*****This chapter contains triggers for rape and sexual abuse******

The damper on my powers was fully locked down as we winnowed into the wood and I could feel everything. And what there was to feel around us was nothing .

The air was hollow, void of all creature and movement. A sign of how dangerous and deceiving the predators lurking about this jungle really were. It was perhaps the one benefit of being so near the Weaver’s cottage that we wouldn’t run into other beasts so long as we trespassed.

Feyre, for one, didn’t need the added pressure.

The moment we touched down, her body stilled and her breath came out sharply. Though my High Lord’s powers were all but non-existent to avoid giving the Weaver even the smallest hint of my arrival, that lethal killing power gifted me by my Illyrian ancestors stalked beneath my skin keeping watch.

“Where are we?” Feyre said, her voice no more than a soft whisper for the ancient, gnarled trees surrounding us to listen to.

I kept my own voice steady - for her sake. “In the heart of Prythian, there is a large, empty territory that divides the North and the South. At the center is our sacred mountain.” Feyre’s heart sped up at that, but her feet continued moving as we began our trek through the woods. “This forest,” I said, sensing her growing unease, “is on the eastern edge of that neutral territory. Here, there is no High Lord. Here, the law is made by who is strongest, meanest, most cunning. And the Weaver of the Wood is at the top of their food chain.”

The silence of the wood did not refute me.

“Amarantha didn’t wipe them out?”

“Amarantha was no fool,” most unfortunately. What I wouldn’t have given for a Naga to come claw her neck out in place of Tamlin forty-nine years too soon. “She did not touch these creatures or disturb the wood. For years, I tried to find ways to manipulate her to make that foolish mistake, but she never bought it.”

“And now we’re disturbing her,” and I could feel the scowl on her face, “for a mere test.”

So not only was she nervous, but she was nervous enough to be angry with me too. And that heartbeat of hers was skyrocketing.

You can do this, I thought, willed in strength toward her.

Feyre would need to master that panic. It was just as important to me as her coming out of the cottage we approached successfully. Her ability to track the Cauldron, the Book, would all be pointless if she didn’t learn how to see the capability in herself.

Cruel .

It was a cruel, wicked test. And where no one else would push Feyre to do it, I miserably would.

Along with a bit of sport to distract the pair of us, if that was what Feyre needed to see past the fear. And she was good at it - playing with me. She always had been.

I chuckled at her comment, preparing to distract her any way I could, and admitted my own shortcoming since it was on my mind anyway, “Cassian tried to convince me last night not to take you. I thought he might even punch me.”

“Why?” Feyre asked, still glancing about.

“Who knows?” I said with a bored voice. “With Cassian, he’s probably more interested in fucking you than protecting you.”

Decidedly untrue. However -

“You’re a pig.”

That temper flared right to life as Feyre’s head snapped at me. “You could, you know,” I said, helping her through a thick patch. “If you needed to move on in a physical sense, I’m sure Cassian would be more than happy to oblige.”

Slicker than oil, Feyre angling her body in front of me in ways I’m not sure even she was aware of, purred, “Then tell him to come to my room tonight.”

“If you survive this test,” I said, far, far too quickly. I knew she wouldn’t let me get away with baiting her so easily, but I hadn’t thought she’d actually - not when she knew I would never tell him... surely she...

She stepped atop a large, smooth rock and stopped, and it was not unlike that feeling I’d had seeing her trek up the mountainside towards the Prison only a day ago. “You seem pleased by the idea that I won’t,” Feyre said.

“Quite the opposite, Feyre.” I held her gaze as I stepped up beside her, the rock keeping us eye level with one another. That lid I had clamped down on myself flicked briefly, threatening to unleash night and wind and stars into the space around us, the mate bond plucking at my impulses like the strings of a harp. “I’ll let Cassian know you’re... open to his advances.”

“Good,” she said, and not only did I hear that word, but I felt it. Felt some essence of her . Right before her heartbeat slammed into me like an endless processional of drums on Fire Night - beating, beating, beating.

And maybe it was the panic, panic she had to master, and maybe it was the knowledge she would even consider being open to another male’s advances - genuine or not - but when Feyre made to take one step off that rock, breaking my gaze, the lid inside me cracked just enough .

