#me pulling tamlin and nesta behind me; I WILL DEFEND YOU WITH MY LIFE

[lady-tortilla-chip]

I have become a fr Nesta defender haven’t I

#me pulling tamlin and nesta behind me; I WILL DEFEND YOU WITH MY LIFE #listen I just like them both #tamlin did nothing wrong and there was a RECONCILIATION BETWEEN FEYRE AND NESTA THERE IS NO REASON TO KEEP HATING HER GAWD

[bookishfeylin]

I think you’ll find this funny. My older brother (in his 30s) came to visit recently and I decided we would bond through me making him learn all about ACOTAR. I FaceTimed me sister and we gave him brief recaps of each chapter, trying not to let any of our own feelings into it, just giving basic facts about what went down. His reactions were GOLD.

Examples:

Calanmai when Feyre left her room twice and then got mad at Tamlin for touching her without her permission. “Is she some sort of stupid?”

Feyre decides to go back to rescue Tamlin. “She does know she’s going to die, right? He should’ve never sent her home if this was what she was going to do.”

Rhysand’s actions under the mountain made him legit green in the face. “Please don’t tell me he’s going to be part of a love triangle.”

Beginning of ACOMAF where they’re not talking about their trauma. “If they keep this up, they’re going to break up. He’s not a mind reader, she needs to tell him what’s wrong.”

Ianthe. “She is the nastiest skank bitch I have ever met. What a fugly slut.”

Rhysand teaches her to read. “This is a setup for a horror plot line, or some serious emotional manipulation and brainwashing.”

CoN fingering thing. “Am I really supposed to be feeling sympathetic to this guy when he proves he does this shit for giggles? But I guess I can’t be too mad about it because it’s her choice, right? This is THE WORST way to govern.”

Feyre uses her daemati powers on Tarquin to steal the book. “She got those powers from Rhysand? Do we know if he’s controlling her and changing her thoughts this way too? And of course they only do this to the black guy.”

Sex in a safe house for victims of sex crimes made him go quiet for a VERY long time.

All that shit she pulled in the spring court. “I get it. This is a reverse hero’s journey where we see the hero turn into the villain. Very smart of the author.”

The High Lords’ meeting. “She’s still not High Lady. The magic didn’t choose her, and off Rhysand dies, someone else would get the title. Idk why they’re all calling her High Lady, especially since she’s illiterate and has no experience with the land she’s supposedly ruling over. Also, Rhysand’s politics suck. He’s actually a terrible ruler.” He actually lost his mind around this point and had a lot to say, but it’s all stuff we’ve heard before.

Blowjob on a battlefield to the sounds of people dying made him go quiet.

Nesta became his favorite in the battle, and he straight up defended her every move in the novella and ACOSF. Emerie and Gwyn have also done no wrong, ever.

Rhysand taunts Tamlin after Tamlin saved his life. “Now he should kill him again, and without Feyre there to beg for his life, Prythian will finally know some peace.”

Cassian in ACOSF. “This is not the same guy as before. He kinda sucks.”

Eris dancing with Nesta. “This is a love triangle I can get behind. He talks to her better than Cassian.”

Lanthys talking about Nesta. “Weird, but powerful. I can get behind Evil Nesta. I think I’d like Evil Queen Nesta.”

Blood Rite. “There’s a plot in this book?!”

Azriel. “He needs to leave Gwyn and Elain alone and focus on his internalized racism and incel issues with Morrigan.”

When all was said and done. “This is the worst thing I’ve ever encountered, and I remembered when I’d have to take you guys (my sisters and I) to all of the Twilight movies in middle school. Somehow, somehow, this was worse, and you’re no longer in middle school so there’s no excuse for it. Choose better fiction.”

I feel like your brother and I would be best friends. Especially with:

Beginning of ACOMAF where they’re not talking about their trauma. “If they keep this up, they’re going to break up. He’s not a mind reader, she needs to tell him what’s wrong.”

-Literally. This.

Feyre uses her daemati powers on Tarquin to steal the book. “She got those powers from Rhysand? Do we know if he’s controlling her and changing her thoughts this way too? And of course they only do this to the black guy.”

And yeah, OF COURSE they brainwash the Black man. Of course they do. This is a Sarah J Maas book, and we all know people of color aren't going to be respected here.

The High Lords’ meeting. “She’s still not High Lady. The magic didn’t choose her, and off Rhysand dies, someone else would get the title. Idk why they’re all calling her High Lady, especially since she’s illiterate and has no experience with the land she’s supposedly ruling over.

Yep! YEP!!!!!! All this. It's an empty title because she wasn't chosen by magic and it makes me so sad because Feyre really wanted to prove herself, i think. But again: the magic didn't choose her. So it's not a valid position to hold. And frankly, how is the work we see Feyre do any different than that of a consort? Like what does she do. Paperwork? Tamlin didn't let Feyre do paperwork because she couldn't read at the time, based on how involved he has her be in ACOWAR, it doesn't seem like her job as "high lady" is much different.

When all was said and done. “This is the worst thing I’ve ever encountered, and I remembered when I’d have to take you guys (my sisters and I) to all of the Twilight movies in middle school. Somehow, somehow, this was worse, and you’re no longer in middle school so there’s no excuse for it. Choose better fiction.”

This is so funny that I have nothing to add. Your brother is a GENIUS.

#ask #anon #acotar

[shadowturtlesstuff]

>Falling<

Feysand fanfic

Might turn into a mini series. Maybe. Enjoy:

I hear the locker next to me open and I pull my head from my own locker and hide behind my hair whilst I dry my face with my sleeve.“Feyre, darling, wonderful morn-“ he stops before I have the chance to scowl and tell him to piss off. “Darling what’s wrong?” He spins me around to face him, hair flinging over my shoulder to show my red face. I stutter as I search his eyes for any sort of trick. I only see concern. His hands find there way onto my face, his cool hands stroking a tear that betrays me. “Nothing, Rhys.” I lie.

“Tell that to your tears darling.” He gives a small smile. A true smile, not his usual smirk. This is a trick. He’s obviously heard, the whole school has. Tamlin probably set his minions on me to try and trick me to be his again. Why would rhys help Tamlin though? I blink, breaking my trance from Rhys deep violet eyes. Shaking me head I force his hands from me and taking a step back.

“No. Rhys just piss off.” I say, my hourse voice taking any confidence away. Rhys looks shocked and hurt. He splutters and apology as I pick up my bag from the ground. “I have to go.” Only a half lie, we have 5 minutes till the bell, a time in which I’ll stay in the bathroom.

I turn away from him but he grabs my arm more gentle than I expected, I gasp but don’t try and pull back. “Feyre. Who made you cry?” He asks stepping forward, his towering muscular body, one that intimidates most, does not make me shrink back. I force myself to stand higher and to meet his gaze.

“Why do you care? Rhys… I’m not your concern. I’m no ones. Now please,” more silent tears fall down my face, “please, leave me alone.”

It’s been an hour since Rhysand saw me. My lesson ended 10 minutes ago and I haven’t moved from the art room all lunch. I know if I do Tamlin or Lucien will track me down and I just can’t handle them right now. I can barley handle the teacher, let alone the cause of my current sadness. So i hid in the art room, content to stay there till the end of the day. I was working on a new project, something that I shouldn’t have been able to, and shouldn’t be able to picture it so vividly. The faces yes, the action no.

I’m painting Tamlin and Ianthe, for the fifth time now. Each time a new wave of anger or sadness rolls over me. Each time there is a new aspect, the first was just a sketch that led to the one I’m currently doing,having me in, staring in horror at what is happening.

I sit for another 20 minutes until the final bell. I made it half the day without being seen by them. Or anyone for that matter. I pack away my supplies and start heading out of the art room. I turn the last corner to leave the building when I walk into a wall. “Fuck.” I breath out as the paints fall from my hand and slam into the wall. As I bend down I hear another curse word, I look up to find the wall I bumped into was Rhysand. I curse again. Behind him are Cassain and Azriel. One a solid mass of no emotion and the other smirking at Rhys. I sigh and start to pick up my supplies. Why did I bring my acrylics today, if I brought my water colors I would’ve picked them all up by now and not have to deal with these people. Rhys bends down to help me, which I ignore even if he politely hands them back to me. When I’m done I stand, along with Rhys, and notice that Azriel and Cassain has gone. Not that it matters because I’m leaving Rhys right now too.

“Feyre, darling, are you okay?” Rhys stops me in my tracks.

“Yes. And stop calling me darling.”

“That’s not happening. Feyre, I’m sorry for what happened.”

“So the whole school knows now? Fan-fucking-tastic! Look Rhys I don’t want your pity I just want to go home and bury myself under brackets, eat ice cream, watch some shit romance film while I cry. Okay? Now please move out of my way so I can do that.” I explain as I try to step around him.

“No, you shouldn’t be alone, and Tamlin will go to your house and trick you back to dating him.”

“Trick?” I raise my brow at him. I knew Tamlin would but I knew I just wouldn’t open the door for him to try.

“Yes, I heard him in chemistry, making a plan how he would ‘take back what was his.’” He air quotes that stops me dead.

“I’m not a possession…”

Rhys grabs my chin gently and lifts it up so he can look into my brown eyes.

“Feyre darling, stay with someone for the time being. Tamlin isn’t safe.”

“Yes he is. He has never hurt me.” I defend him, it’s only partially true. Tamlin has hurt me, but not hard enough to mark or for me to care that it was abuse. “I’ll be fine, stop worrying about me Rhys.”

“Never. How about this feyre, stay with me for a bit, then go home.” He let’s go of my face and takes both arms in his hands, rubbing gently. He gives me a genuine smile. I don’t understand why he cares so much, and why I feel so safe with him. “Okay.” I whisper, not trusting my own voice. A tear drops down my face, a tear Rhys kisses away. I flinch at first but he pulls away from his lingering kiss, giving me another soft smile. “Let me put my stuff back in the room, and I’ll be ready.” I pull away from him and rush into the art room.

I place everything at the back near my painting and go to rush back out. But again I bump into a wall. I fall again, this time hitting my arm of a table and cursing as pain sweeps through. I panic thinking Tamlin finally came to the art room, but as I look up I find another well built football player in black clothes and a man bun. Cassain. He’s smirking as he stands watching me. I get up and hold my arm so I don’t make the pain worse. “What do you want Cass?”

He stays where he is, a shit eating smirk still on his face. “Feyre. I think you fell in love with the wrong person.

I give him a look. “Don’t worry. I’ve spent my whole life falling in love with people that didn’t love me back.” I sigh and move past Cassain with ease. I think about everyone who claimed to love me. My alcoholic father who doesn’t seem to love any of my sisters let alone me. Isaac, who also left me for someone else. And now Tamlin. A man I spent so long perfecting myself for. A man who claimed to love me, who never left me out of his sight. The only two people who love me are my sisters, and that’s a stretch considering Nesta is.. Is Nesta.

I find Rhys outside taking to Azriel, who also suddenly appeared. They are in a serious looking conversation so I walk down the hallway and text Elain I’m not coming home yet. Then I go back and find Rhys and Az in a hug, Rhys nodding and as saying something to him. Then they let go and Azriel walls off, I assume to find Cassain, leaving me with Rhys.

“Feyre darling. Let’s go.” He offers his arms out and I scoff. Tamlin use to take my hand in his as we walked, he never offered his arm. I take it and we walk in silence out of school.

“We are going to a dinner, one that I guarantee you haven’t been to, and one you’ll love.”

“Rhys there are so many places I haven’t been to. I don’t really go out anyway.”

“Did Tamlin never take you out for dinner?”

“Only the one his parents own, and where he works. Normally when it’s his shift I have to have dinner there and wait for him to finish.” I don’t know why I’m explaining everything to Rhys, I never explained it to anyone, including Lucien (Tamlin’s best friend) I just keep my answers small so they don’t ask me anything else.

“Where you allowed to do anything?” Rhys stops us and spins me to face him, his brows are beamy in confusion and his lips a grin line.

“What do you mean?”

“Did Tamlin leave you to do what you wished to do?”

I think about this. Normally I would say yes, even if I know it isn’t true. But I don’t need to defend him anymore. And for some strange reason I trust Rhysand. A person Tamlin said I couldn’t talk to ever because they hated each other. However the time I’ve spent with Rhys shows me that he is a good man. A person I somehow trust more than Tamlin.

“Not really.” I admit. For the first time to anyone. I feel lighter, like the confession what weighing me down. I feel like crying again, but I don’t, I don’t think I have many tears left. And I don’t want Rhys kissing my face again.

“Oh darling. You spent two years with him. He made you into this submissive skeleton,” we both look down. And for the first time I see how much weight I’ve lost in two years, “feyre that isn’t fair on you. I’m so sorry I didn’t say anything sooner, but, we’ll Tamlin hates me, and I didn’t want to face him after everything he’s done.”

“What did he do?” I whisper, unsure if I want the answer. He hesitates before answering me.

