The screaming - the screaming was horrific.

Barely a week passed by and on a day that should have been otherwise bright and shining with sun in the days of Spring, I felt Feyre descend into the bowels of hell itself.

Her mental shields were still perfectly in tact. I slammed against them in a rough collision as they kept me out of her mind.

But the screaming. It was agonizing and it never stopped. Over and over her cries came cracking the sun in two so the moon might take over and even then, there would be no light.

A brief flash of darkness and flame and ice combined into a netherworld filled with chains and ragged breath in her ears that sent shivers down her spine until she bled and her cries greeted me across the bond.

He’d trapped her - locked her up.

I grabbed my cousin’s hand, allowed the vision to fill her up for herself until I heard her breath cut off with a choke, and then winnowed.

And I thanked the fucking Cauldron as I went that I had Morrigan with me on the spot.

We landed directly on the doorstep of the manor. I was hit at once with an absurdly thin shield veiling the mansion like mist over a meadow - there, but damn near easy to move through.

I sliced with barely an inkling of thought and Mor moved with swiftness and surety. “Get her out,” I snarled and sent one final thought - a location she was already well aware of - before I winnowed, leaving before I could make the situation much, much worse.

The Summer Court was welcoming to me as I landed among its rolling, grassy plains far, far from the cities its High Lord would find me. I only hoped the Court would be half this welcoming to me when I visited with invitation - and I would. Otherwise, Tarquin was in for a far nastier shock than he realized and I hated to do it to him.

Mor took less than ten minutes.

She appeared with the warm Summer heat baring down on her like a halo - an angel of mercy and deliverance carrying Feyre in her arms. Feyre clung to her, her fingers digging in to her skin and clothes unwilling to let go.

A snarl beat out of me before I could help myself. Seeing Feyre like that, so utterly wounded and exhausted from what that mongrel had done to her - there was no escaping that kind of simultaneous wrath and relief.

“I did everything by the book,” Mor said. She held Feyre towards me and I took her into my arms. Cauldron, she felt so small, so fragile, but so, so vital. Like she was meant to be next to me all along.

But she was struggling, barely even able to breath when I wanted to see her stand and never, never fall again.

“Then we’re done here,” I said.

Wind raged and I allowed my darkness to descend upon Feyre in full force as we winnowed. But not that same terrifying darkness that she had lived and suffered in for so long. Rather, I applied it like a balm, the soothing quiet of night that finds a stillness and a shelter for the soul when all around crumbles into dust and ash.

Feyre fell into sleep before we even landed at the palace.

---

I watched her sleep. For hours and hours she slept, never stirring once.

Feyre kept preternaturally still. If it hadn’t been for the steady sound of her heart beating that my fae senses allowed me the mercy of hearing, I would have thought she was dead. It was enough to force my gaze out the open windows and on to the snowy mountains colored with morning light, lest I find myself slipping back onto that marble floor where I had screamed her name over, and over, and over as Amarantha thundered above us both.

Eight days. She’d been left there for eight days and I had let her - let her drown. What the hell would have happened if it’d gone, if I’d left her there the full three weeks with that -

The distinct sound of her swallowing met my ears and my head snapped to her attention. She blinked her eyes open wearily, looking like she needed an eternity more of sleep.

But she was okay . Alive, if nothing else. And she was safe - free, Mor had said.

I felt the threads inside me that had been spun around the bobbin, coiled far too tight, unravel across the floor all at once.

She was alive.

“What happened?” They sounded like her first spoken words ever, they came out so cracked and dry. She vaguely thought of screaming, her shields lowered and for once, I didn’t care one bit.

“You were screaming,” I said. “You also managed to scare the shit out of every servant and sentry in Tamlin’s manor when you wrapped yourself in darkness and they couldn’t see you.”

I remembered that darkness. Feyre did too. It rivaled my own and to think, she hadn’t even trained.

The thought presided over us as Feyre choked out in tense anxiety, “Did I hurt any-”

“No,” I said immediately. “Whatever you did, it was contained to you.”