My hand reached out and slid easily over her neck, cupping her chin in a smooth, slithering caress. Through the crack inside, a cool burst of steam slid out and filled my vision with starlight as I looked into the blue of her eyes. “Did you enjoy the sight of me kneeling before you?” I didn’t have to hear it for myself to know how the words must have sounded in her ear.

Feyre took one look at me, heard the invitation in my voice, and Mother above she accepted . “Isn’t that all you males are good for anyway?” she crooned, slinking her chin casually out of my reach with a damn smirk that had my blood boiling and praying not to think of whatever blasted pieces of lingerie were under that suit.

Feyre was flirting back.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

But her voice - it wavered, just enough. And I knew that the flirting was little more than a pretty charade she needed maintained to keep her focus. Even if for a moment... it had felt almost... real.

So I fluttered my eyes into a midnight stare as she jumped down from the rock, and our feet tangoed to avoid nearly touching on the ground. We were inches apart by the time she looked back up, our smirks doing a tango of their own that kindled a small pool of heat in my crotch.

Just before her mind flicked back to the cottage now sitting prettily in front of us, the rooftops covered in something I would not mention to Feyre glinting in the sunlight.

“Nice try,” she said, her voice strained. So I shrugged and stepped around her and enjoyed the loving irritation swimming through the bond between us.

She caught up to me quickly enough and together, we beheld the cottage, quaint and quiet and isolated from the world, it felt. Nothing stirred or gave any indication that there was life inside that hovel, all part of the Weaver’s beautifully laid trap.

Even the well sitting just outside its door was laced with deceit.

The only sound, the one we had to strain even with our fae ears to hear, was a low, merry humming coming from within the home - from that wicked Weaver herself.

I turned to Feyre and bowed, just as much to distract myself as her from how hard it was going to be not to hear her while I waited, and gestured for her to move forward.

Her back straightened as she stepped forward, catching my eye. Good luck I mouthed, and glamored myself into the air when she was past.

I waited in those woods and watched her, rooted to the spot, until she’d made it all the way to the door and held herself back for just a moment. That panic rising in her throat like bile was all that tethered us together. And I wondered if this wasn’t a huge mistake.

Dangerous.

So very, very dangerous.

But you can do it, I thought, as her hand reached out for the door. You are strong. You are Night and Dawn and Day combined. You are infinite, Feyre. Let nothing stand in your way .

Her fingers turned the knob. I winnowed as she stepped inside.

---

Seconds quickly turned into minutes as I waited in the trees surrounding the Weaver’s home - close enough to see the cottage, but far back enough to avoid detection.

I stuck to the tops of the trees, sitting within the branches never farther than a quick reach from the heavy blade weighing down my back.

That weight closely mirrored the tight line of dread Feyre felt, her mental shields closed to thought but wide open to all emotion. And I felt everything . Or most of it, I was fairly confident.

And with every sense of panic I encountered, I prayed to the Mother for her to understand how powerful and wonderful she was until I felt some faint recognition of it drifting through her awareness. Small and timid at first, but there nonetheless.

There as she stalked my ring - my mother’s ring. The one meant for one person in my life and one person only.

I think we felt it at the same moment, Feyre and I. The vision of how I’d last seen the ring floating to the surface of my mind while Feyre stared at it in the present with a good deal of confusion. I couldn’t see her, but I felt her reaching for it - felt it in how overwhelmingly my powers tugged at me in recognition of the object that was so, so close to being returned.

But Feyre’s mind started screaming.

I closed my eyes and all I could feel and see was blood even without a viewpoint of where she stood.

Blood. Fae blood on her hands. Along with a dagger that could have been the one she’d used then or one of the blades she had on her now, it didn’t matter.

My lips tightened, my own hand reaching behind my back on instinct, wishing desperately just to know where she stood, how she looked, if she had her - my ring, if she was getting out safely...

And then the Weaver’s voice died.

And louder than thunder to my ears, I heard her cottage door shut .

My eyes opened scanning the wood for any sign of movement.

Out. Please tell me she got out first.

Before the Weaver realized she had even been there.