“He, he, drove home from a party late, and crashed into my mother’s car, killing her and my sister. To this day he has never said sorry, only that it wasn’t his fault and he doesn’t care they are dead.” It’s Rhys turn to look away as he fights back tears. I gasp, unsure how I fell in love with that monster. I pull him into a tight hug, my arms settling around his shoulders and his around my back. We stand there comforting each other for quite sometime, both of us not wanting to let go. Rhys finally does, he pulls back and rest his forehead on mine. His purple eyes stare into mine, both transfixed with the emotions swimming around in the. We both made ourselves vulnerable and neither regret it.

“What do you want to do darling?”

#feysand fanfic #feyre archeron #rhysand #acotar fanfic #acotar #feysand #feysand fanfiction #feyre cursebreaker #rhys x feyre

[rightbookwritebook-blog]

An Opinion on the Works of... Sarah J Maas (Part 1)

I like to think of this as more an opinion rather than a review. A synopsis with carefully curated commentary. As you can imagine, it will be full of spoilers.

Some of my opinions may resonate with you, others may not. Hopefully we can all keep an open mind - and perhaps have a nice, frank discussion. I’ll be perfectly honest in regards to my opinions, and respect your right to disagree.

ACOTAR

So, I did not start with this series. No, I started with that other one which we shall get into later. I picked this one up as I did rather enjoy Maas’ other series and hoped to find more indulgent fantasy to love here. This is sounding like I don’t like this series, which couldn’t be further from the truth - but I did despise this particular book. Even after reading the series I can only begrudgingly accept this one for what it is - necessary fodder for building the story.

A very brave move Maas, very brave. I applaud you.

I was originally sold on the “beauty and the beast” retelling. My hopes were pinned on a more classic retelling, not a modified Disney version, and I was ecstatic to discover elements from Villeneuve’s original tale. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love the 1991 Disney animated feature dearly, but that’s beside the point.

So, off we go.

Ah, first-person, my nemesis. Not all first-person is bad, mind you, some can be done very well (spoiler: this is one of them). You see, my biggest problem is the limitations with first-person, and an author can use those to their advantage (by pulling the wool over our eyes spectacularly) or they can get lazy and write a very dull story.

We meet our narrator, Feyre. Life if bleak, cold, hungry, as so often these tales do begin. But our girl has learned to hunt to feed her family of four: a father and two elder sisters. On this cold, desperate evening she finds a deer - and so does a very large wolf. Both are dead in short order, and living up to the waste-not-want-not philosophy our girl makes the most of both deaths.

We meet her family. They have lived in poverty for eight years. A hard line is drawn here between Feyre and her family: she’s the hard-working, do-what-must-be-done youngest while the others are portrayed as needing to be taken care of (or expecting to be cared for). Not totally unrealistic considering their pre-poverty lifestyle.

Father gets a pass as we learn his leg is completely useless. He also seems to be suffering from clinical depression. From our interactions with him over the next couple of chapters he seems loving, if completely destroyed by the turn of events. This I can forgive, and it seems Feyre does as well. She’s mildly frustrated with him, but usually more understanding of him than she is of either of her sisters.

Elain, the younger of the two sisters is framed as sweet but naive. She is relatively quiet and offers little. Feyre is again sympathetic, and there is little fault to find with this sister. Her gestures are kind and her nature hopeful and optimistic. Elain seems the sort to look on the bright side.

Nesta, the eldest, is cold and uncaring from Feyre’s point of view. She is the most vocal, the most animated. And she is clearly not at all impressed, amused or here for this shit. There seems to be a bigger struggle between Feyre and this sister - power or resentment, perhaps both. Where Feyre will figure things out and seek help, Nesta seems angry she wasn’t born knowing how to do everything.

This is where I have issues with first-person. We are only getting what our narrator knows - and her own experiences are limited. We do not learn what the two sisters experienced, how those experiences were framed for them, unless through Feyre’s filter (which is not infallible as we will learn).

That said, the sisters do need to come to grips with their situation. Frivolity is a thing of the past, but I cannot - will not - fault them for their airs. These two were brought up to be ladies. They were older when misfortune struck and we learn Feyre wasn’t as far along in her studies as they were. Nesta as the eldest was probably a novelty for a sophisticate who wanted to play at being mother. Elain with her easy nature likely caused no fuss. Feyre is the youngest, and likely the most neglected of the three. Children are no longer a novelty when the third comes along.

Feyre does mention her mother neglecting their education, so it is possible she may not have invested much time in any of her children. Or at least had tired of playing at it by the time Feyre was born. The rub with Nesta shines in this area, as Feyre admits Nesta “never lets her forget” that she doesn’t know as much. I have to admit, I didn’t see this the same as Feyre. I think this may be Nesta’s way of trying to teach her youngest sister. Trying... and failing in Feyre’s eyes.

The mother, dead some eleven years, is painted as cold and aloof, and is perhaps more intelligent than our narrator gives her credit for. She clearly understands her daughter’s natures - and which one can be depended upon to make sure the family is cared for. I think she is likely what Nesta mourns the most, as the eldest. She is compared often to her mother, in looks and temperament. I imagine Nesta might have been close to her mother, and is both grieving and jealous that such a responsibility was laid on her youngest sister’s shoulders.

We begin to see, through family squabbles and interactions, the motivations of the characters: Feyre to be remembered, Nesta to serve a purpose, their father to return to his children what he feels he took from them. And Elain... quiet, sweet Elain... only seems to seek to see her family happy.

But I digress, back to our story....

It turns out the wolf was not a wolf, but fae. And soon the other fae come to collect the debt. In the dark of the night the dilapidated cottage is burst into by an enormous golden beast - and Feyre instinctively names him as a faerie. He roars and trashes the cottage and generally causes a panic. The sisters shriek and cower, the father trembles and tries to protect the two eldest, and Feyre defends her family.

Feyre will not allow harm to come to either sister. She admits to killing the wolf, accepts her fate, her death, if it will keep her father and sisters safe. Our beast offers an exchange - she come to live in the faerie world and forsake her human existence. She gives hasty goodbyes - instructions to their father. Both sisters are mute, horrified, and her father implores her to never return if she manages to escape - that she deserves better, better than what he can offer her.

Leaving behind the cold winter, we travel to the lands north of the Wall that separates the two worlds. This is Prythian, the faerie realm. Feyre is brought to a glorious manor in full Spring bloom. Her captor is quiet, surly, snarling. Feyre doesn’t take this personally. She killed the wolf, his friend, and expects no sympathy.

At this point Feyre has given us a few rules of dealing with the faeries: they dislike iron, ash wood impedes their ability to heal, fae cannot lie, never eat fae food. Sensible, common faerie lore and nothing too surprising.

The narrative takes a familiar turn for those who know the story. Feyre is unsettled in this new place. Frightened, but determined. A servant shows her to luxurious rooms, where she bathes and is given new clothes. She worries for her family and is promised they are well cared for - so long as she does not return to the human world. Feyre makes the most of it, exploring this unfamiliar world and learning all she can from the three she interacts most with:

Tamlin - the beast turned High Fae who took her from her home. He comes across as irritated but resigned to her presence. Conversations go from curt and business-like to something bordering on a frustrated toddler who is not having his way. I don’t like him one bit.

Lucien - the courtier and emissary. Rightfully angry at the death of his friend and yearning for something akin to justice. He’s loyal, but not to Feyre. Witty commentary, often rude and insulting, but honest where is counts. He could grow on me.

Alis - the servant. Everyone knows the most useful information comes from the servants - ears and eyes of every place. She’s firm with Feyre, but not unkind. Part servant, part nursemaid, part maternal figure. Easily overlooked and more device that fleshed out and realized character. We will see part of her story, but only in tantalizing snippets that only serve to move the plot.

All goes along swimmingly and Feyre plays the two male Fae off one another in an attempt to find a way to return home, deal or no deal. We learn of (and meet) some of the threats - Bogges and nagas and Suriels - and an unnamed threat, a blight. Tamlin shows more of his childish behavior. I am quickly convinced Lucien is the only one with damn sense in this household.

These early scenes never set well with me - it followed the formula, but there was something missing from this beast. The story begins to feel cheap, flimsy, uninspired. This beast is a true beast in every sense of the word. We have all spoiled prince and nothing... redeeming. In the story the beast grows as much as the beauty - their eventual love is formed as both of them learn to let go of their misconceptions, their pride and prejudices. Oh yes, another parallel for you.

I found (and still find) Tamlin lacking. I understand many do. I held out hope for him... but I think we all know where it will go. Maybe in some future story he will be redeemed. I hope so, for his sake.

So, the story morphs from the ‘Feyre wants to escape’ plot after a heartbreaking scene in which her father shows up in the night. While waiting for Tamlin to return to the manor (off hunting down these threats he feels only he can face), Feyre is about to give up when she spots something unusual... her crippled father looking up at her from the gardens.

Rescued at last she hauls out of the manor... only to be stopped as Tamlin returns. Tamlin, this was your moment to turn this thing around and you blew it. You could have been kind, you could have been understanding, but you insult and belittle the poor traumatized girl. I understand you want her to understand the danger of trusting her senses but we both know you did not even try to approach this with kindness.

In her favor, Feyre snaps back. She wants her family, she wants to go home, she doesn’t want to fade from their memory. She tells Tamlin of the vow she made to her mother to take care of the family... Tamlin dismisses this, reasoning she has not abandoned them. In fact, says he, her current situation has fulfilled her vow as they are now fed and comfortable (thanks to him).

Feyre begrudgingly accepts this and recognizes she is freed from her vow... only to feel empty. She joins Lucien on patrol, carrying a bow to hunt, but does not have the heart for it. Tamlin disappears and is rarely around - excuses that he is occupied keeping the land safe, hunting down the threats. Feyre asks why Lucien does not help, why others aren’t helping. Lucien speaks of Tamlin’s “moods” and how he would “shred” any who tried to help... and he sees this as necessary. “...a firm hand is needed. We’re too powerful, and too bored with immortality, to be checked by anything else.” Excuses, excuses Lucien. Red flags, red BANNERS, Feyre.

Of course this alarming admission requires something to wash away the reader’s concerns about Tamlin’s behavior. Feyre wakes from a nightmare - a dream of slaughtering the wolf in the cold winter of the human realm, except now it is no wolf, but a male fae she skins. Unable to sleep she wanders the manor, coming across Tamlin as he returns. He’s injured from his encounter, and Feyre tends to his injury. She begins to feel sorry for him - his isolation becomes a burden he must bear rather than his choice to go alone. She ponders her own ignorant, insignificant life... as she has, and will, multiple times. All carefully constructed so we are sympathetic to Tamlin. Grateful he has rescued this dumb little human.

The next morning Feyre overhears a conversation that, at first, seems to promise Lucien handing Tamlin’s ass to him. Sadly, it’s more of Tamlin being wishy-washy and Lucien enabling the behavior. When caught Feyre asks Lucien to go riding, which he declines, passing her off to Tamlin... which Feyre isn’t happy with (nor, apparently, is Tamlin). Feyre declines... but aims for something else.

Tamlin shows her to the study... where he leaves her to her own devices. Feyre has ulterior motives - while she seems content to remain, she still wants to send a message to her family that she is safe... but her poor reading and writing skills mean she needs to practice. Frustrated with her abilities and the task she has se herself, she takes a break and explores the study - and finds a mural.

It has been mentioned over the course of the narrative that Feyre has a gift - a natural inclination - for painting. She was moved by Elain’s small gift of paints. She has admired the paintings and art within the manor. This mural is the story of this world - created by a cauldron. A map and a history. Wars, places, people.

She returns to her work, her spirits low, and throws out her progress. Tamlin makes a timely reappearance with an offer to help - but Feyre doesn’t trust him and he is annoyed because she doesn’t. She falls back to pondering all she doesn’t know, her faults and shortcomings, before deciding to track down Lucien. On one of their rides he spoke of the Suriel, a dangerous creature who, if you trap it, will answer any question. So, armed with Lucien’s dubious instructions, Feyre sets out to catch herself a Suriel.

I enjoyed this bit. Her easy banter with Lucien feels natural, reluctant allies slowly forming a friendship. Her dedication to hunting this creature familiar and natural. And she succeeds - she’s trapped a nightmare personified.

The Suriel is interesting - terrifying, but interesting. He has sort of appreciation for Feyre, admiration for her cunning and skill. And he’s full of information. He answers she cannot return home; if she does she and her family will die. In response to her request for more information about Tamlin, he lets slip Tamlin is the High Lord of the Spring Court. He instructs her to stay with the High Lord - stay close and all will be righted. He begins a history lesson of Hybern - the kingdom across the sea. The king of faeries who dwells there, where humans once were slaves. The only reminder of the humans who once dwelt there a throne of bones. Before he can tell more they are interrupted by four nasty creatures - naga - who are intent on harming both the Suriel and Feyre.

Of course Feyre fights, takes the extra time to free the Suriel (best decision she’s made) and attempts to flee. She screams for help - hoping Lucien will keep his promise to come to her aid - and manages to fight the naga off admirably. But she is human and fighting against something stronger, something immortal. Fortunately, Tamlin is there to save her.

Thus begins the turning of Feyre’s head and, for me, it’s a little heavy-handed. Tamlin saved her. Tamlin is High Lord. The Suriel told her to stay. So she does. She softens. Faerie lore falls apart: they lie, iron doesn’t bother them, but ash remains a threat. Tamlin finally tries, pretty words and apologies. A little late for me, but a turning point I suppose.