“You weren’t-”

“By law and protocol, things would have become very complicated and very messy if I had been the one to walk into that house and take you.” I stretched my legs out in front of the chair, trying to sink into some of the relief I was now allowed to feel, and watched Feyre study me curiously. “Smashing that shield was fine, but Mor had to go in on her own two feet, render the sentries unconscious through her own power, and carry you over the border to another court before I could bring you here. Or else Tamlin would have free rein to march his forces into my lands to reclaim you. And as I have no interest in an internal war, we had to do everything by the book.”

Her face scrunched, a pause, but then - “When I go back...”

I rubbed at my temples. I wasn’t ready for this part. Hours waiting and pleading silently with the Cauldron to let her wake up, let her be fine , and now I would have to stand the chance she’d still rather be with Tamlin after everything than here with me.

“As your presence here isn’t part of our monthly requirement, you are under no obligation to go back... unless you wish to.”

Not a statement, but a question.

Feyre did not offer a yes or a no , but her reply spoke volumes. “He locked me in that house,” she said with pained breath.

So weak. So broken. So damned exhausted was my mate all because of that vile and wicked beast .

Shadows danced around me seeking vengeance. “I know,” I said, each word costing me a new price I had not known I could physically and emotionally pay. “I felt you. Even with your shields up - for once.”

Feyre stared hard at me. “I have nowhere else to go.”

That she could say that - could even think it after our time together, despite it all. Feyre -

But it was just as much a question and a begging as my own had been. She... wanted to stay. I could feel it. My darkness settled.

“Stay here for however long you want. Stay here forever, if you feel like it.”

“I - I need to go back at some point.”

“Say the word, and it’s done.”

Say the word and seal my death along with your own. Say the word, and I’ll die with you. It’s your choice. Whatever you want. No matter to what end it be, I will not only let you do it, but I’ll keep you company while you go.

Feyre didn’t speak, but finally - finally, she offered her silence for contemplation rather than punishment.

“I made you an offer when you first came here: help me, and food, shelter, clothing... All of it is yours.” I’d have given it to her regardless. But Feyre’s thoughts jumped towards beggary and I brushed that notion right off. “Work for me. I owe you, anyway. And we’ll figure out the rest day by day, if need be.”

Feyre guarded her silence, but not her thoughts. She turned towards the window, considered those sleeping giants in the snow, moved to see past them towards those sweeping hills and valleys where her love had buried itself in thorn covered roses. There was a longing for the closure she might only get in going back...

But even greater was the ache, that terrible burden of knowing that a return to Tamlin’s arms would leave her in shackles when she pulled away.

I almost didn’t quite believe the words I was hearing when she turned back to me. “I’m not going back.” Cauldron, I never - never thought she’d say it. She wasn’t choosing me, but she was choosing against him . “Not - not until I figure things out.”

And though she was certain of her decision, it did not escape my notice how her touch brushed over that bare spot around her finger where a beautiful, burgeoning emerald had once sat, it’s own form of imprisonment.

Even that small symbol, too close to Amarantha...

“Drink it,” I said, summoning a biting cup of peppermint and licorice tea.

We sat in comfortable silence like we never had before as Feyre drank and mused herself to death. When she felt enough time had passed or maybe it was just that her tea was getting cold, the questions spilled out of her.

Always her curiosity would save her in the end.

“The darkness,” she said. “Is that... part of the power you gave me?”

“One would assume so,” I said, successfully masking the considerable degree of pride I took in saying so.

Feyre drained the remainder of her tea in one go. “No wings?”

“If you inherited some of Tamlin’s shape-shifting, perhaps you can make wings of your own.”

Feyre danced off the shiver raking over her and a shower of pleasant curiosity bloomed. “And the other High Lords? Ice - that’s Winter. That shield I once made of hardened wind - who did that come from? What might the others have given me? Is - is winnowing tied to any one of you in particular?”

Ice, wind, winnowing - not to mention the flames and darkness. She was considerably gifted and that was just the start of it. “Wind? The Day Court, likely. And winnowing - it’s not confined to any court. It’s wholly dependent on your own reserve of power - and training. And as for the gifts you got from everyone else... That’s for you to find out, I suppose.”

“I should have known your goodwill would wear off after a minute.”