I grasped the hilt of my sword, ready to draw it and be gone at a moment’s notice. Feyre remained a river of panic gushing over the bond, but I couldn’t read where that panic went. And still the forest seemed too quiet.

Until...

A scream shattered the stale air. Not Feyre’s voice - but the Weaver’s. I tensed into a crouch and within seconds, saw smoke billowing up from one side of the house, too thick for me to see through.

My heart hammered into my chest as Feyre’s panic raged at me, the only thing keeping me back this small kernal of confidence beating rapidly away down the bond.

I latched on to it, savoring how it felt and the knowledge that it was her own. Was Feyre’s. That whatever she was doing, she was accomplishing it without me and likely kicking so much ass in the process.

Please, please, please...

Sixty seconds. I counted them down one by one in my head. And if Feyre wasn’t out by the end of it, then Cassian would have a magnificent time scolding me before six High Lords came to tear me limb from limb in punishment for my deeds.

Except that I didn’t need that minute. Barely any time had passed before -

There .

Grass. And sun. And pine.

Feyre.

There you are.

I scented her even though there was no wind to carry that perfume to me.

I released the grip on my sword scanning the ground, but only the Weaver emerged, running out of the cottage screaming her head off, demanding to know where her intruder had gone.

And Feyre was no where to be seen. Feyre was-

Coming straight at me upon the trees with an absolutely murderous look in her eyes that pinned me in place. I could have kissed her for it would it not have actually driven one of those knives glinting on her thighs deep into my chest.

And her body . Cauldron alive, I hoped Mor wasn’t there when we winnowed back to see it. Feyre was positively covered in the ash and fat and decay of the Weaver’s work, blood the only color peaking through from the scratches covering her skin.

“What the hell did you do ?” I asked, listening to the Weaver rage and thinking - my mate did that.

“You ,” Feyre hissed, venom flying off her tongue at me.

I silenced her with a swift finger to my lips and took her into my arms, cupping her against my chest, my shoulder. She was going to hate me again in a moment, enough that even Amren wouldn’t deny it.

We winked into nonexistence, the Weaver’s screams stolen by the wind and sea and sky as we fell into the open air of Velaris. For a few heart-stopping moments, I let us fall, enjoying the fresh burst of adrenaline and hoping it was enough to distract Feyre from what she’d just experienced, before my wings rippled at my back wide and powerful, lifting us easily into the House of Wind.

Where Cassian and Amren saw us and promptly gaped at our appearance, Cassian’s hand flying for the dagger at his side.

I set Feyre down and her eyes immediately caught on her reflection from the mirror hanging on the wall. Her eyes widened, mouth parting slowly. Her body shook just trying to even out her breathing, but seeing herself only seemed to make the task harder...

Cauldron , she was covered.

“You smell like barbecue,” Amren said. Even the fire drake who bathed and battled in blood turned away from Feyre then. Cassian retreated from his fighting stance, but made no further move.

“You kill her?” he asked.

“No,” I said, watching Feyre carefully. “But given how much the Weaver was screaming, I’m dying to know what Feyre darling did.”

As though the jab was a trigger, Feyre doubled over on herself and vomited all over the floor, forcing all of us to take a jump back. Amren immediately magicked away the mess from Feyre and the floor, and Feyre mercifully didn’t seem to feel inclined towards more.

“Shit,” Cassian said and threw me a dark, disapproving look.

“She... detected me somehow,” Feyre said, holding herself up against the table. “And locked the doors and windows. So I had to climb out through the chimney. I got stuck and when she tried to climb up, I threw a brick at her face.”

Feyre threw a brick at the Weaver.

Slowly, all eyes turned towards me. “And where were you?” Amren asked. I couldn’t tell if there was a threat beneath that question or not.

“Waiting, far enough away that she couldn’t detect me.”

Feyre stepped forward, anger fueling her reserves of strength. “I could have used some help,” she growled at me, that same venom on her tongue when she’d seen me in the woods.

‘You.’

“You survived,” I said. “And found a way to help yourself.”

Feyre studied me hard, considered what I was saying, and let fire flare inside her veins. I was almost surprised she didn’t ignite on the spot.

“That’s what this was also about,” she spat. I didn’t dare look at Cassian. “Not just this stupid ring ,” she said, slamming her hand hard against the table, “or my abilities , but if I can master my panic.”