He tells his sad history, his belief that human lives are worth protecting. His father kept human slaves and he doesn’t want to become his father. He is protecting her family, financially and otherwise. He removed the terrifying memory of the night he came to claim her (kindness or violation?). He left a warning to be tripped to prompt them to flee if and when things turn south. Then he offers two more gifts: paints, canvas, brushes - everything she needs to paint to her heart’s content - and the promise of showing her the art gallery.

Just to remind us that there is a threat out there, we come to one of the only scenes in the book that I like. That feels true and honest, where Tamlin isn’t a complete bore.

In the middle of the night - after waking from another terrifying nightmare (seriously Feyre, lay off the rich faerie foods before bed) - she hears someone shouting, and screaming in pain. Not sensing any danger she goes to investigate. Tamlin has returned from one of his nightly prowls with a wounded faerie - a Summer Court male who has been seriously, and mortally, mauled.

Feyre tentatively steps forward as Tamlin tells Lucien the faerie was dumped over the border. Lucien is physically ill and unable to help. So Feyre steps up to help tend to the wounded, traumatized male. He cries in agony and repeats ‘she took my wings’ - which is an obvious truth. All that remain of his wings are horrific stumps, the ragged wounds refusing to clot. Despite their efforts, it is not long before Feyre and Tamlin realize there is little to be done. This particular faerie is on borrowed time. They keep him company, both offering kindness, and Tamlin a final prayer as the faerie takes his final breathes.

I may have had to put the book down for a few minutes. This scene is the only one in the book that triggered genuine emotion. Feyre doesn’t want to leave the dead male, however Tamlin insists it’s too dangerous - and this is something he must do alone. A little annoying, that even here Tamlin wants to argue, wants to play the alpha male card. Sharing is definitely not his strongest attribute. But he is curious - Feyre killed his friend with hate in her heart, she has made it clear she isn’t the faeries biggest supporter - so why did she help?

“Because I wouldn’t want to die alone,” I said, and my voice wobbled as I looked at Tamlin again, forcing myself to meet his stare. “Because I’d want someone to hold my hand until the end, and awhile after that. That’s something everyone deserves, human or faerie.”

The next morning all evidence of the horrific night are gone. The painting supplies have not arrived and the gallery is being cleaned, so Feyre joins Tamlin and Lucien on a ride. They visit a lovely little glen - complete with a pool of starlight - one of Tamlin’s favorite childhood haunts. Leaving Lucien to his own devices (a bottle of wine he may need to share to get us through this chapter), Tamlin and Feyre spend some quality time together.

Here Tamlin tells Lucien’s story - perhaps not his to tell. The youngest of seven sons of the High Lord of the Autumn Court. Not interested in competing to be the next High Lord, Lucien traveled the courts, making friends, and falling in love with a female he should not have. His father was furious, and executing the female - making Lucien watch. Lucien abandoned his title and the Autumn Court, three of his brothers chasing after to eliminate him. Lucien killed one, Tamlin another, after they crossed into Spring lands. The last returned to Autumn and Tamlin claimed Lucien, naming him emissary.

They swim in the pool of starlight - Feyre daring to flirt a bit. Innuendo is heavy. While they flirt and swim, Feyre opens up about her family. The loss of their fortune and how she learned to survive. I might have been a little giddy hearing her father was a merchant who amassed their wealth on three ships to sail through dangerous waters - where they were lost. She was eleven. Three years later, at fourteen, she taught herself to hunt to feed her family.

A heartrending story that satisfyingly smacks of the original tale. This retelling does a lovely job of connecting to Villeneuve’s tale. Once I’ve finished entries for the other books, I may create one outlining the original and the ways Maas beautifully weaves it into her work. But, getting back to it....

On the ride home, Lucien offers a truce. He’s still not completely happy with Feyre’s presence, but he is impressed she would do something not many faeries would have done - free the Suriel. He offers her a jeweled knife with an admission that he hesitated before deciding to come to her aide. And a request not to bury it in his back.

The next day Feyre tours the gallery and is given her paints. Overwhelmed by these gifts she loses herself in days of painting, occasionally broken up with a ride with Tamlin to explore the lands. Until she remembers her family and home. They’ve moved on without her and she’s wiped away as if she never existed....

She doesn’t paint. She doesn’t go for a ride. She stews, upset and ashamed that she’s happy, that her family didn’t try to save her, that they don’t remember her, that she allowed Tamlin to erase her. Tamlin finds her in the garden after dinner. She admits her feelings, her frustrations, and how silly her concerns are compared to his worries. Tamlin reassures her, promising answers once everything is safe.

Feyre is mortified to discover she is lonely, that perhaps she wants to be more than friends with this High Lord. She stalks off into the woods to process these feelings, however Tamlin follows. She knows she’s being followed and traps him with a snare. There follows dirty limericks, and discussions of mating bonds and Tamlin’s parents. His father and two older brothers were unkind, kept slaves, did unspeakable things. His mother loved his father - and they were mated, a deep bond that may have prevented her from saying a word against his tyranny. I feel Tamlin may be making excuses for his mother, but love is blind. C’est la vie.

Tamlin claims he never wanted to be High Lord, a title that goes to the most powerful of the High Lord’s sons. His interests were in fighting and killing and he joined patrol bands to satisfy these desires. However his power kept growing, marking him as a threat to his brothers, but before anything could come of it, before they could challenge him, another High Lord killed his family. He mourned his mother, but not the others. Most of the courtiers left, disliking their new snarling beast of a High Lord. Feyre declares them idiots, for Tamlin has kept the lands safe from the blight even when others haven’t fared as well.

They see preparations for a holiday - Calanmai - and Feyre asks about it as they don’t celebrate in the human realm. And learns she isn’t invited. Their open banter goes cold and they make their way back to the manor... where Tamlin goes even colder and instructs her to stay hidden.

Shielded by a hedge - and one of Tamlin’s spells - Feyre overhears the conversation between Tamlin, Lucien and... an invisible creature. The creature appears to be checking in on behalf of this mysterious “she” who is threatening them. Who is responsible for the terrible creatures Tamlin has been hunting down.

Feyre is spooked and doesn’t leave the manor for the next two days. She helps with preparations for the feast for Calanmai but as the day of the festival dawns finds herself alone. She can hear the drumbeats, can see the distant bonfires... she’s drawn to the festival but knows she not invited. And then she spies Tamlin on his way out. A shirtless, baldric-adorned Tamlin.

She is told to stay in her room. To lock her doors and not come out until morning. She obeys, but paces with the drumbeats as she gazes out the windows at the fires until she can stand it no longer and rides out into the hills. She wanders through the hundreds of faeries, the bonfires, the drummers. She drifts along with the crowd towards a flower-adorned, pelt-lined cave - the focus of many of the faeries. Full of questions Feyre looks for a friendly face, but before she can get answers she is accosted by three strangers.

They lead her away from the crowds and she tries to escape. But they herd her into the shadows.... She knows she is in danger and feels powerless. She fights back, but they easily subdue her struggles. And then she is rescued by “the most beautiful man” she’s ever seen.

He chases away the three faeries and she begins to worry this person may be more dangerous than her would-be assailants. He questions her - why she’s there, who her friends are, and she’s terrified. She feels lucky when he lets her go unharmed. She finds Lucien, who is aghast to find her there. He whisks her home - and actually explains to her the cause of his alarm.

The Great Rite that Tamlin is to perform involves magic taking over his body, mind and soul, and leaving him with one purpose: to find the Maiden and copulate. Lucien tells her if she was there, Tamlin would find her, and she likely would not like what would happen. He leaves her with a warning to keep her door locked and not come out until morning.

Feyre is sick at the thought of Tamlin forcing himself on her, but also pleased that he wants her. She falls asleep, waking as the drums stop and the house falls silent. She leaves her room then, going to the kitchen to eat and heading towards her painting room... until she is stopped by Tamlin, returning from the Great Rite and (it is pointed out multiple times) still under the influence of these powerful magics and not entirely himself. This, I suppose, is to alleviate the otherwise very... rapey scene.

He forces himself on her, pinning her to the wall, tells her that he knew she was there and couldn’t find her. She tells him to let go. She remarks there is no kindness in his eyes. He blames her, angry that he had to pick another. Snarling that he would have been gentle with her, would have taken a very long time. It ends with him biting her neck and grinding against her... and Feyre slapping him.

Feyre gives some conflicting messages in this scene, as she is clearly turned on by this violence yet angry he would comply with the stupid ritual (i.e.: have sex with someone else). And for his part, he walks away without forcing the matter. Though his belief that if Feyre can’t follow orders, he can’t be held accountable for his actions chafes awfully.

Against my advice, the two make up quickly. He sends her roses, she wears a dress for him. They dine alone, she acts meek and allows him to wait on her, then shows him her paintings. They spend lazy days at ease, and it’s all very romantic and lovely... and disgusting for how little Feyre expects, what she’s willing to accept.

Tamlin gifts her with faerie sight... and suddenly she can see past the glamours he has created. She can hear the singing willow. See the rich colors around her. The smell of magic is now pleasant. A strange woman with skin like tree bark turns out to be Alis. Suddenly the manor is full of faeries she was previously unaware of... and she realizes some of them may be more... unsavory.

This is confirmed when she discovers a head impaled on a statue in the garden. The two males inform her it’s the work of the Night Court - a bunch of “sadistic killers”. They assure her they would see the head as an amusing stunt, a message to let them know how easily they can slip past their borders. Tamlin reassures her she is safe - and her own conversation with the Suriel convinces her. This is a joke, Tamlin insists, the High Lord of the Night Court knows attacking the Spring lands is more trouble than it’s worth. Still, Tamlin and Lucien leave for the border and remain gone.

Summer solstice comes and this time Feyre is invited....

Ok, I have to stop here as I have a bit of a problem leading up to the celebration, when it is explained the solstice celebrates day and night being equal. Umm, no. That’s the equinox (equinox/equal, get it?) - solstice is longer day in the summer and longer night in the winter. Ok, lesson over....

So, the solstice celebration is a lovely thing. Food and drinks, music and dancing. Feyre is advised to avoid the faerie wine, advise she ignores. She becomes ridiculously intoxicated, giddy even. Lucien seems only concerned about disappointing Tamlin (what does he have on you Lucien? are you afraid he will turn on you, cast you out, abandon you?). They find Tamlin playing fiddle with the musicians, but Tamlin doesn’t seem to mind and tells him to leave her in his care. So he does, and she dances and dances.

When the moon is close to setting (fun fact: the moon does not actually set on the summer solstice, only hangs low in the west), Tamlin leads her away from the festivities to a meadow. Will-o-the-wisps serenade as they kiss and watch the sun rise.

Our trio reconvenes over lunch later in the day. Feyre and Tamlin trade thinly veiled, sexually charged taunts while making Lucien equal parts sick and uncomfortable... and he interrupts their game to announce that the blight has killed two dozen children. Further discussion reveals that while all the courts are suffering, the Night Court remains unscathed... and speaking of the Night Court....

An unexpected guest interrupts their meal. Feyre is quickly ushered to the windows by Lucien, and glamoured. Their guest takes his time appearing, then proceeds to taunt and tease both Tamlin and Lucien. Feyre recognizes him as the male who saved her at Calanmai. We learn his name is Rhysand. High Lord of the Night Court. His interactions are hateful, laced with threats and scorn, a cocky self-confidence.

He takes credit for the head in the garden, claiming he’s come to check in with Tamlin. Baiting him for not making any attempts to save himself and his lands. Lashing out at Lucien for biding his time while the world goes to Hell, taunting him with his mother’s grief at losing him.

Lucien is more than willing to verbally spar, even with Feyre still hidden behind him. This hot-headed temper is usually Tamlin’s modus operandi, but now it is Tamlin who calls Rhysand back, distracts him, concedes defeat. Rhysand takes this victory, gloating on how he will report Tamlin is broken... and then he notices the table - and the three place settings.

Furious that they hid Feyre, Rhysand rips away the glamour. He recognizes her, demanding of Tamlin the identity of his guest. Lucien claims her as his betrothed and makes a valiant effort to protect her. He stands, sword drawn, even as Rhysand threatens harm his mother. It is only Tamlin’s order to put away his sword that moves him. Tamlin.

Tamlin who will only tell Rhysand to go away, to leave. He doesn’t move from his place at the table. Lucien is the only one to make an actual effort to protect Feyre from the High Lord of the Night Court... and I feel this is very telling.

WIth Lucien now standing down on Tamlin’s order, there is nothing left to defend Feyre from Rhysand. Then we learn this High Lord’s true power - the power to control, to hold and shatter minds. Feyre is terrified to realize how easily he could destroy everything she is, outraged and humiliated as Rhysand reveals her private thoughts, taking delight in her mortification. Then lets her go.

