbols beneath her floorboards while down in the library last night.

Either way, they were both probably fucked. Elentiya had ticked her brows up testily at Nesta before entering that room. And Nesta was only tired.

Yes, exhaustion steadily tugged her boots into the floor as she stood before Cassian and Mor, the latter having sunk into an armchair again, a glass of whiskey poured on the little table beside it.

Nesta shrugged at Cassian in invitation to speak, hating that the movement would have looked pathetic.

His hazel eyes shone against the flickers of faelights above the table, and the depth of his gaze threatened to throw her off balance. There was no ire in it—not like there had been at training these days. It was pity that melted Cassian’s eyes into honey. That sickened her.

She suppressed her scoff into a huff of breath from her nose, tearing her stare from his.

“Where did you take her?” Mor asked from the chairs, delicate chin raising slowly as she appraised her, still in the leathers from training. “What did she want from the city?”

“To see it,” Nesta replied. She stopped herself from asking if that hadn’t been allowed, either. As a door sounded from down the hallway, Nesta simply found that she no longer cared for permissions. And she knew that Elentiya never had, either.

Stay difficult.

She knew Elentiya would. So why shouldn’t Nesta?

“If she never returns to her world, then what?” Nesta went on, squaring her shoulders. “It is evident that you’re never going to trust her, so just let her into another court.”

A bitter laugh, then Mor stood. “Don’t you realise that by containing her, this court is protecting all others? Although, I wouldn’t be surprised if you fail to see that, since she’s clearly weaselled her way into your head. She’s powerful, for fuck’s sake.” Then she added under her breath, mockingly, “This is why we never should have let her out.”

Nesta forced the words from her head, turning her attention back to Cassian, who—Nesta was noticing—was starting to get too quiet in these frequent arguments. “And you?”

Azriel walked into the room then, skirting around the armchairs to stand between Mor and Cassian.

That look remained on Cassian’s face. Nesta wanted to reach out and rip it off.

“It’s…” he began, brows worried. “It’s gone too far, Nes.”

She shook her head, disbelieving and confused. What, exactly, has gone too far? She wanted to ask.

Cassian went on. “She won't be at training anymore, just until after the High Lords’ meeting when a solution can be found. As ordered by Rhys.”

Nesta chuckled derisively. “She doesn’t give a shit about Rhysand.”

Morrigan angled her head, keen hostility scathing her features. “She should.”

And— “A solution?” Nesta asked Cassian hotly, ignoring the female entirely. “The only reasonable one is to actually help her, like Rhysand and Feyre claimed to do, but have yet to provide anything reminiscent of assistance.”

“Is that a joke?” Morrigan spat. “She just gave birth.”

Fucking hell. Why was Mor even here? Nesta swallowed her anger down. “Did he give birth?” Her own head angled, and she took a step forward. “He has enough time to visit Elentiya and research some absurd symbols, but conveniently runs out of time to find a way for her to get home. All I’m seeing is a male scared of a female more powerful than him. He wants to control her.”

Shadows gathered around Azriel. Nesta couldn’t read their flurrying. Mor just stared at her, outrage darkening the brown in her eyes.

“That’s not true, Nesta, and you know it,” Cassian said roughly.

Useless. It was utterly pointless to argue about this. They were never going to see it the way she did. It would take a lot for someone to convince her of Elain or Feyre’s wickedness, she tried to rationalise. Rhysand had been a part of their family for five centuries.

Nesta pushed the topic aside. “If you are so bothered by Elentiya’s proximity to me and the priestesses, are there going to be separation regulations implemented in the library, as well?” She kept the bite out of her tone this time. It was a genuine question, for they had no right to interfere with the haven below their feet.

Mor strode across the room then, passing Cassian with a look as she aimed for the balcony doors.

Teeth gritted, Nesta’s stare snapped to Cassian. Her words were frozen blades. “You cannot make me do anything.” They could not ban her from the place she had grown to cherish.

Cassian shook his head, looking at her like he wasn’t really recognising her. Slowly, he said, “Not you.”

Morrigan whirled, her hand holding the glass door agape. “Elentiya is the enemy, Nesta Archeron,” she snarled. “Not someone you should even consider speaking to. I can’t believe Rhys let it get this far—let it go on for so long. And with what she did to him last night…” She cut herself off. Then, jutting her head to Cassian and Azriel, “You should be thankful they’re still willing to hear you out.”