Her hand backed off the table and - there it sat. My mother’s ring. The star cut sapphire still glittering and shining as wondrously as if it had been newly cut this morning. And only moments ago, it had been in Feyre’s hand.

She’d done it. My mate had done it.

She’d retrieved the ring my mother had set aside for her - for someone worthy of my hand to find.

“Shi- it ,” Cassian said again, staring at the stone. We all did.

“Brutal, but effective,” Amren stated, before shuffling back to whatever work she and Cassian had been attending to.

“Now you know,” I said to Feyre. “That you can use your abilities to hunt our objects, and thus track the Book at the Summer Court, and master yourself.”

“You’re a prick, Rhysand,” Cassian said, but it was soft, low in impact.

I shrugged and finally my wings saw fit to relax. “You’d do the same.”

Cassian’s expression was sharp, but he shirked and didn’t deny me all the same.

Feyre stepped closer to Cassian, her hands flexing before her as if she were seeing a ghost. And then she fixed my Illyrian general with a ready mind. A soldier at the call to enlist. “I want you to teach me - how to fight. To get strong. If the offer to train still stands.”

For the first time in a while, Cassian looked taken aback. I didn’t blame him. This wasn’t the reaction I’d anticipated out of Feyre upon returning, but it did make sense she’d want to train after facing death again. “You’ll be calling me a prick pretty damn fast if we train,” Cassian said and he wasn’t lying. “And I don’t know anything about training humans - how breakable your bodies are. Were, I mean.”

He winced and I refrained from questioning him on his hesitancy when he’d been so quick to offer his services to her at dinner two nights ago.

“We’ll figure it out,” he concluded, agreeing to work with Feyre.

“I don’t want my only option to be running,” she said.

“Running kept you alive today,” Amren spoke up.

“I want to know how to fight my way out. I don’t want to have to wait on anyone to rescue me.” I beamed at Feyre for that, for taking two days of adventure and torment, and fashioning herself into a new person already who was willing and ready to grow, to heal. But then she turned her stare on me and all pretense dropped. Arms crossed and mood decidedly sour, she barked at me and again I wondered if she wouldn’t erupt in flame.

“Well? Have I proved myself?”

Proved yourself and more , I thought, walking over to pick up the ring. A curious, tickling sensation sparked along my skin as I touched it and for a quick second, my nostrils filled with the scent of snow and wildflowers and all the things that made my mother the strong, warm woman she was.

I nodded at Feyre, unable to conjure up the words necessary to drown out the emotion and tell her thank you. “It was my mother’s ring,” I said simply.

“How’d you lose it?” she said, still hot, but not quite so tight.

“I didn’t. My mother gave it to me as a keepsake, then took it back when I reached maturity - and gave it to the Weaver for safekeeping.”

“Why?”

“So I wouldn’t waste it.”

So you could find it - my mate.

I wasn’t sure what did it, but all at once Feyre’s knees gave out. I caught her and exploded into flight without question as a wave of exhaustion hit me.

Cassian was right. They all were.

I was a horrible prick.

We free-fell again for a long while, enough to hopefully shake a little wind and life into Feyre so she wouldn’t pass out, and then winnowed into the townhouse, straight into Feyre’s room. My magic struck out and spurred her bathing chamber into life. The trickle of steaming water filling the bath tub was soothing as I set Feyre back on her feet.

She slumped forward to the tub as I leaned on the door frame, feeling that anger flicker away into weariness.

“And what about training your other... gifts?”

“I think you and I would shred each other to bits,” Feyre said over the tub.

“Oh, we most definitely will.” Feyre’s eyes darted to me at my use of future tense. “But it wouldn’t be fun otherwise. Consider our training now officially part of your work requirements with me.” Feyre looked utterly not thrilled. I straightened. “Go ahead - try to get past my shields.”

“I’m tired. The bath will go cold.”

She didn’t move.

“I promise it’ll be just as hot in a few moments,” I said. “Or, if you mastered your gifts, you might be able to take care of that yourself.”

I thought I would die if she didn’t do something to show me she was okay after today. That she would still tease and play with me even when I was being obnoxiously overbearing.