He remarks to Tamlin she would have been the one, and that Amarantha will enjoy breaking her... watching Tamlin’s reaction as she shatters Feyre. Tamlin begs him - and Rhysand truly makes him (and Lucien) grovel, before making no promises. He starts to leave, but stops to ask Feyre her name, and she retains the sense to realize what a dangerous thing it would be to reveal. Not only for herself, but also for her family. Not wanting him to search her mind again she gives the first name she thinks of, a girl from her village: Clare Beddor.

Satisfied Rhysand vanishes. Tamlin orders Feyre and Lucien to leave and has a magical rage-fueled tantrum. Feyre remains in her room, pondering on all she has learned. Terrified of what has been revealed. Tamlin’s rage, the blight, Amarantha and the power she possesses....

Tamlin finds her that evening and tells her he is sending her home. Feyre wonders if she’s done something wrong (oh, Feyre... you sweet, naive blossom...) and Tamlin assures her she was perfect. He has to send her away to protect her from those who would hurt her. He thought he could protect her, but he can’t. Feyre retaliates she can protect herself, she can fight, she wants to help, but Tamlin will have none of it. He’s sending her away because he can’t stand to think of her in their hands. How they would hurt her to hurt him.

She’s to return home, keep the story he put in place with the glamour, tell no one where she’s been, who she was with. To protect herself from Amarantha’s spies. From creatures like the Attor, the Bogge, things worse than Rhysand.

And then follows the sex scene that had me seriously questioning why this is shelved in Young Adult. I understand most YA books are coming-of-age stories and - sex scene and innuendo withstanding - this one most certainly fits the recipe for YA. But... these scenes guys. These are meant for an older audience - definitely not something I would want to see my 13-year-old sister or not much older cousin reading. I’m older than they are by nearly two decades and was surprised by the explicit description and gratuitous nature.

That’s not to say as an adult I was disappointed. While bordering on voyeurism, this scene (and others in the series) is playful, sweet, raw and captures a reckless enthusiasm. Feyre is no shy virgin, but an experienced young woman who knows exactly what she is doing. She’s not apologetic, she owns her sexuality. Given the virgin dialogue usually delivered, it is a refreshing change of pace to see a young woman take charge and hold her own in the bedroom.

The next morning she awakes alone (signs, signs, signs) and is stuffed into uncomfortable human fashions. Lucien makes thinly veiled remarks to both her and Tamlin - urging that she stay just a few more days. Tamlin dismisses him like a dog. Feyre is handed into the carriage, pining for Tamlin however accepting that she must sacrifice her happiness and not burden him. Knowing she is to grow old and die, while he remains immortal.

She is reunited with her family, who have moved to a grand manor after their father successfully invested money for a stranger who showed up at their door. And then the missing ships were found (another small nod to the original tale). They are restored to their former good name - only Feyre knows that Tamlin is responsible for this good fortune.

Elain is delighted to see her sister, though sad to hear that Aunt Ripleagh has passed. This is the story that was placed in their memories, that Feyre was called away to care for a wealthy, elderly aunt. She chatters on about their regained place in society, how awful it must of been for Feyre to endure losing their aunt by herself. They haven’t decorated a room for her. She’s dismayed at the uselessness of the post upon hearing Feyre didn’t receive the letters they wrote. Mundane things, trivial worries.

Nesta is quiet, watchful. She notices the wealth Feyre has brought with her, remarks on how quiet her sister has become. Feyre finds common ground here - realizing both she and her eldest sister are made different, set apart from their happy sister. Feyre is both relieved and furious they have managed without her, a sentiment her sister echoes.

Time with her family is rather uneventful. Her father, shedding tears of joy at her return, holes himself up in his office to access his daughter’s wealth. His health is much improved thanks to a tonic and salve given to him (more of Tamlin’s work, for which Feyre is eternally grateful). He’s smiling and laughing and happy, doting on his daughters to make up for his lack of attention.

Elain spends her time tending to her garden, content to rejoin society and optimistic for the future. She looks forward to visiting the continent, and invites Feyre to come with her. She does admit the social season was strange, their days of poverty glossed over as if they never happened. She seems lonely, with their father constantly busy and Nesta watchful, quiet, judging. Nesta had tried to visit Feyre while she was taking care of their aunt, according to Elain. She urges Feyre to talk to Nesta,

So pass the days - Feyre amazed at how the years of hardship didn’t taint Elain, while she, Nesta and her father have changed. She takes part of her considerable wealth and visits their old village, handing out money to the impoverished who need it most. Surprised at how ordinary everything seems, how those she once felt a connection with now mean nothing.

She dwells on what she’s lost, longing to return to the Spring Court and Tamlin. Raging inside that she has left Tamlin’s side but knowing she cannot return if she wants to keep him safe - even as she feels it was a mistake. She has no desire to paint, but takes to helping Elain in her gardens. Nesta finds her here, asking why she bothers to stay when her home is clearly someplace else far away. Feyre tries to stick with the story Tamlin gave her, the glamour he spun over her family... but it didn’t affect Nesta.

Nesta is something different - a steel mind and an iron resolve. She watched her father and sister as they went from hysterics to nothing. Listened to their babbling on about an aunt who didn’t exist and how lucky it was for Feyre to be called away to care for her. How the winter winds had broken down their door. She worried she was crazy, but held firm to the truth when she would look at the claw marks on their table. The piece of painted wood she’d pried from the table and kept with her to remind her of the truth.

She tried to find Feyre, knew it wasn’t right that her youngest sister had been stolen away in the night. She had hired a mercenary when she knew no one else would believe her and made it to the wall, but hadn’t been able to break through. And Feyre begins to understand her cold sister, that beneath her icy exterior and her anger and relentlessness, is a caring heart that loves fiercely and is deeply loyal. Her anger and bitterness are a shroud she uses to protect herself.

Nesta wants to know everything, and Feyre tells her. The two begin to repair a tenuous relationship, with Nesta opening up a bit. Admitting that she hates their father for not fighting to protect them. Hating her own inability to take care of them, and hating Feyre for being able to, but hating their father more. An anger older than their days of poverty, starting when he let their mother die. For not dispatching his ships to find a cure, for not sending men to Prythian to beg for help. Feyre, she reasons, would have gone to the ends of the earth to protect Tamlin; their father would not do the same for their mother.

And Feyre begins to question her actions. How she gave in and returned home. Had allowed herself to be sheltered and had stopped looking for answers, stopped trying to help, stopped fighting. It isn’t until her father speaks of buying the Beddor land and Elain tells how the house burned down in the night killing everyone - how they haven’t found Clare’s body - that Feyre takes action.

She turns to Nesta - trusting her sister to keep their family safe. Instructing her to keep her secrets, to not speak her name, to hire guards and flee at the first sign of danger. Nesta quickly pieces together what happened to the Beddors was meant to be them. She tells Feyre to go - to not look back - that they can take care of themselves. Feyre shares what knowledge she can, to prepare them for the worst, and then leaves.

She rides for several days, searching along the wall until she finds a way into the Spring Court. She arrives at the manor, only to find it trashed. As she explores the wreckage she finds several clues that seem at odds. The manor is completely wrecked, yet signs seem to show they left of their own free will. Eventually she finds Alis skulking about the manor, apparently the only one left. And the truth begins to take shape.

Tamlin and Lucien are both alive, taken to Amarantha’s court Under the Mountain. Tamlin was under her curse and given forty-nine years to break it, but failed. Now he has been brought to her court, the other High Lords summoned, to watch as she breaks him.

Amarantha came to Prythian long ago, an emissary from Hybern seeking to make amends for her actions and Hybern’s actions in the long ago war against the mortal realm. She had been wicked and lethal, a general for Hybern who slaughtered humans and the faeries who defended them. Her sister had fought with her - until she fell in love with a human who betrayed her. This human tortured and butchered her sister, and Amarantha hunted him down and took her revenge.

The High Lords believed and trusted she was sincere in her desire to make amends, not realizing she was gathering her own power to take Prythian, to take revenge on all mortal humans, until it was too late. While they gathered to honor her they fell into her trap - a potion she used to steal their powers, trapping the High Lords. She quickly took over Prythian and built her court Under the Mountain.

Tamlin has known Amarantha from childhood, and Amarantha grew to desire Tamlin, who refused her advances and kept his distance until she stole his powers. He sent Lucien to broker peace, but Amarantha refused. Lucien insulted her and she took his eye. In the guise of making amends, she hosted a masquerade - inviting all the courts, and all from the Spring Court.

She claimed there could be peace - if Tamlin agreed to be her lover and consort. Tamlin refused - saying he would rather take a human to his bed than touch Amarantha. That her own sister had preferred a human’s company to hers, had chosen a human over her. And so Amarantha set her curse:

...he had seven times seven years before she claimed him, before he had to join her Under the Mountain. If he wanted to break the curse, he need only find a human girl willing to marry him... a human with ice in her heart, with hatred for our kind. A human girl willing to kill a faerie.

This girl had to kill one of his men, in an unprovoked attack, for hatred alone. Just as the human had done to her sister, so Tamlin could understand her sister’s pain. The spell could be broken if this girl said to his face that she loved him before the forty-nine years were up. To make it more difficult Amarantha bound the masks to their faces so the girl would have to be willing to look beyond the mask, and bound them all so they could not speak about the curse.

And so Tamlin sent his men beyond the wall disguised as wolves, and they died one by one, victims of attacks by hunters and others who did not fit the specifics of the curse. When only a dozen were left he stopped sending them. Afraid to lose his men, afraid that if the human girl loved true bringing her to the Spring Court would be a form of slavery, afraid that if he did fall in love with her then Amarantha would destroy her.

While Tamlin wrestled his conscience, the other High Lords fought back as well, but Armarantha executed them and most of their families ensuring their successors were afraid to tempt her wrath again. With months before the deadline, Tamlin became desperate enough to begin sending his men again. They were willing, had been willing all this time, so Tamlin sent them out... and Feyre killed one of them. She could have broken the curse if she had only told him how she felt.

Now Amarantha has claimed Tamlin, Lucien and all his court and they were trapped Under the Mountain. She builds her army to attack the human lands and Feyre knows how vulnerable they are, how hopeless the chance of survival is, and makes the decision to go Under the Mountain. To try to save Tamlin and stop Amarantha.

Alis agrees to show her the way and takes her to a cave that serves as a shortcut to Under the Mountain. Before Feyre leaves, Alis gives her three pieces of advice: don’t drink the wine, don’t make deals unless your life depends on it, and don’t trust anyone. She also mentions there is still a part of the curse she cannot mention, that Feyre must figure out on her own, that she should listen to what she hears.

She doesn’t make it far before she is captured by the Attor and drug before Amarantha... who is nothing like she imagined. Beautiful but not devestating, striking but not a goddess. And on the throne next to hers, Tamlin - who does not react.

She tells Amarantha she’s there to claim Tamlin, the one she loves. And Tamlin still does not react, does nothing to acknowledge Feyre. Amarantha seems delighted that she was tricked, that she tortured the wrong girl. She shows Feyre what became of Clare, nailed high to the wall, tortured and mangled. Clare had pleaded, sworn she didn’t know Tamlin, had never hunted, and Tamlin had allowed it to happen.

Amarantha might be annoyed, but overall is entertained with the situation. Her actions and words are unconcerned and she is certainly secure in her power. She ponders her options casually, speaking to the remains of Jurian (the human who murdered her sister) - a finger bone necklace and an eye encased in a ring. She’s been bored since Clare’s death, and offers Feyre a bargain.

If Feyre can complete three tasks to prove how deep her love and loyalty runs, she will give Tamlin to her. Remembering Alis’ words that magic is specific and to only make deals if her life depends upon it, Feyre adds conditions: Tamlin’s curse will be broken and they leave - with all his court - to remain free forever. Amarantha agrees, and ups the stakes - if Feyre can answer a riddle, then the curse will instantly be broken - a way out at any time. If she answers incorrectly, she’ll be tortured. If she fails a task, there will be nothing left to be tortured.

Feyre agrees.

Sometime later she awakes in a cell, following a beating from the Attor. Her face is swollen, her nose broken, but otherwise she seems to be in one piece. Eventually Lucien sneaks down to her cell. He fixes her nose and heals the swelling, but leaves the bruising to help conceal that someone helped her. He’s upset she came, for Tamlin’s sake. He tells her Tamlin is still refusing Amarantha and to try to stay alive before he disappears to avoid being found by the guards.

Time passes, though Feyre has lost concept of how much. She’s eventually brought back before Amarantha - who wants to know her name. Feyre resists, and Amarantha prods - reminds her of what happened when she gave a false name before calling for Rhysand.

Amarantha wants to know if Feyre is the girl he saw at Tamlin’s estate, why he said Clare was the girl he saw. He seems bored, dismissive, and claims all humans look the same. Feyre knows this is a lie, knows he recognized her that day in the manor, but remains silent. Bored with Feyre’s silence, Amarantha has Lucien brought forward and threatens to have Rhysand break his mind. She asks Lucien, who remains silent. Tamlin, who is silent. Lucien’s brothers, who seem eager to see their youngest brother destroyed, and do not know her name. Lucien is resigned to his fate, willing to keep Feyre’s name safe. As Rhysand begins to take hold of Lucien, Feyre breaks and speaks her name.

