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kmblckbk · 1 year

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sun & shadow

part 3

18+ mature content, contains smut

*contains spoilers for ACOTAR*

eris x reader / azriel x reader

word count: 2397

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You wake up the next morning to find the bed empty. You look over to the couch but Azriel wasn't here anymore. You look down at your wound, which now magically disappeared. You think back at last night. You actually couldn't believe you did that. You kissed another man. Fuck. Your mind immediately goes to Eris, you couldn't do this. But yet that feeling in your stomach doesn't lie. Azriel is your mate, and it just felt so right last night. You didn't do anything other than kiss and Azriel also slept on the couch, because after all you just knew each other for a day. You get out of bed and walk downstairs feeling good for the first time in days, no weeks, no months.

As you come downstairs you see Rhysand and the other man with wings sit at the table. "good morning, had fun with Az last night?" he says grinning at you. "already teasing the new girl Cass" Rhysand says. "hey any girl that can make Az look like he did this morning, is a friend of mine" the man with wings says. "who are you?" you ask the man. "Cassian, or Cass" he says smiling friendly at you. "well good morning to you too Cassian" you tell him smiling, before you sit down at the table and start eating breakfast. "so how are you feeling?" Rhysand asked you. "good, my wound is fully healed, didn't know magic could do that". "really, where you from then?" Cassian asked. "autumn court .... I think" you tell him. "oh shit, wait you think?" he asked confused. "well my parents left me at the autumn court boarder to let me to rot" you tell them "anyway where everyone?". "back to the real questions I see" Rhysand says grinning now too, the same way Cassian did a few seconds ago. "Azriel went to the autumn court" Rhysand tells you "and in case you really meant everyone, and not just Az. Feyre is paining at her studio". "what is he doing in the autumn court?" you ask them. "just seeing if anything changes in their behavior towards us, or any other court for that matter" Rhysand explain. "ah good thinking, Baron changes his fucking mind every fucking second. The man is pure chaos". "really?" they asked you surprised. "yes, he looks like he has everything under control but he doesn't" you tell them. "how do you know Baron? where you a worker in the autumn court?" Rhysand asked you, sounding interested now. "cauldron no I wasn't a worker there" you tell them, almost a bit offended they would think that of you. "then how do you know?" Rhysand asked.

"because" you sigh, thinking of Eris "because I was his sons girlfriend and apparently Baron didn't like a bastard for his son, so he banished me. told me the people of the autumn court already hated me now. And that they would hate me even more when I became the wife of the new high lord" you tell them looking down at the table. "wait you dated Eris?" Cassian asks you. you nod your head "apparently I didn't mean as much to him as I thought. He didn't even come to find me" you let out a humorous laugh "to think he was ready to propose to me". "wait he was gonna ask you to marry him?" Rhys asked sharing a look with Cassian. "apparently it wasn't as serious as I thought" you say trying not to cry as your vision blurred. "for what it's worth, I thing Eris is a right asshole" Cassian says. "I used to think he only acted like an asshole so people would fear him. I thought I knew him better than that, the real him. but maybe he only showed me that side because that was his fake side" you tell them in a whisper. The rest of breakfast was silent.

Azriel's pov

"I was waiting for you" Eris says as you walk out of the shadows. Before you even know what happens Eris' lips are on yours, pushing you against the tree behind you. Eris' hands tug at your hair, as he deepens the kiss. You open your mouth to let him in, his tongue entering your mouth, kissing you passionately. You love this, you love the feeling of his lips on yours. But then y/n comes to mind. Shit. You softly push Eris back, both trying to catch your breath. "I'm sorry Eris i...I can't" you tell him, still trying to catch your breath. "why not you initiated it, I thought you wanted this too" Eris says. "I do, I mean I did" you tell him. "what changed?" Eris asks you confused. "I found my mate" you tell him. his face falls a bit, but you see he immediately corrects it. "I'm sorry" you tell him.