Feyre frowned, but in time... she pushed herself forward until I was forced off the threshold into her room two steps. I knew not what she was thinking, but power radiated in those steps charged with the heat of battle and action and blood.

I felt it.

And Feyre felt it - whether it was due to me or the violence at the Weaver’s or something else entirely.

Two days. She was already so fierce and just then standing there in the bathroom hunting me down, she felt like a force that might split me apart and forge me anew.

“You feel it, don’t you,” I murmured, very well aware of the intimate space on which I stood. Feyre’s eyes flashed wildly. “Your power, stalking under your skin, purring in your ear.”

“So what if I do?”

A challenge. And maybe a promise.

But her mind remained quiet. Maybe if I offered her a reason...

“I’m surprised Ianthe didn’t carve you up on an altar to see what that power looks like inside you,” I said with a careless lift of my shoulders. Feyre’s eyes narrowed.

“What, precisely, is your issue with her?”

“I find the High Priestesses to be a perversion of what they once were - once promised to be. Ianthe among the worst of them.”

Her face blanched, the struggle gone, replaced by that marveling intrigue Feyre’s mind ran rampant with constantly.

“Why do you say that?” she asked carefully.

“Get past my shields and I’ll show you,” I offered.

Feyre was quiet... but then, I felt her. Just a quiet, subtle inspection between us, like a cool summer breeze idly picking at a flag hoisted high, so high it was hard to be sure it really moved. She ran her eyes over the bond between us careful not to touch and decided when she reached the end that Ianthe wasn’t worth the effort.

“I’ve had enough tests for the day,” she said. I closed the gap between us before she could retreat and slam the door on my face. She was inches from me.

“The High Priestesses have burrowed into a few of the courts - Dawn, Day, and Winter, mostly,” I said. “They’ve entrenched themselves so thoroughly that their spies are everywhere, their followers near-fanatic with devotion. And yet, during those fifty years, they escaped. They remained hidden. I would not be surprised if Ianthe sought to establish a foothold in the Spring Court.”

“You mean to tell me they’re all black-hearted villains?”

“No,” and immediately I thought of the countless number I’d witnessed strewn about the stone temple floors in Cesare who died a pointless, innocent death. “Some, yes. Some are compassionate and selfless and wise. But there are some who are merely self-righteous... Though those are the ones that always seem the most dangerous to me.”

Feyre leaned up on her toes, her head tipping forward slightly. “And Ianthe?”

Come on, Feyre darling. Play with me, please .

Behind Feyre, steam hissed up gloriously from her waiting bath.

The attack Feyre assaulted my shields with was nothing like that delicate steam. An explosion - like paint hurled upon the canvas was a more apt way of describing the force that hit me. Had it been more refined, it might have made a dent, but it repelled right off sending Feyre back a physical step with it.

Her freckles near disappeared, blurring together with how her face scrunched up in frustration. She was - adorable when flustered.

Fuck, I really was a prick.

“Admirable,” I said chuckling. “Sloppy, but an admirable effort.” She glowered at me and would have pulled away, but I took her hand and held it gingerly in mine, not bothering to lace our fingers together. “Just for trying...”

I pulled on the bond between us sharply until a clear bridge had formed. And our minds descended into darkness.

Feyre’s force was a turbulent sea on the other end approaching, raging and uncontrolled and passionate . Those waves reached up and licked against the wall of adamant surrounding my mind and it felt...

It felt...

Cauldron, it sent a shiver down my spine. She’d never touched me before. Not like this. Intimate and private and allowed between us both. That outermost shell of my mind flexed until a door cracked at the seams and Feyre stepped inside. Memory destroyed the darkness around us casting a vision that sent Feyre reeling back towards the door - the door I’d now closed.

The scene played out in real time.

Ianthe sprawled atop a massive ivory bed, tucked deep within the heart of the Hewn City. My bed.

And she was naked. Completely bared to me breasts and ass and heat and all as she watched me enter the room.

Feyre tore viciously, already as disgusted as I felt, but I urged her to stay. “There is more,” I whispered to her mind. More she needed to see - and understand.