Pleased, Amarantha gives her the promised riddle. If she can solve it then she, Tamlin and all the Spring Court may immediately leave.

There are those who seek me a lifetime but never we meet, And those I kiss but who trample me beneath ungrateful feet.

At times I seem to favor the clever and the fair, But I bless all those who are brave enough to dare.

By large, my ministrations are soft-handed and sweet, But scorned, I become a difficult beast to defeat.

For though each of my strikes lands a powerful blow, When I kill, I do it slow...

Feyre feels muddled, worried why Tamlin does nothing, what Lucien had tried to tell her before he’d fled her cell. What the conditions of the trials had been and if they were different from those of the riddle. And she can’t solve the riddle, can’t figure out the solution. She is returned to the dungeons, where she will remain until her first trial.

Did anyone else figure it out? It was fairly simple by my estimation, which made me think perhaps there was a trick to it. Especially when coupled with Feyre’s doubts and concerns.

We arrive at the first trial. Feyre is brought to a cavern and eventually dropped into a labyrinth slick with mud. Amarantha tells her she’s learned that Feyre is a huntress, and implores her to hunt. The crowd wagers on how long she’ll last, she looks to Tamlin to memorize his face one last time... and then the creature is released.

This task was satisfying, if somehow familiar in a way I can’t quite identify. There’s an element of Return of the Jedi to it, the rancor’s pit, and something else.

An enormous worm searches for Feyre, intent on devouring her, and Feyre slides through the muck as she tries to find a way to stay alive. She learns to listen to the crowd to anticipate where the worm is, finally realizes the worm is blind - only to fall into a pit, it’s lair.

Resourceful, she makes use of the bones in the pit to create a ladder to climb out... then inspiration strikes. She climbs back down and splinters more bones, impaling them into the ground. She takes a couple more with her and climbs out. She’s hunting now, and has figured out the worm’s weaknesses. A heart-racing scene in which she goads the worm into chasing her, uses handles of bones to race around the slick corners, and leads the worm to the pit. She barely rolls away before the worm crashes down behind her, landing on the bone spikes protruding from the ground and killing itself.

Amarantha is not amused, but quickly covers up her disappointment. Feyre is injured, bleeding, angry. She hurls a bone spear at Amarantha, which lands harmlessly but splatters her gown with filth. Retaining her air of nonchalance, Amarantha looks at the results from the bets her court placed and notes only one person bet on Feyre winning, and this is what finally angers her. Feyre is taken back to her cell.

No one comes to tend to her injuries. A shard of bone impales her arm from where she landed in the pit of mud. The wound throbs and the bleeding won’t stop. She remains covered in filth, in a freezing cell, and is provided rotten food. It does not take long for fever and infection to set in.

Help comes in the most unlikely of saviors. Rhysand visits her cell, making no attempts to mask his disgust at the situation. He’s come to offer help, as she won him a considerable amount of money. Feyre repeatedly tells him to leave, delirious and sick and unwilling to let him see the injury. Afraid it will be used against her.

Rhysand manages to get a look at her arm, and offers to heal it. Feyre still remains aware enough that she knows such a bargain will cost her. His price is she come to stay with him for two weeks every month. She refuses, and he presses her. The cost of her refusal if help does not come would seal her fate, and Tamlin’s. Tells her it is unlikely Lucien will risk coming since Amarantha had him beaten - at Tamlin’s hand - for shouting a warning to her during the trial. She reluctantly bargains with him, coming to agree to a week each month, and Rhysand heals her. She wakes from the healing to discover her left forearm covered in an intricate tattoo - a mark of the bargain she’s made with Rhysand.

Consumed with bleak thoughts regarding her tasks and fool’s bargain with Rhysand, Feyre is put to work and given impossible tasks. The first is to clean a white marble hallway with a bucket of dirty water. The Lady of the Autumn Court comes to help her, providing her with clean water as repayment for sparing Lucien’s life by giving her name to Amarantha. The next is to remove lentils from the ash in an enormous fireplace before the occupant returns - an impossible task she attempts, but fails.

We learn she’s been brought to Rhysand’s room. He’s curious to find her in his room, amused with her reason for being there, and - since she has the gumption to even ask for his help with Amarantha’s riddle - rewards her by completing the task with magic (including removing the soot and ask from her). When the guards come to take her back to her cell, he plants an order of his own to leave her alone.

Days pass, she ponders Amarantha’s riddle and curses Rhysand, though she is more than happy to gobble down the fresh, hot meals that are now delivered to her cell. With nothing else to do she begins to talk and curse to the eye tattooed to her palm, suspicious that it watches her. While he may have his own motives, I say make use of this unlikely friend Feyre. You got to learn to play the game.

Eventually she’s retrieved from her cell by two female faeries. They bring her to a room where she’s stripped, bathed and painted. They don’t answer her questions, hold her firmly if she fights back, and Feyre eventually gives in and lets them finish. They paint her face and style her hair, the pattern of her tattoo is carried over her body from the neck down, and once the paint had dried she is clothed in white gauze that barely covers anything.

Rhysand comes to collect her, a heathen god’s plaything, indeed. She argues their bargain hasn’t started, but he insists she escort him to the party. The body paint necessary to ensure no one else touches her - her touch won’t mar the paint, and neither will her dress, but he will know if anyone else touches her. He makes sure she understands he means Tamlin - and that he doesn’t like his belongings tampered with.

She’s mortified to be paraded in front of the entire court in the sheer dress. To be seen as Rhysand’s property. It’s abundantly clear that Rhysand had his own motives, as he marches her to the dais and ensures Tamlin knows about their bargain. Tamlin remains quiet, hides his anger, but is clearly upset. Amarantha doesn’t seem particularly happy either, but dismisses them to enjoy the party. Rhysand leads her to a table and plies her with wine, and the rest of the evening is oblivion.

She wakes in her cell, still clad only in the strips of gauze, and is sick. Lucien appears while she is trying to eat, and gives her his cloak. She begs him to tell her what happened, what she did - how she sat on Rhys’ lap and danced for him all night. How he had touched her (modestly) to get a rise out of Tamlin - which didn’t work. Lucien wants to know what she was thinking to have made the bargain.

Feyre is angry, and admits she didn’t trust him to come in time. That she was dying and felt she had no other option. Lucien swears he would have come, not only because he swore an oath to Tamlin, but because she offered her name to save him. He seems genuinely concerned that she’s now in a bargain with Rhys, but Feyre brushes it aside. She knows what she’s done and accepts the price, and doesn’t expect anything from Lucien for saving him - she would have done it to spite his brothers. Their friendship is repaired, for now, and Lucien leaves before he is caught.

Days pass - nights spent painted and dancing and days sleeping off faerie wine. The night before her second task arrives and Rhysand wonders that she doesn’t beg him to give her a night with her beloved. She doesn’t fall for his game, and when they enter the throne room a different sort of entertainment awaits.

Rhysand is summoned to Amarantha’s side to interrogate a male fae from the Summer Court who was caught trying to escape. Rhys take control of the fae’s mind and reports he was only trying to escape, had no accomplices or motives other than to flee to the human territory. Amarantha orders him to shatter the male’s mind, but Rhys kills him instead. Feyre wonders at this, if this was another carefully calculated move, why the High Lord of the Night Court plays the games he does... but then she’s given wine and the rest of the night fades away.

Task two begins. Feyre is sunk into a pit, three smooth walls and a fourth that is an iron gate, with Lucien chained on the other side. Before her, a riddle and three levers. Amarantha explains she must correctly answer the riddle, answer wrong to her - and Lucien’s - doom. And just to make it interesting a grate of heated iron spikes slowly descend from overhead.

A seemingly simple task - except Feyre cannot read. She panics, realizing not only is she doomed, but she’s also responsible for Lucien’s fate. And all for something as small as illiteracy. Lucien’s too far away to help her, to see the inscription and read it to her. She tries, but fails to read, barely making out three words before the grate of spikes is hovering over her head. She decides to take a chance and pick blindly... only to be stopped by a blinding pain in her hand. The tattooed eye blinks at her. She tries again, and pain. With no other choice she trusts that Rhysand is helping her - and pulls the lever he guides her towards.

The grates rise, the air cools, and she realizes she’s won. Unfairly, almost killed by her own shortcomings, but she won. At the breaking point she sinks down, but a voice - Rhysand’s voice - echos in her head, commanding her to stand up, no tears, stare Amarantha down, not let her see she had almost won. He guides her until she is back in her cell, where she weeps.

She’s still weeping when Rhysand comes to see her. Shattering and giving up, hopeless and accepting of inevitable defeat. He kneels beside her, pulling her hands away from her face... and licks away her tears. Definitely not what I was expecting - nor Feyre apparently. She jerks away, wiping at her face, disgusted - at his actions and at the fact that she now shared a bond with him that allowed him to read her thoughts and feelings, to communicate with her. He teases her, wondering if making her learn to read when she visits him would be painful, and disappears. Anger replaces her despair, and for now she won’t shatter.

But she resigns herself to failure. She stops hoping, stops dreaming. Yearns for the nights and the wine that brings a few hours of oblivion. Even overhearing a conversation between the Attor and a mysterious emissary from the king of Hybern doesn’t spark her interest. It isn’t until she hears music filtering into her cell, faint but clearer if she closes her eyes, that she stops wallowing in self-pity. Music that becomes a living mural. That carries her up and away from the cell, through the clouds and into the brilliance of the sun. To a palace of moonstone and alabaster where everything she loves, everything good waits for her. Music fills her soul and she clings to it, realizing she doesn’t want to fall into the dark of despair. And she weeps some more, remembering why she is fighting, what she swore to save.

The night before the last task arrives. Feyre is unattended in the hall, wanting nothing more than to be summoned to drink the wine and forget. Only wanting for everything to be over. But Rhysand is taking his time, and Tamlin finds her in the hall.

Here is a Moment. A Moment everything could change. A moment in which Feyre follows Tamlin to a half-hidden passage and they lose themselves in kisses and touches and recklessness.

They are interrupted by Rhysand - who has apparently walked through the wall. He shames Tamlin, reminding him what Amarantha might do to punish him, what she might do to Lucien. And Tamlin stands down, straightens his clothes and returns to the party - leaving Feyre alone with Rhysand.

He turns his attention to Feyre, and her ill-made decision to sneak off with Tamlin, the consequences of that choice. Then he’s pinned her to the wall, kissing her forcefully as Amarantha opens the door, Tamlin beside her and a crowd of fae gathering. Amarantha is delighted with Feyre’s transgression, her fickle heart and lack of loyalty. Rhysand drags Feyre from the dark passage, revealing the smudged paint on her body and on his hands. He sends her back to her cell, claiming he is tired of her, much to the delight of the court.

Hours later he visits, and perhaps we see his true self for the first time. He’s annoyed, telling Feyre he only wants a moment of peace and quiet. That Amarantha is running him ragged. That if Feyre hates him now, imagine how she’d hate him if he made her serve in the bedroom. Wondering why he is telling her this, he admits he’s tired and lonely, and she’s the only one he can talk to without putting himself at risk. That this is the last chance, one wrong move during the last task and they are all doomed.

He lays out his cards rather neatly: how he used Feyre to work Tamlin into a fury. How once Feyre wins and Tamlin’s powers are restored nothing will stop him from splattering Amarantha. How he hasn’t touched Feyre, to aid his claims of helping. The stakes for him are freeing his people, his territory, and he won’t risk that. When Feyre asks why Amarantha made him her whore, he answers honestly - his father killed Tamlin’s father and brothers and this was her punishment for what his father did to her old friend. Before he leaves, he acknowledges that now Feyre holds the power - and perhaps should tell Amarantha everything. A subtle gesture of trust.

For her final task Feyre is escorted to the throne room. The fae are more reserved this time, worry on their faces. Some even offer her a gesture of farewell for the honored dead. There is no laughing and jeering now, and Feyre ponders the truth of Rhysand’s words - if the fae are now facing her potential death - the death of their freedom - with what dignity they have left. Their silence gives her courage, and she realizes even if she dies she will not be alone. The task is revealed, and three hooded fae are marched in. Each carries a pillow with a dagger of polished ash. Feyre’s task is to stab each of them in the heart.

Amarantha tells her all three are innocent, but it shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter when Feyre killed Tamlin’s sentinel and it didn’t matter when Jurian killed her sister. Feyre may refuse, but then Amarantha will take her life in exchange. Overall she feels this is a fair bargain, a gift even.

Feyre knows she is damned. Killing the three would be to murder three innocents. Her instinct is to refuse, but she knows these three lives are all that stand between the enslavement of Prythian and it’s salvation. Her soul may be stained, but she reconciles herself to do this for the greater good.

She steps up to the first victim, a young male. He begs her, pleads for her not to do it. She struggles, hearing someone in the crowd weeping, knowing she’s taking him away from someone who loves him. She finds her resolve, and manages to stab him in the heart.

The second victim is a female. While she weeps, she is resolved. She prays, her steady voice urging Feyre to make the death quick and clean. This is worse, so much more painful to watch Feyre resolve to take up the dagger and plunge it through her heart.