She froze. What Elentiya did to Rhysand? Nesta didn’t let the confusion show on her face.

Mor paused for a moment, righting herself. She slanted her head slightly. “Talking to her won’t be an option anymore, anyway.” Then, the blonde stepped onto the balcony, her shoes clinking against the red stone, and winnowed away.

Slowly, Nesta turned to Cassian and Azriel. Their faces were blank. And then the knowledge dripped into her—languidly, like thick mud. Her heart skipped and tumbled, her breath catching thin in her throat.

Blood pounding, Nesta aimed for the sideroom Rhysand had taken Elentiya into, and shoved through the door.

It was empty. Silent.

Hands shaking, she moved further inside, checking for an attached office or bathroom despite knowing there was none.

That was when her eyes fell to the bed. No blood. No bodies. No signs of a struggle. Just a small bottle of sweet apple lotion laid there, two new shining dark silver daggers, a stick of kohl, and a confectionery pouch tossed beside it.

One rondel, and one stiletto.

She reached out and grasped the latter, turning it so it flashed against the faelights. The grip was firm against her palm.

Nesta straightened, securing the dagger to her leathers. She felt Cassian standing behind her in the doorway, Azriel lingering outside.

Coldly, Nesta asked the room, “Where did he take her?”

When she finally pivoted, nails slicing into her palms, Cassian answered her, something too close to impenitence darkening his gaze.

“The Hewn City.”

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

Ropes of blackest night wrapped Aelin’s wrists in front of her, chafing as the world folded over itself.

The ground flattened beneath her feet, stumbling her balance before she righted herself.

Winnowing. He’d winnowed her.

The High Lord of the Night Court’s hands were instantly gripping her upper arm, leading her down a depthless hallway. A thin stream of water trickled alongside them, glinting under the silver sconces of light lining the carved, rocky walls.

She supposed she had this coming, considering how she’d chucked the guy into the library corridor last night.

She’d half-expected it when he’d asked to speak to her alone. She hadn’t appreciated the unnecessarily rough way he’d unarmed her, though; those had been new daggers, Gods above. And he’d taken the damned almond bark.

She had not fought him when he had yanked the weapons from their sheaths. Nor had she denied anything he had previously accused her of. She was starting to realise that this was not a male who changed his mind. She was his enemy, invariably. He probably wouldn’t stop until she was dead or… dead.

Aelin slid her gaze to him. Saw the rage blotting the stars from his eyes. This wasn’t an explosive anger, it was calculated. This was a long game—he was enacting a plan.

Still, she kept pace with him, waiting to reassess her situation once he found the cell he was likely to dump her in—it would be no use to attack then have no idea how to escape this tunnel.

Ever since she had released those wisps of flame and small plumes on their way back to the House of Wind earlier, Aelin had been riding on a razor’s edge. Fire burned beneath her skin. Seared. Unequivocally primed to spring from her fingertips.

So, Aelin was not afraid. She’d be able to get out of anything this preening High Lord threw at her, especially with her magic a lit cannon, and especially considering how Rhysand was so clueless about the ways iron could contain her. And she’d fight tooth and nail before he’d figure that out.

That did not mean she wanted to reveal her magic, though.

Finally, Aelin cared to speak.

“Where are we?” Her voice yawned through the hall, coiling around the walls like warm breath in frigid air.

Rhysand did not answer her.

She stared at him while they walked, daring him to look. He didn’t. There was a part of her that was glad of it. Maeve sparked in her mind again.

Beyond him, the carvings on the walls turned intricate, the lines as slim and precise as strands of hair. Figures frolicking and fornicating, revelling and praying, worshipping and dying. It was an entire history mapped in stone. She wondered how long ago they had been sculpted.

And it was then that she realised she had been here before. Weeks ago—a month, soon. She was in the underground place she had first awoken to after the Lock. The dampness of that cell’s walls must have been from the streams trickling down the pathway.

In the distance, a towering door loomed, two silver lights illuminating the great beasts carved, gaping maws snarling toward the handles.

She squinted, straining to spot what the demons stood upon, but—

As sudden as lightning, darkness like a dense midnight bled into the hallway, coating the walls and ground with impenetrable blackness. A mind-numbing pulse beat into the space, emanating unyieldingly from the male beside her.