“You kept me waiting,” Ianthe purred along the sheets, a ridiculous pout on her lips. I fell against the door at my back. I had just walked through it, but even so it felt like a stone slab locking me inside with a wild animal.

“Get out,” I said.

Ianthe spread her legs wide shamelessly. “I see the way you look at me, High Lord,” she teased. Horror roiled in my gut.

“You see what you want to see. Get out.”

“I heard you like to play games.” Not these kinds of game, I thought. Where her hands trailed dangerously low on her stomach and traded my self-worth for whatever power it might grant her. If I didn’t stop her now, she would go door to door until she found a willing participant, the ramifications meaning little to her if it got her what she wanted. “I think you’ll find me a diverting playmate.”

Kill her or send her packing.

She wasn’t yet so important to the Priestesses that she would be missed, but there would still be a penalty to pay for splattering her useless blood all over the walls. A penalty my court would pay.

But after the way she’d touched Cassian last night, briefly on the shoulder when she thought no one was looking. How she’d looked at Azriel and whispered in his ear until Mor had snapped the stem of her wine glass standing next to me... those penalties might be worth it.

“I thought your allegiance lay with other courts,” I said. A judge ready to deal out sentencing to the foulest of heathens.

Ianthe’s cheeks blossomed into a sweet smile. “My allegiance lies with the future of Prythian, with the true power in this land.”

That hand that had rested on her belly sank lower... lower... lower. Until her fingers brushed her clit once.

Darkness snapped out of me in a cruel tendril casting her hand brutally aside. She seemed unphased. “Do you know what a union between us could do for Prythian, for the world?” Her eyes were claws reaching inside my skull tearing me apart limb to limb. I’d never felt so damned violated before.

“You mean yourself.”

“Our offspring could rule Prythian.”

I bit back a dark storm of laughter. I was the High Lord of the Night Court. Not some damned piece of meat for her to fuck and feast on. And yet - she dared. “So you want my crown - and for me to play stud?”

The very idea of her bearing me children made my stomach sick. My power held her still on the bed, but through it I could feel her body struggling to break free, to entertain and entrance me into touching it.

“I don’t see anyone else worthy of the position.”

A wave of her scent rolled off her, the only weapon left in her arsenal to throw at me. I wanted to throttle her - to kill her. She’d be worth the blow. For Ianthe to be so fresh and already so crafted to the politics of this land, she had a bright future ahead of her. One that would cast a dark stain over us all one day if she went far enough.

Or maybe, if we were lucky and the Priestesses kept a close eye on her when I sent her back in pieces, she would fair far more friendly in the future and not forget how this little visit ended.

“Get out of my bed,” I said, each word a death sentence if she disobeyed. “Get out of my room. And get out of my court.”

I released my hold on her and Ianthe slithered off the bed and danced toward me with ease. Her nipples were pink and peaked as she stopped inches in front of me. “You have no idea what I can make you feel, High Lord,” she said, and reached her hand out to feel a hardness at my crotch that wasn’t there.

Everything came flooding back to me then - the present me. Fifty years of violation and submission and sacrifice. It wasn’t Ianthe I stared at... I knew it was. But my mind - the part of it locked away from Feyre whom I would have forgotten was even there had she not recoiled in horror with me - saw only red hair and a demon’s crown.

Ianthe was lucky not to see a blood mist reign down on her then and there distorting the truth.

Power struck her down instead, splintering her bones inch by inch until that hand hanging in the air before my crotch was a fracturing mess of wood beneath a butcher’s axe. Her scream was horrible enough to shatter cities as one by one I broken the tendons and shredded the muscles.

And when I spoke, it felt like - I wished, that it were Amarantha who heard the words.

“Don’t ever touch me,” I said with deadly grief. “Don’t ever touch another male in my court.” Ianthe screamed as one last fragment of bone shattered into oblivion. I stepped aside for her to reach the door. “Your hand will heal. The next time you touch me or anyone in my lands, you will find that the rest of you will not fare so well.”

“You will regret this,” she hissed, even as she sobbed.

I made a mockery of her, cackling as I threw her into the hall and sent her piss-poor excuse for clothing hurtling after her, the door a mighty whack! at her back.