With one victim left, Feyre is numb. She can’t understand why Amarantha is smiling. Only knows she must kill one more in order to be free. Freedom perhaps coming as she takes her own life after she finishes murdering the last one. And then the hood is removed... and she’s looking at Tamlin.

She faced now with the decision to kill him and free Prythian, or give in and forfeit her life and their freedom, and doom the human lands as the king of Hybern invades. Her thoughts turn inward, searching for a way out, remembering Alis said something to help her - something that she’d have to listen for.

They weren’t allowed to tell her about the curse, but Feyre remembers the times she was allowed to eavesdrop. When they spoke in public places so she would hear, so hopefully she would understand. And the words of the Attor - that Amarantha makes no bargains that are not advantageous to her. That she would never kill what she most desired. And then she remembers.

Lucien’s words and the Attor’s remarks about Tamlin’s heart of stone. Amarantha wouldn’t have to risk Feyre killing Tamlin if he can’t be killed. She takes the dagger and stabs him through the heart... only, she doesn’t.

The blade hits something solid and she removes it. The tip is bent and Tamlin’s wound is beginning to heal. Rhysand is smiling, and Amarantha is getting to her feet. Tamlin’s mask remains, his healing slow. The gathered fae call out that Feyre has won, that now Amarantha must free the Spring Court.

But instantaneous freedom was not part of the bargain. Amarantha refuses, and advances on Feyre, intent on killing her. And she attacks, pummeling Feyre with a force that shatters her bones. Slamming her into the floor, the force breaking the ground. Bringing her back when Feyre loses conscientiousness so she is aware of everything happening to her. Rhysand yells for her as the other faeries call foul play, as he grabs the dagger and lunges for Amarantha. She deflects him, but he tries again.

Feyre calls out, asking her to stop her attack on Rhysand, bringing her attention back to her. Amarantha demands Feyre renounce her love for Tamlin, but she won’t sacrifice this truth. Tamlin begs Amarantha to no avail. Even as she is slowly broken, Feyre refuses to give in the Amarantha’s demand... and as the darkness closes in and the pain begins to ebb, the answer to the riddle becomes clear. As she uses the last of her strength to answer the riddle and set them free: love.

And then Feyre is watching through another’s eyes. Seeing her own body, head snapped to the side at the wrong angle. Lucien as he removes his mask. Then Tamlin... who has his sights set on Amarantha. With a flash of golden light he sets upon her and it’s over quickly. He pins her to the wall with Lucien’s sword, then rips her throat out. Feyre realizes she’s seeing through Rhysand’s eyes as she watches Tamlin return to her corpse, shedding his beast form as he scoops up her body and sobs. As the gathered fae mourn with him... and then the High Lords approach.

First is the High Lord of Autumn, who drops a glittering spark on Feyre’s body. Then the High Lords of Summer and Winter. One by one they approach, until only Rhysand is left. He approaches, offering a kernel of his power, declaring to Tamlin they are even. Tamlin is last, declaring his love and kissing her as he adds his own drop of power.

Feyre comes back, rising against the darkness and returning to that crowded room. But the instant she opens her eyes she knows something is different. She’s been made High Fae. Everything is clearer, brighter, stronger. Overwhelming. Amarantha is dead, and they are free.

In the aftermath everything is too much for her - too loud, too bright, too strong. I’m glad for the disassociation, the realism that this sort of change would likely wreck on a person’s psyche. Feyre isn’t in the moment, she’s a passive observer.

The Attor and some of Amarantha’s followers disappear, along with Lucien’s brothers and Rhysand. Those remaining react in different ways - celebrating, mourning, worrying. Everything is not wrapped up nice and neat. There is clearly some recovery to be had, some work to be done. The High Lords have frenzied meetings to determine their next steps. Everyone is grateful and Feyre cannot stand it. Cannot stand what she has done to ensure their freedom. Tamlin takes her to a quiet room, inspects her wounds, heals her and tries to talk, but Feyre doesn’t want to talk. They share kisses, and Feyre gives in to her baser desires.

She’s awakened some time later by a tug, an invisible thread summoning her. She leaves Tamlin and follows it, finding Rhysand on a balcony outside in the daylight. He waits there, wings out, to say goodbye. She can’t find her usual frostiness as she remembers how he fought to save her. She asks him why and he replies he doesn’t want to be remembered for standing on the sidelines. That he wants to be remembered for being there, for fighting against Amarantha in the end. Because he didn’t want Feyre to fight alone. Or die alone.

Feyre is grateful and asks about his wings. He responds that he kept them hidden as everything he loves tends to be taken from him. He asks her about being High Fae. She responds that while her body may be immortal, her heart remains human. And perhaps it would be better if that had been changed too. He tells her to be glad of her human heart, to pity those who don’t feel at all. As he says his good-byes his eyes lock on hers and shock passes over his face. He stumbles back and before Feyre can ask what’s the matter, he’s gone.

She and Tamlin return to the Spring Court. They are free, the court is out of hiding and everyone is safe. She is with Tamlin and has her happily ever after. Everything she wanted. There are things to be dealt with, things that will take time to recover from, but for now everything is right with the world.

#acotar #maas #book reviews

[okmeamithinknow]

Don’t Threaten Me With A Good Time pt 17

Summary: Cassian meets a mysterious girl at a bar one night and falls in love… Lust… Well he’s not sure, but what follows is the craziest, most eventful night of his life. Modern AU

Chapter Title: Battle Scars

Rating:M

Previous Chapter

These battle scars, don't look like they're fading Don't look like they're ever going away They ain't never gonna change

"Battle Scars" -Lupe Fiasco, Guy Sebastian

Cassian leads her up a flight of stairs and into Rhys' door shuts behind them with a decisive snick, and Nesta's surprised at how well the soundproofing blocks out the din from the club below. She can barely feel the deep reverberations of the base through the soles of her feet. He sets her on the couch with a gentle request for her to stay there while he fetches supplies to treat her wounds, and then ducks into what she assumes is the adjoining bathroom.

His rage barely mastered, Cassian sets about finding whatever medical supplies Rhys and Feyre have stocked in the cupboards. They keep the office well stocked, almost a second apartment, in case any of their makeshift family needs a place to crash after a rough night of drinking, and the Mother knows that Cassian's seen his fair share of drunken bar fights. Started them, and finished them. He can't remember if Nesta's bleeding, or if that good for nothing bastard only left bruises on her body and on her psyche. He should have done something. Something more to protect her, defend her, to show him that no one treats his…

It's not until there's a soft clearing of her throat that Cassian realizes he's been growling to himself.

"Cassian," she calls softly and he turns to see her standing in the doorway. There's something in the way she's holding herself, hands clutching the tattered remnants of her shirt closed in front of her. The bruises, already a deep purple, on her exposed collarbone. The wash of unshed tears shimmering in eyes, the ones she refuses to let fall. She radiates such fragile vulnerability that his heart breaks all over again.

He struggles to swallow the lump that's formed in his throat, before answering with a hoarse "Yeah?"

"The cops—the cops," she says, flinching at the words, "They'll want a thorough inventory of my injuries."

It takes a moment for the words to process. Long enough that it catches him off guard when she reaches for his hand. The touch of her fingertips on his palm, the instant eruption of flames, startles him. Its infinitely too brief as she slips her phone into his palm, camera app already open and ready to go. He stares down at the device and the way that her hand lingers over his.

"Cassian?" she says in a whisper when he still doesn't respond. He looks up to meet her gaze, unwavering determination shining in those blue grey eyes, but beneath that an undercurrent of apprehension. She shouldn't trust him, barely knows him and yet here they both stand.

Cassian nods dumbly, and she sheds the scrap of cloth that used to be a shirt. It, along with the last bit of her dignity, falls to the floor, the lightest fluttering of fabric. Yet another sound that will echo in the nightmares to come.

The shutter sound of the camera echoes though the room as he documents the utter horror of her wounds. The angry cut that runs from chest to naval bleeds sluggishly. He moves slowly, catching each injury from multiple angles, and adding them to the list of injuries he'll need to repay.

He sets the phone down on the counter, and gestures for Nesta to join him further in the bathroom so he can clean and dress her wounds. He fumbles for a second, trying to leave enough room for Nesta to move comfortably though the space. She glides to the counter, setting herself down with far more grace than he expects. But once on the counter, a distinct hollowness creeps its way into her posture, a defeated slump to her shoulders that she can't shake off. Cassian doesn't know how to fix it, how to help, and the more he thinks about it the more he begins to panic until words flow out of him.

"I just turned eighteen when I fought in my first battle," he says, his words at odds with the gentle brushing of his pads of his fingers against the bandage. She tenses, back going ramrod straight at the realization that she's trapped herself in the presence of another unfamiliar man, and an even more dangerous one at that.

But something, some still quiet part of her that grows stronger with every passing minute, whispers to hear him out. An ache in her chest to ease the growing hysteria she sees in his eyes, that she can feel radiating from him. Feyre trusts him, and after Tamlin, Feyre still lets very few into her inner circle.

"Rhys had a little sister, you know?" he says. It's technically a question, but he's not really looking for an actual answer and though Nesta didn't know the right answer, doesn't understand how it all connects, she nods, if just to get rid of the shadows that have suddenly slithered in Cassian's eyes. "Cutest thing ever. Coal black hair and she had these eyes. His mom's eyes. Rhys has 'em too. Sometimes he'll look at me a certain way and I'lll be back in the kitchen laughing with them over some prank Az and I pulled on Rhys that day and his mom's smiling at me with those eyes."

Cassian scrapes a hand through his hair, strands left hanging in his face, and Nesta itches to brush it back. She restrains herself though, balling her hands into fists in her lap.

"A couple months before school ended, in the dead of night, the three of us, Az, Rhys and me, snuck out. Thought it would be fun to sneak into the club to hit on girls. We were supposed to be there. We couldn't have known." Cassian shakes his head, trying to clear away the memory. "Drive by shooting. No way to identify who it was, but we knew. Of course we knew."

An odd sort of haunted note commingles with a smoldering rage.

"Rhys' dad was working nights then, here at the club, and he just went ballistic. Told us that we should have known. Should have protected them. That it was our job and we'd failed. Rhys was his heir, the one who'd inherit his empire when he died, and Az, well Az's dad was his friend and he couldn't rightly just abandon him, but me," he laughs. It's manic and sends chills down Nesta's spine.

"The Prythian army will take kids when their seventeen, if they have a guardian's consent, and of course he was more than willing to consent. The ink was barely dry on the paperwork when he told me I could get the fuck out, and wasn't allowed in his presence until I'd proven myself a man."

"So there I am, in the middle of the first conflict with Hybern, barely eighteen and didn't know my ass from a hole in the ground. I get separated from everyone else. Didn't realize it til it was too late and I was already cornered in a back alley by an enemy solider. If you could even call him that," he chuckles, running a hand through his hair. "And the kid, Mother above, he was just a kid, a fucking kid, and we were at war and it was either him or me and there was no way that I wasn't making it back home. Rhys and Az had lost too many people and I wasn't about to be another one, but he and I knew what would happen if he didn't kill me and I wasn't about to die there in some Cauldron-forsaken alley in Hybern.

"And after that day, after my moms, and sister, and that boy in that dusty alleyway I swore— I swore— I would never let any one hurt another innocent, not when I had the ability to stop it. That I could think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it most."

Likes and Reblogs are my crack!

A.N. Yes I realize that Rhys' mom and sister aren't his actual mom and sister, but whatever. I'm allowed to take creative liberties. Anyone who wants to argue with me can eat it. They're the mom and sister of his heart.

Also, this entire chapter is 100% made up of plot bunnies. You’re welcome!

#Nessian #cassian #nesta archeron #ACOTAR #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf #acowar #acofas #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #crys writes #my writing #crys writes dtmwagt

[darling-archeron]

Feysand Week #2 - Prisoner of War

 Aka the fic where Feyre’s attempted escape from Spring in ACOWAR doesn’t go as planned and she is captured while the war rages on without her. Lots of angst.

There is a woman sitting in the dark. She was free once, until she tried to flee back home and was captured. They used her and defiled her and dug deep within her for information until some fundamental part of her soul broke. She was no longer of any use to them, so they locked her up as a prisoner for the remaining years of the war. Hope has abandoned her.

There are things I remember.

Violet eyes and tattooed shoulders in the darkness.

The face of a wide eyed girl before I stabbed a knife into her heart.

The colors of a star-filled sky.

I remember the names of people, too, though I don’t know the faces behind them.

Cassian.                                                                                                                 

Elain.

Tamlin.

Rhysand.

I forgot my own name long ago, sitting in the silence as I am. But I haven’t forgotten the titles they called me.

Cursebreaker.

Defender of the Rainbow.

Mate.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here for. Long enough that I was able to bury pain and longing and fear somewhere deep within me. But one of the things that bothers me most, one thing I could never shake, is the tattoo. Beneath the warped and scarred flesh, it climbs past my fingers up to my elbow. If it signifies some deed, some power, I wouldn’t know. Whatever magic I once had has been taken away by the power-sucking poison in the walls, in the food, and in the shackle around my ankle.

My stomach growls with hunger, and I force myself up off my cot to sit up, staring at nothing in the dark room. Once a day, some invisible servant comes into this cell and delivers a plate of drugged food. But there has been none for some time now.