Beautiful - she’s do damned beautiful. Sharp and cutting as all her abilities spoke to.

I chuckled, a low dark murmur. Standing was near painful from the hours I’d passed, even worse that I had to go. I’d left Cassian and Azriel in a shit show of a meeting that Mor was probably failing to clean up as they pawed at her for attention and explanation.

But Feyre looked like sleep would be a welcome reprieve to her muddled thoughts.

“Rest a day or two, Feyre,” I said. Her brow rose ever so slightly. “Then take on the task of figuring out everything else. I have business in another part of my lands; I’ll be back by the end of the week.”

We watched each other for several long moments. The sunlight played delicately on her hair in a soft pink and amber hue that made her eyes stand out like crystals. Those little freckles of her dark against her pale skin.

She looked better already, vastly so.

With a short nod, I turned to leave, but Feyre’s voice caught me at once, a startled whine that stopped me dead in my tracks. “Take me with you,” she said.

I turned, the gossamer curtains folding around me as I stared at her disbelieving and stammered the first excuse I could find to affirm she didn’t really want to go with me. How could she?

“You should rest,” I said.

“I’ve rested enough.” She stood and probably thought the world was spinning from the way she struggled for balance, but she found it quickly enough before she was staring me down with an absolute plea in her blue-grey eyes. “Wherever you’re going, whatever you’re doing - take me along. I’ll stay out of trouble. Just... Please.”

In my wildest dreams, if I’d been told I’d be standing on this threshold at some point, ready to tip right over the edge of a jagged, rocky cliff from whence there is no going back, with Feyre steadfast at my side, I would have laughed so hard at the Cauldron for delivering yet another cruel lie unto my door.

But Feyre was absolutely serious. She wanted to come, to be and to do . Which meant, she’d have to know... everything . And even if it was Feyre, it was such an enormous secret.

And one, I realized standing there looking at my mate in the morning sun, that I trusted her with completely.

I stepped nearer, as near as I dared, and made absolutely certain she was aware of how serious this decision was. “If you come with me, there is no going back. You will not be allowed to speak of what you see to anyone outside of my court. Because if you do, people will die - my people will die. So if you come, you will have to lie about it forever; if you return to the Spring Court, you cannot tell anyone there what you see, and who you meet, and what you will witness. If you would rather not have that between you and - your friends, then stay here.”

She didn’t even have to breathe, have to blink, before she’d considered and knew the surety of her answer. And I believed her wholly in it too. “Take me with you,” she said. “I won’t tell anyone what I see. Even - them.”

Those words were a glorious, burdenless freedom I’d longed to feel. Not even for me, but all for her.

Her choice. Her actions. Her own empowerment.

A soft smile spread over my lips that was so unlike the feline grins meant to bait her that Feyre was used to seeing. “We leave in ten minutes. If you want to freshen up, go ahead.”

“Where are we going?”

My smile widened into a grin of immense pleasure, pleasure I hadn’t realized I felt until I said the startling revelation out loud. “To Velaris - the City of Starlight.”

I was taking my mate home.

---

Feyre looked like a new woman when she met me at the main atrium gleaming in all its moonstone and light. She wore a fresh set of Night Court attire and she smelled exquisite. Her bones still protruded at sharp angles here and there, but the lightness in her step did wonders for it. One day, I’d see her through it - all of it.

“That was fifteen minutes,” I teased casually, offering her my hand.

We exploded into the night of stars and embers, shooting, hurtling towards that sea and citrus of home. Our hands held tightly onto one another, our skin burrowing into skin, our touch anchoring the hold until we landed in my townhouse’s main foyer.

She looked down first at the red carpet, traced patterns in its intricacies that led her towards dark wooden bookshelves lining the walls at every inch, the blazing marble fireplace, and the sweeping dining set.

Nothing in my life compared to that moment of feeling Feyre step the furthest yet into my personal life - into me - and feeling her walls stay down for it, watching her sink into the fabrics and colors and tattered corners in ways she never had in the Spring Court.

She liked it. More than liked it, possibly.

I let go of her hand and stepped back, enjoying the way a stream of sunlight poured over her face in an intimate bath.

At long, long last, Feyre was home.