But what I felt and what caused me to end the memory in near violence between our minds was a deep, lonely emptiness in my soul. Feyre must have felt it from the way she staggered away from me in the curt severance of the bridge linking us. Her face was pale, white as a sheet.

Now my own panic rose up. I needed to leave. Get out. Get away. To fly. Do something other than sit inside and look at Feyre - Feyre who had suffered today because of my horrible, selfish ambition and pride. I’d known I’d been unkind to her today, but it didn’t really hit me until just then when Ianthe - when Amarantha reminded me.

“Rule one,” I said, “don’t go into someone’s mind unless you hold the way open. A daemati might leave their minds spread wide for you - and then shut you inside, turn you into their willing slave. Rule two, when-”

“When was that,” Feyre cut in aghast. “When did that happen between you?” and she looked... she looked...

Not concerned, Rhysand . I could hear Amarantha’s voice in my ears clear as day, as if I were still Under that fucking Mountain. Tisk, tisk. No human bitch would be concerned. Not for you .

Dark, dark laughter ringing against my skull .

“A hundred years ago,” I managed to say. The words sounded dead, even to me. “At the Court of Nightmares. I allowed her to visit after she’d begged for years, insisting she wanted to build ties between the Night Court and the priestesses. I’d heard rumors about her nature, but she was young and untried, and I hoped that perhaps a new High Priestess might indeed be the change her order needed. It turned out that she was already well trained by some of her less-benevolent sisters.”

Feyre’s heart pounded hard, but even the sound of her humanity wasn’t quite loud enough to drown out Amarantha’s hissing.

“She - she didn’t act that way at...” Feyre’s face tightened. I thought she might cry. She certainly felt like she might. That or be sick. Her shields were still low. Up until then, I hadn’t been listening. Too distracted. But Lucien’s name came to the forefront and Feyre’s stomach retched.

Her friend. Maybe. Possibly. Someone she cared about in some way.

My enemy.

But victim to Ianthe’s advances, no less.

Sooner or later, the Fox would have to make a choice for himself. Sooner or later, Lucien would have to see if he had the will to leave and forge his own fate.

Until then... he would rot away in the Spring Court with Ianthe on his heels night and day. Feyre and I both knew it. And enemy or not, there was no joy in my heart for what he suffered.

I knew that pain all too well.

Feyre poised to say something, but I couldn’t breathe any longer. “Rule two,” I said quickly, “be prepared to see things you might not like.”

I winnowed away and returned to that free-fall of the skies far out to sea and let myself plunge down, down, down into the watery depths until my lungs forced me back to the surface for air.

---

“No, Tarquin hasn’t replied to your letter. And yes, I'm sleeping. Come back tomorrow.”

I found Mor catnapping on the sofa in one of the lounges at the flat she shared with Cassian and Azriel. A plush blanket covered her from head to toe even though she had the room heated to boiling to keep out the winter chill.

Sometimes I wondered if she hadn’t been meant for Summer or one of the other warmer courts when the Cauldron saw fit to misplace her birth.

When I didn’t say anything, Mor winked a single eye opened and looked me over. Near to drowning in the middle of all that water, I decided going home for the evening would only bring a fitful sleep and visions of Amarantha’s honeyed poison licking at my ears, her nails racking my throat as she sat against my hips and rocked slowly over me.

So somehow, I wound up here looking for a distraction.

Mor closed her open eye and whistled. “You look like you could use a drink, cousin.”

“You look like you’re in a position to help me find one.”

A slow, lazy smile tugged at her. “I will if you promise to take me out dancing after - with Cass and Az.”

“Only if you promise to go to the Mortal Realms with us tomorrow.”

The smile dropped, replaced by a perfectly smooth, neutral expression. “We’ll see about that.” Her eyes popped open. “Rhys,” she said calmly. “Do I need to be aware of anything?”

I scratched a piece of sand out from under my fingernails and frowned slightly. “Not particularly.” I caught her scanning me for the lie, but she didn’t refute me. She did, however, whip the blanket off of her and Mother above, she was already dressed for a night out. I rolled my eyes and stifled a groan.

Mor beamed as she made her way to me, a bounce in her step.

“Then stop standing there looking like death warmed over and fly me down from this damn piece of rock. I want to dance!”