Or maybe I have simply always been trapped in the darkness, alone and whatever memories I have are an illusion. The thought sends a slice of pain through me – an emotion I thought I was done feeling when they did those horrible things to me.

Suddenly, a bang shatters the unending silence. I stay sitting – what use is there in getting up? But the sounds keep coming, clatters and shoves and thuds.

It’s all too much and too loud and I crumple to the floor with my hands over my ears – but then the room floods with light.

Standing before me is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. His clothes are dirty and torn and he is bruised and bandaged, but still beautiful. As little as I know, I know this.

Tears flow freely down his cheeks.

He rushes towards me, pulling me into a tight embrace and I go limp in his arms.

“Feyre.” He whispers, so soft it is barely audible.

She is laying on the floor, so thin and so pale and part of me wishes I could’ve spent more time carving up the guards who did this to her.

“Feyre?” I whisper softly, taking a small step forward and then rushing, holding her in an embrace so tight I never want to let go.

Feyre goes slack in my arms. “Who…who are you?” She asks, just as softly.

My heart feels like it has shattered and broken into a million pieces as I fall to my knees, one hand still touching her fingers and one cupped around her calves.

“Feyre, darling.” I whisper softly into her skin, a sob breaking through me. She starts crying too.

“I’m sorry….I don’t remember.”

I look up at her, take her in again and for the first time I notice the healed scars and burns covering her body. The loose tunic and too-large pants cover most of her body and legs, but her arms….her arms have been ravaged.

Guilt courses through me, twined with raging fury. I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve ended this war five years ago before it had really started. I should have saved her before they could do this to her for information, or to hurt me, or whatever other sick reasons they had.

I force myself to shove those thoughts down, trying to use sense. Looking away from her wide eyes, I reach for the smallest dagger I have on me, using it to twist open the lock of the chain around her foot. The faebane in the walls is suffocating enough, and the chain seems to be only an added cruelty to ensure such a mighty being could never break free.

It absolutely destroys me.

“Let me take you home.” I rasp.

The cell disappears in a flash of light, and we reappear in a place new and different and somehow familiar to me. It’s full of light and color and more life then I know

and

I

faint.

The next hours are a blur as Mor and Cassian appear the moment we winnow in and Feyre faints. I numbly answer their questions as they nudge me up the stairs and help me lay my mate down, calling for a healer. At some point I stop responding and just watch her, clutching her hand and hoping to never again let go.

Some time passes before Mor brings me a tray of food, entering the room with soundless footsteps.

“The healer says she might recover her memories in time.” My cousin does her best to sound cheerful, but it’s a poor attempt, and I can see she’s just as tired as the rest of us.

“What if she doesn’t, Mor? I don’t know what I’ll do without her. This court needs her. I need her.”

Mor doesn’t say anything for a moment as she puts a warm hand on my shoulder. “We all need her, Rhysand. But we knew what Hybern did to her would leave its affects – just give her time. She will heal.” Her voice is sympathetic, and I don’t know what else she says as I reach down the bond again, calling out to my mate.

Feyre.

Feyre.

Feyre.

Morrigan leaves after a while, and we are alone again. I do the only thing I can think of, the only thing I know to help Feyre. Holding tight to the bond, I send thoughts down it

The memory of Starfall, when the stars created heavenly paint on her face.

The memory of her laughing with Mor.

Her sparring with Cassian and Az, trading bladed quips with Amren.

Talking to Nesta and Elain, remaining kind but unyielding even when they did not do the same to her.

I show her memories of a cabin in the woods, of light in the darkness, of hope.

I could’ve lost you, Feyre. I thought I had. I love you so much - so many people do. So please come back to us, darling. Please come back.

I hold on tight to the bond, and I do not let go.

The memories play a beautiful song in my head, one full of light and love and a life that I cannot believe was once mine. But I trust this man, with his shadows and darkness and burdens far too heavy. Something in him calls to me.

Opening my eyes, I take in my surroundings. There is not quite silence – I can hear sounds of music in the distance. The bed I am lying in is soft, plush, and my dirty clothes have been replaced with a baby blue nightgown. My eyes travel down my arm to my tattoo, and to my fingers interlaced with the violet-eyed man who stares as me wordlessly, as though I am his entire world.

Feyre, he had said my name was. And suddenly I know.

I meet his eyes.

“Rhys.” I say.

#Feysandweek17 #kate's writing #acotar #feysand #Feysand angst #SJMAAS #my writing #kat's writing

[the-wheel-comes-full-circle]

The Snowball Part 21

I cannot believe how soon ACOWAR comes out, I don’t know if I’ll get the opportunity to update again before it comes out and if I’m honest I will not be updating for a while after ACOWAR as I am sure I will be an emotional wreck so lets just say this will probably be on hiatus for a while xx

After the door had closed behind Hybern there was utter silence in the kitchen. Feyre felt like she was one shock away from a cardiac arrest and Nesta looked the same, if not worse.

“I know how this looks, but we can still fix this.” Mor said confidently.

Feyre just stared at her blankly. 

“Who’s Elain?” Amren whispered to Rhys in the background.

“Sister.” Was all Rhys said, eyes trained solely on Feyre.

“How do we know he actually has Elain?” Cassian asked.

“I’m not willing to bet my sister’s safety just in case that nut job was lying.” Nesta hissed through gritted teeth.

“But you were willing to risk Feyre’s when you knew you’d be taken care of in return.” Cassian sniped back.

Mor and Azriel began to intervene in their argument while Rhys drew Feyre away from the others. He pulled her over to the bench seat by the window and made no comment when she pressed her forehead against the glass in an effort to calm herself.

He began fidgeting the longer the silence passed between them until Feyre sensed he could contain himself no more.

“Are you okay?” He asked her quietly, out of earshot of their friends who were still trying to stop an all out fight between Cassian and Nesta.

“No. Nothing about my life is okay right now.” Feyre responded, realizing too late how that might sound to Rhys.

She opened her eyes just in time to see Rhys mask the hurt behind his eyes. 

“I didn’t mean it like that, meeting Mor, Cassian, Azriel, and even Amren has been one of the best things that has ever happened to me.” Feyre paused and impossibly lowered her voice even more before adding, “And you.”

Feyre heard Rhys’s breath hitch and he looked up to meet her eyes.

“I know what you meant. It just kills me to see you like this. That despite all we’ve done, it still hasn’t been enough.”

“Rhys, you can’t beat yourself up like this, it’s not your fault. Without you I’d still be with Tamlin.”

Rhys nodded but Feyre could still see the dark thoughts lying beneath his calm demeanor. She needed to soothe him but didn’t know the right words, so instead she moved closer to him so she could lean her head against his shoulder, and wrap an arm around his broad torso. Rhys leaned into her as well, entwining his arms around her waist and resting his chin on the top of her head.

Feyre relaxed with her back against Rhys’s chest, just listening to his steady breathing until she also felt calm. She felt her eyelids beginning to droop and would have fallen asleep if Nesta’s loud voice, booming from across the other side of the kitchen hadn’t woken her from her stress induced dream state.

“Are you two going to help us or what?” 

Feyre blinked rapidly like she had just emerged from underwater while Rhys straightened. Feyre didn’t need to see his face to know he would be glaring at Nesta for disturbing them. His hands had tightened marginally on her hips and Feyre pulled herself to her feet before Rhys could retaliate.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.” She whispered to him when he still looked like he wanted to throttle Nesta.

“Mor was saying something about a witness before?” Feyre said to the group, making an effort to reengage in conversation.

Mor nodded. “It shouldn’t be hard to find witnesses from the fight, they can back up what we said about Tamlin coming to us and starting everything.”

“I just still feel like we need something stronger.” Azriel said.

“The nurse.” Rhys said to himself.

Six heads turned to look at him. “There was that nurse that was concerned about Feyre the last time she was in there. Remember Mor? She thought it was me who had hurt Feyre, we could ask her to confirm it was Tamlin.”

Mor looked uncertain. “I don’t know Rhys, I’m not sure they’re just allowed to disclose information like that, and there was no reason for her to think it wasn’t you.”

“Well Feyre hasn’t been in there since she’s been with us and the nurse knows that.”

“We don’t even know her name.” Mor tried again.

“I do. Her name is Alis.” Feyre said quietly.

“Well it’s settled then, I’ll take Feyre with me to the hospital and see if we can talk to her.” Rhys said. 

Mor threw up her hands in exasperation. “Okay, but what are we going to do about Elain? If Hybern hears we’ve been sneaking around... it could be bad.”

“Az, do you still have friends within his company?” Rhys said, turning to Azriel.

Azriel nodded. 

“Get in contact with them and see if they know anything about Elain. We need to find out where she is and where she’ll be. Then we might be able to speak with her and get her away.”

Azriel left immediately to begin making some calls. 

“The rest of you try to get in contact with the media again and see if you can do anything to stop the rumours that Tamlin made up.” Rhys said while grabbing his car keys. 

Feyre quickly got up to follow Rhys out the front door before he left her behind in his urgency.

Once they arrived at the hospital Feyre was less certain about their decision.

“What if she’s busy Rhys? I mean she is at work.” 

“If she’s busy we just go back home, but it’s worth a try.” Rhys assured her.

They went inside and Rhys spoke to a receptionist who noticed Feyre and eyed her with recognition, although Feyre was unsure if it was from seeing her face on the news, or just from being in the hospital so frequently. Feyre was beginning to get quite the reputation.

“No there’s no emergency, we were just wondering if we could speak to one of your nurses? Her name is Alis.” Rhys said smoothly, putting every ounce he had into charming the receptionist.

The receptionist regarded Rhys coolly, with absolutely no hint of attraction to him. 

“She’s busy. This is a hospital you know.” She said blandly.

“Please, this is really important, perhaps you could do me a favour this one time?” Rhys tried again.

The nurse looked to Feyre with a bored look. “Does your girlfriend care that you blatantly flirt with other girls right in front of her?”

Feyre half snorted as Rhys turned red in the face. “It’s not... I don’t...” He spluttered. 

The nurse seemed to be enjoying herself as she told Rhys, “Your girlfriend would have had more luck trying to persuade me.” 

“Please. Can you just mention that the girl she used to look after, Feyre, is here and needs to speak with her.” Rhys begged.

The nurse regarded Feyre with more interest after hearing her name and sighed, telling them to take a seat and that she would send a message but she couldn’t promise anything.

“Thanks.” Feyre said to Rhys when they sat down.

Rhys didn’t respond but grabbed her hand, resting it upon his armrest where he could easily hold on to her.

After what felt like hours, a soft voice called out to them.

“Feyre?” Alis said approaching them warily.

Feyre jumped to her feet, in shock that she had actually come.

Alis looked her over head to toe, checking to see she was okay, before noticing Rhys standing protectively behind her.

“I thought I told you to keep her out of here.” Alis said sternly to Rhys.

“I have been. Feyre’s not injured, we just came to speak with you.” Rhys defended himself.

“We need your help.” Feyre said to Alis.

“I’ve seen the news. I know you’re in all kinds of trouble. But I don’t see how I can help you.” Alis said warily.

“We need you to make a statement about the abuse Feyre suffered when she was with Tamlin.” 

Alis started shaking her head. “No, I won’t be a part of this media circus.” She said as she began turning away.

“Wait! Please. It’s not just about protecting my image. Tamlin’s about to ruin a lot of lives and we need to prove that he can’t be trusted. My sister is in danger because of this.” Feyre said in desperation.

Alis stopped mid-stride but didn’t face them.

“If you say nothing, he will get away with this. And he’ll send more girls here like Feyre. Girls you could have protected.” Rhys said darkly.

Alis’s shoulders dropped and she whirled to face them, striding right up to Rhys’s face. 

“I’ll do it. But not because you threatened me, which I am kindly going to ignore. I’m doing this because I hated seeing Feyre come in here week after week with no one caring about how she kept getting injured. I hated seeing her too scared to say anything that would get that prick in trouble because she thought she loved him. There’s nothing I’d love more than to see him ruined.”

“Thank you.” Feyre said softly.

Alis turned to Feyre surprised. “Just don’t let me catch you in here again.” The older woman mumbled.

Feyre laughed and hugged Alis who looked mildly uncomfortable but returned the gesture. 

“I have to get back to my shift, but leave me the number of someone to contact about releasing a statement.” Alis said waving them off before accepting a piece of paper from Rhys.

“That went better than expected.” Rhys said to Feyre as they left the hospital. 

“It doesn’t solve anything if Hybern still has Elain though.” Feyre said solemnly.

“We’ll find a way Feyre.” Rhys promised her.

When they reached Rhys’s car Feyre heard her phone ring. She looked at the caller ID and was shocked to see Lucien’s number.

Rhys looked over her shoulder and cursed. “Don’t answer it.” He warned.

“It could be important.” Feyre argued back.

“Or it could just be another way for Tamlin to talk to you.”

“I told Lucien I would help him if he was ever in trouble, he might need our help.”

Rhys finally nodded in agreement and Feyre rushed to answer the phone.

“Lucien?” She asked hesitatingly, scared it would be a different voice that answered.