“Holy—” she choked out, stumbling forward slightly. The hand on her arm latched tighter.

Rhysand had just released the damper on his power.

And Aelin’s ached to be free in response to that unleashing. She tensed her body, clenching her teeth tightly to keep that fire coiled up. No, she told it. Not yet. Not here, not now.

Her steps quickened as they neared that door, and it flung open with a gust when they were only two steps away.

A cavernous hall appeared before them, the ceiling so high that Aelin couldn’t make it out in the gloom. Onyx gleamed on every surface, reflecting shards of silver light and the darkest of shadows. Enormous, ribbed columns reached up from the polished ebony floors, those same terrible beasts curling their muscular forms around each beam with a frozen, ravenous hunger.

Rhysand was a storm beside her, tugging her further into the space.

There were people in here, Aelin realised. Through the darkness, she could see that small groups had pressed into the sides of the room, bearing the brunt of the High Lord’s tremendous, hideous power. An inferno churned in her blood, rousing to push back against the suffocating darkness—to spare these people from the torrent. Aelin gulped down a breath.

Her stare locked onto the end of the hall, where a dais splayed out like a slab of dark diamond. Atop it lay a throne made of that same ebony, carved meticulously with two of the same demons—their heads snaking around the shoulders. A throne room? Where in hell were they?

Just when Aelin thought he’d settle down in the damn seat, Rhysand veered to the left of the throne, heading for a similarly carved onyx door. Aelin glimpsed her reflection in the shine, the sight reminding her that she’d been in these training leathers for hours and hours.

She doubted he’d care to cater to her clothing requests.

As Rhysand clasped the handle and pushed the door open, Aelin flicked her eyes to her left, landing on a girl no older than twelve. She was alone in the corner of the room, stiff and straight-backed as her eyes trained on the High Lord. Her golden hair was dead in the cold light. And it was only for a split second that the girl’s brown eyes locked onto hers before Aelin was inside the room.

“The only way out is the way we came. Do not try anything,” Rhysand growled, somehow both thunderous and contained.

Aelin gave him a smile, swivelling to survey the place. A council room, she realised, then gave a mocking grimace. “A bit gloomy for my tastes.”

He was still, pupils blown out enough to engulf all the colour in his eyes. Then he was gone, the heavy door locking behind him.

Immediately, Aelin examined the council room.

She needed a weapon. Anything, really, better than the sharpness of her wedding ring. The ring and the amulet, which she still wore beneath her leathers. She didn’t know why Rhysand had kept them on her—why he hadn’t even mentioned her having them.

The chamber was fashioned after the throne room, only a shrunken version of it. A jagged, black glass table spanned across the length of the space, its edges so harsh she thought it might be able to slice flesh. She moved toward it, considering how stupid it would be to use one of the chairs to smash a shard off.

The rest of the room was empty. No side tables or shelves, no fireplace, no weapons adorning the dark, polished walls. Blinking, she rapidly twisted in place, scanning again. Nothing.

“Shit,” she hissed, bending down to check under the table.

She could break off a chair leg, she supposed. Rowan had once killed someone with a table leg, she remembered, the conversation they’d had about it in Rifthold seeming so… No— The thought of him was so wrong, so strange in this place, so different to… now. She shook it away. Like she had been shaking those thoughts away for weeks now.

Her eyes flitted over the polished floors, checking for any loose tile she could fracture and sheath into her boot. There was nothing.

The door clicked, and Aelin was up in an instant, leaning against the table.

Rhysand reappeared along with two others.

Morrigan stepped into the room, moving to stand to Rhysand’s left.

The other was a male, his pale-as-bone skin sallow against the blonde of his hair. Flat, brown eyes surveyed Aelin, lingering on the tatters fraying on the edges of the old leathers. Slowly—sinisterly—he took a step forward, an alluring smile growing on his lips.

“Welcome to the Hewn City, dear.”

⋆☽｡°⊹₊˚𖤓｡⋆

“The Hewn City,” Nesta repeated, feeling cold silver slip around her irises.

Cassian’s wings tucked closer behind him, revealing Azriel watching her closely.

“Answers will be drawn from her there,” Cassian finished, taking a step into the room.

Nesta’s head tilted at that. Dread boomed through her, heavy and primal like the morning she’d awoken in the Blood Rite.

She flicked her eyes to Azriel. Would it be him to draw answers from Elentiya? Truth-Teller was sheathed at his hip, its obsidian hilt familiar, yet suddenly inimical. Her stomach flipped at the thought of that knife scraping answers from her friend, and Nesta let that disgust touch her face.

“Take me there,” she demanded, lifting her gaze to Azriel’s face then sliding it to Cassian. She could have sworn something in the shadowsinger’s elegant features flinched at what he saw in her own. “If you want answers, put me in the cell with her. She’s told me more than she’ll tell you.”

She willed her composure into calm, reminding herself of the importance of clarity. She had to get to the Hewn City, and Nesta knew that there were only two ways of reaching that Court of Nightmares. She tugged her gaze across their wings at the thought.

“What has she told you?” Cassian pressed, a sharpness entering his eyes.

“Nothing that has led me to believe that she is a threat to you,” she answered, incredulous. “You’re the ones who have been making assumptions this entire time. Ask any one of the priestesses. The only thing she wants is to go home.”

Azriel peeled away from the threshold at her words, fading into thick shadows.

Nesta shoved past Cassian, reentering the main room. He followed.

“Nes, if you tell me what you know, Rhys will let her go.”

She shook her head. “No, he won’t. I have told you time and time again that she is no threat. The only answer any of you will believe from her or me is a menacing one.” She turned. “Is it so impossible to imagine that the truth just works out for everyone?”

A pause. “There are things you don’t know, Nesta.”

“There are things you don’t know, Cassian,” she retorted, not even feeling a glimmer of curiosity at his words.

Their eyes locked, and Nesta knew hers were molten silver. She looked at him properly then, the scale-like leathers, the ruby Siphons adorning his shoulders and hands. His black hair was pulled into a knot, loose pieces grazing the tanned skin of his neck.

The same as always. Windswept and rough-hewn like he had been when she’d first seen him, like he had been in Hybern’s throne room, like he had been along the Sidra, that day before the Blood Rite. Her throat tightened.

“I’d assumed that you’re trying to figure out how to fix things between us,” Nesta glared, cutting through the ache, “but I’m unsure how allowing your brothers to torture information out of my friend will get you any closer.”

He blinked. “That is not what is happening.”

Nesta gave a mirthless laugh. “Where has Azriel gone, then? The High Lord?” She turned, heading for the library door. “I think your invite got lost in the mail, Cass.”

He lurched forward. “Stop.”

She stilled, somewhat involuntarily.

His voice rumbled. “Nothing is going to happen to her. Rhys just wants her detained during the High Lords’ meeting when he won’t be around. After that, we’ll… we can talk.”

Her back still to him, Nesta lifted her hands and pressed her fingers into her eyes. “After the High Lords’ meeting, I’m moving back into Velaris.”

Silence.

She held herself up, bearing the tension in the air. She hadn’t planned to say it, but… seeing the city today revealed much more than she would have guessed. She needed to be out of this House, even though it had become dear to her.

Heavy footsteps on wood broke the quiet, and she gritted her teeth.

Large hands turned her to face him. He pulled her fingers from her eyes, and let them fall to her sides. His face was open—completely unguarded. And as Cassian’s honey eyes seeped into her own, Nesta knew that her words had devastated him. She swallowed.

He seemed to consider before speaking, eyes scanning her length. “I—” He shook his head, blinking. “What has changed, Nesta? What has changed since Elentiya arrived to make you… decide this?”

Aside from him, and his clear stance on their relationship? She did not know. But…

“Don’t blame it on her. I’ve never once spoken to her about moving into the city.”

He jerked his chin at her, gently. “Have you ever spoken to her about me?”

Nesta looked at him, letting her glare fade. “What if I have?”

Cassian had no reply. None that wouldn’t be hypocritical, at least. For he had clearly been confiding in Morrigan.

“What if something is your fault? Rhysand’s?” she went on. “It can’t always be me or Elentiya.”

“I know,” he said, reaching out to softly brush her fingers with his own. “Just let me… Don’t decide things like this in the heat of the moment. Just give me a few days. Please.”

Nesta pulled her hand back. “Get Elentiya out of the cell, and I’ll listen.”

Slowly, she turned for the library door, sparing only one glance to his wrecked eyes before descending the stairs.