“Feyre!” Came Lucien’s frantic voice. 

Relief washed over Feyre and she noticed Rhys also relax when she wasn’t alarmed.

“Are you okay?” Feyre asked Lucien.

“Me? What, of course I am. It’s just... Your sister Elain is here.”

“We know.” Feyre said sadly.

“We had no idea Hybern would bring your sister into it I swear, but I don’t think Tamlin’s going to do anything about it anyway.” Lucien said in a rush. “But I don’t like this Feyre. I don’t like it all.”

“Have you seen her? Is she okay?”

“Yes, she’s fine. I’ve been looking after her here at the house-”

“She’s at Tamlin’s?” Feyre asked in horror.

Rhys swore under his breath behind her.

“Nothing is going to happen to her Feyre, I promise you. I’ll protect her with my life.” Lucien told her.

It slightly worried Feyre to hear the absolute conviction in Lucien’s voice but she didn’t have time to question him about it. 

“I need you to do more than just watch out for her Lucien. Hybern threatened her directly.” 

Now it was Lucien’s turn to swear. Feyre could practically feel him at war with himself as he tried to find a solution.

“I drive her to work sometimes when she doesn’t go with Tamlin. I could take her to you instead, the next time I’m alone with her.” Lucien said in a whisper.

“What will happen to you when you go back?” 

“It doesn’t matter, I’ll be fine as long as she’s safe.”

Now Feyre was really worried about how Lucien felt for Elain but she put it down to him just feeling guilty about what he had allowed her to go through.

“Lucien, thank you.” Feyre said with as much kindness as she could muster. “You could come too. Stay with Elain if that’s what you want...” Feyre finished uncertainly.

But a loud bang cut off whatever Lucien’s reply was and he had to quickly whisper to her, “I have to go.” 

Feyre listened to the end beep tone, signifying the end of the call as she prayed Lucien was alright.

#the snowball #fanfic #au #acotar #acomaf #sjm #sarah j maas #sjmaas #feyre #feyre archeron #Rhys #rhysand #feysand #feyrhys

[illyriantremors]

Beneath the Stars Chapter 13

Chapter: I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII

AO3 Linkage

Summary: Feeling cut off from Rhys, Feyre finds her dad in the kitchen in a compromising position. A decision is made about Thanksgiving at last.

Chapter 13

I tried not to text him. I tried - and failed miserably.

And even then only because I was too chickenshit to actually call him or go to his house.

But by Wednesday morning, I was too restless to resist anymore. I still hadn’t heard from Elain about Thanksgiving and dad was antsy worrying about it too. We hadn’t bought anything for food and I didn’t know if he realized it was because no one was coming or because he knew mom had asked me to come.

Well, Elain had asked on mom’s behalf and I still didn’t think I could handle actually going, but maybe my sister was right. Maybe I should go and try to work this out with her. We couldn’t go on not speaking forever right?

Most of all, I just wanted answers. The more her words haunted me, the more I didn’t understand what I had done. It would hurt like hell to talk to her about it, but refusing to rip the bandaid off might be worse.

Not to mention Rhys agreed. Maybe not that I should skip the camping trip, though who knew how he felt about that now? But at least that I needed to work things out with my mom. He got sort of sad every time it came up. He must have missed his own mom so much, and his sister…

Rhys.

I couldn’t stand it any more. I grabbed my phone and pulled up our most recent conversation and started typing before I could stop myself.

And was met with unending silence.

A few more casual texts were sent throughout the day in my subtle hope that maybe he’d simply missed the first ones, but still nothing. I hadn’t realized what a torture it would feel like not to hear from him. I hadn’t realized just how much I’d come to like him either.

But it didn’t matter. I’d fucked it up. We saw an opportunity and it let him down. Even if it hadn’t, I’d wounded something in him when I threw it back in his face. Over and over I replayed the conversation marveling at how simple and short the exchange had been to bring us to the point of not speaking anymore.

And I hated it, more than I should have.

Mor called me right before dinner to ask if I was coming with them for the camping trip. I snorted into the phone.

“What do you think, Mor? He’s not even talking to me.”

“That’s because he’s being a stubborn ass!” She shouted the last word away from the phone, possibly so Rhys could hear it, but I knew his room was far enough away from Mor’s that he wouldn’t. “Don’t worry. I talked to him and he’s just licking his wounds because he knows he fucked up a good thing.”

“Because I’m the stubborn ass and called him a mess, is more like.”

“You really think there’s nothing there? I saw the way you two were squirming in your seats for each other.”

“Mor.”

“You might as well have been sitting in his lap.”

“Morrigan.”

“And don’t think I didn’t notice the foot action going on or the way he said your name when he-”

“Morrigan!”

“I’m just calling it like it is! Anyone in that room would have had to have been blind not to see the sparks flying between you.”

My face flooded with heat. I hid my head in my hands, my fingers pinching over my nose as I remembered how he’d touched me - the pressure of his knuckles brushing over my skin, his nose in my hair… I could have heard a pin drop in that room.

But it was only because Tamlin had been there. Rhys had done it as a favor to me. Nothing more.

I brushed away the tiny voice in my head that said no one touched a woman like that without feeling something more just a tiny, tiny bit and said, “Trust me, out of all of us, you’re the only one shipping it.”

Mor grumbled on the other end. I could just see her waving the air around her blowing me off. “Fine, but you’re still coming, right? My cousin might be a hot heaping mess, but it’s not like you’re sharing a tent with him or anything.”

“I don’t know, Mor. I want to, but I haven’t even figured it out with my own family.”

“Your sister still hasn’t called?”

“Nope.”

“Well, when you change your mind - and you will change it, Feyre, I swear it on my perfect GPA - we’re leaving tomorrow at seven. Everyone’s meeting up here and Cass is driving us all in his dad’s SUV. Mercy help us with him behind the wheel. He drives like a bat out of hell.”

“Still didn’t stop you from getting into his car in the first place, did it.”

There was a brief pause on Mor’s end.

“Feyre Archeron,” she said, maybe a little taken aback, maybe a little pleased too at my nerve. “We’re making progress with you yet,” she said and giggled into the phone.

“I’ll think about it,” I said. “Really.”

“You better. See you in the morning, hot stuff!”

She clicked off before I could remind her yet again that I hadn’t made up my mind.

I tried calling Elain again and still no answer. She was as bad as Rhys. I was just about to give her one last call, maybe leave a voicemail to say I wasn’t ready to see mom yet, when I heard a crash downstairs.

The sound rattled through me down to my bones and I shivered. It sounded like glass.

I barrelled downstairs and could hear dad swearing to himself frustrated. I almost didn’t look. I didn’t want to. I already knew what I’d find, but there was a reason I hadn’t left yet with my sisters. I had to do something for him.

Dad was on the floor his back against the stove. The cabinet next to him hung open and there was glass everywhere. Liquid seeped into a now ruined label hanging off a larger shard and I could just make out the whis-- that told me what I needed to know.

“Dad - you’re bleeding!”

His eyes went wide when he spotted me and immediately he withdrew his arm, but too late. I’d already seen the blood dribbling down. “It’s nothing, Feyre. Go back to bed.”

“Hold on, I’ll get a rag.”

“Feyre!”

I ignored him and fetched a washcloth, dampening it and pulling out some first aid supplies that I took back to the kitchen with me. Sitting down where I could clear the area of glass, I fixed him a stern look and forced him to give me his arm.

The cut wasn’t horrible. Long, but shallow. And judging by the single shard with blood on it next to my dad’s leg, there didn’t look like there’d be any small bits of glass to clean out - thank goodness.

“What happened?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks, Fey.”

“Dad - what happened?” I ground out the words, my grip tightening as much as I dared on his arm to show him I wasn’t going to run and hide like I might have as a kid. And he looked so tired. His eyes were red and he hadn’t shaved. Under my palm, I could feel the callouses from the wood working he did to make his furniture pieces. I flinched when the stench of stale booze kicked in.

Dad groaned and gave a little turn on his arm so I could take care of it, patting up the blood with my cloth.

“I went to get a fresh one out,” dad said quietly, maybe hoping I wouldn’t hear. “And I slipped. Took the bottle down right with me.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t break anything.”

“Geez, kiddo - I’m not that old.”

“No and you certainly don’t act like it.”

Dad went mute. I applied a sanitizing solution to his cut and he leashed a hiss. It must have stung.

Good.

“I was worried about… tomorrow,” he said finally. “About what a crappy dad I’ve been and the fact that I didn’t even get a turkey so I could at least pretend we were being a family together.”

I paused my work and glanced at him, but immediately withdrew. His eyes were too kind, his face too worn. If I looked at him long enough, he would stop being the alcoholic I made excuses for and become the dad I pitied and resented, and I’d lose it.

So I finished my work instead and pretended not to see him.

“You’re not a crappy dad,” I said.

“Hey, I’m the only one around here who gets to lie to cover up his faults, okay?”

He wanted me to laugh, but I didn’t have it in me. “Is this about mom? Nesta, Elain? Really, dad.”

He sighed. “I really thought that I would have things patched up by now. Maybe not with your mom, but enough at least that I could get work sorted out again and your sisters at least would see that I’m trying enough to maybe want to come back around more.”

I debated how much I should tell him. An awful, dark spot in me wanted to sugarcoat it. An even darker spot told me the truth: dad was weak; dad was drunk; dad was going down a long, winding road into hell and my sisters were right that I should leave. Just look at the mess he’d made tonight and this was barely anything compared to what he could do if he was half a bottle in and wasted beyond reason.

Who was I kidding anymore? He was a total and complete mess. This man who I loved, who had raised me and defended me against mom when no one else would was slowly becoming this hollow shell of a person I hardly recognized. And it broke my heart.

What hurt maybe most of all was knowing that if I talked to my sisters and even my mom, there was no guarantee they would help. Nesta seemed to hate dad anymore, Elain couldn’t be bothered, and mom - well, mom had…

You’re an embarrassment, a pathetic excuse for a man and I’m through. You’ve taken my entire life away - all of the things that I love. You can’t even keep off those stupid bottles long enough to wipe your chin from the last sip.

She grabbed her purse, her keys off the hook by the door.

I’m done. Don’t think I’m not taking the girls with me, either…

I shuddered at the memory. Nesta and Elain never saw it. They were still finishing up the last week of school. But maybe if they knew now how much danger dad was in, that it wasn’t just the money or the fancy clothes, but his life that was in jeopardy, maybe then they’d want to help.

Maybe then I should go tomorrow. If dad only hadn’t said what he said next.

“Thank you,” dad said. He took my hand and I was forced to look at him. “Thank you for staying.”

Panic flooded me. He couldn’t possibly know I’d been considering to mom’s tomorrow, could he?

“What do you mean?”

He rotated his arm, the one now covered in a nice thick bandage and gave me a sad smile. “Your old man’s not doing so - what is it you kids say? - so hot. I’m not doing so hot these days. You should never have seen this. I should never have put you through-”

“Stop, stop - dad. Please, just stop. It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not, honey. It’s really not.”

I couldn’t help it. Our eyes locked and that horrid feeling I hated more than the worst nights rose up in my throat threatening to choke me until my eyes bled instead of cried, until my voice disappeared instead of cracked, until my body went still instead of shaking.

It was a long time before I was able to swallow the feeling and bury it deep inside my heart. Tomorrow I would talk about it. But for now, I knew there was no way I was going with mom for Thanksgiving. It would kill dad.

“Why don’t you just agree to put this,” and I gestured generally to the chaos around us of broken glass and spilled liquor, “away for one night and get some sleep, hmm?”

Dad closed his eyes and briefly smiled, but I could feel the urge to resist my request building up in the way his neck strained away from me. “I’d like that,” he managed to say and at least he managed to keep from looking outright at the liquor cabinet. Maybe he would come back down and grab a bottle after I’d gone to bed.

“I’ll clean it up. You’re not hurt anywhere else right? Good. Now go get a shower and go to sleep.”

I helped him stand and step over the glass. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs as I took the broom and began to sweep. A few spots of blood remained on the tile. I wondered if they’d leave a stain even after I bleached it.

“You got any plans tomorrow?”

I looked up to see dad hadn’t retreated upstairs yet.

“What?”

“Tomorrow. I, uh - heh, figured since we weren’t really doing anything you might have made plans to do something.”

I stared at him wondering if this was the universe’s way of giving me a sign. Either that, or Morrigan was a goddess controlling the world pushing me and Rhys together into the same campground until we’d made up.

“What’s that look for?” dad asked.

“What look?”

“You look like you’re trying not to laugh, but I don’t get the joke. Oh gosh, do I have a peanut butter in my hair again?”

At that I did, snicker. “Go to bed, dad.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

And though my stomach rolled nervously at how he might react, but banking on the hope that leaving him for someone - a bunch of someones - other than mom might abate another binge, I set the broom aside and said, “Well, actually. How would you feel if I took a weekend trip?”

Mor screamed at me in her red flannel shirt when I stepped out of my car at seven in the morning the next day.

xx

#myfic #beneath the stars #beneath the stars: a feysand fic #feysand #feyre #rhysand #acomaf #acomaf fanfiction #bts