"so who is the lucky one?" Eris asks you, taking a few steps back, creating space between you, like it cost him every fiber of his being not to kiss you again. "I, I only know her for a day, I found her at the night court boarder. She was hurt so we took care of her. She's a bastard too, just like me. I just know she understands, she is sweet but bold at the same time. And that's everything I already know about her after a day". You see Eris swallow deeply. "just make sure she doesn't break your heart. She sounds exactly like my girl and well, we know how that ended." He says, his head hanging a bit. "I'm sorry about this Eris, I though, I wish-". "it's okay Az" Eris says in a sad tone.

You want to turn away but you can't leave Eris like this. "do you know for sure it was her who stole your mothers dowry?" you ask him. "what else could have happened, my dad was telling the truth". "you know I'm not a fan of Baron. But if I know one thing, is that that man has a whole lot of secrets. and let be honest, I wouldn't put it past baron to banish her and blame her for some shit she did not really do" you tell him. "maybe that's worse" Eris says. "why?". "because then I just left her, then I just let her go and she will be waiting for me or worse. maybe she died somewhere in the fucking woods... alone. Wishing I was there to safe her" he says as he quickly wipes a tear that slipped his eye away. "all I'm saying is you better look into it, who knows maybe she's still waiting for you somewhere". He nods his head and you turn around to leave. "thanks Az" he says. "take care Eris" you tell him before you leave.

You later land back in Velaris. You're already planning in your head to take y/n on a date today get to really know your mate. But as you enter the town house there is a tension hanging in the air. Rhys and Cassian are in deep conversation about something and y/n is nowhere to be seen. "where's y/n?" you ask them immediately, hoping nothing bad happened. "sit down Az" Rhys says, which has you worried for a second. "is she okay?" you ask them. "she's fine, I think" Rhys says as you sit down. "what's this about then?" you ask them, the serious look not disappearing from their faces. "did you know y/n was gonna marry Eris?" Rhys asked you. the question hits you hard. You almost think he is mocking you at first, that he somehow found out about you and Eris but he couldn't know. "what?" you asked confused. "she told us Eris was gonna propose to her. that's why baron banished her" Cassian says. "wait so she didn't steal the dowry of baron's wife?" you say more to yourself. "what? What did you hear?" Rhys asked. "I, uhm" you say not looking your brothers in the eye. "Az what's going on? what do you know?" Rhys asks. "shit" you sigh. "Az you can tell us" Cassian says, seeming to mean it. "I, Eris told me about his proposal. I swear I didn't know it was her. shit. Eris" you say taking a deep breath "he thinks she left him. baron had told him she took his moms dowry with her. the motherfucker. So Eris think she ran and never loved him. shit". "and why exactly would Eris tell you all of this?" Rhys asked. "because, I , we" you actually can't get the words to form properly. "I always knew you and Eris had some kind of love hate relationship" Cassian teases. "listen that is over know that I know y/n is my mate" you tell them. They both look shocked at you. "she's your mate?" Rhys says and you nod. "well shit". "shit indeed" you sigh. How are you gonna explain it to them. How are you gonna explain to y/n and Eris what's really going on. and what if she leaves you because Eris wants her back. You were so fucked.

y/n pov

you were walking down thru the garden when you see Azriel walk towards you. "hey" you say smiling at him. damn why did it feel you already knew him for years. "hey, how are you feeling?" he asked you. "I'm great, the wound is fully healed and I explored the city a bit. It already feels like home, I never really had that feeling before. It's weird" you tell him. a soft smile appears on his face "I'm glad". You wanted to ask him about the autumn court, but you stop yourself before you do that. You don't want to know what's going on. what if Eris already found someone else. Your heart stops beating for a moment when you think of that, but you quickly shake it off. Eris is in the past, Azriel is your future.

"I was wondering" Azriel begins "would you like to go on a date tonight?". "I would really like that" you tell him smiling. Eris never took you on a date, he was always too busy. "I would really like that" you say again a big smile spreading across your face. Azriel smiles back before he places a soft kiss on your cheek. "I'll see you tonight then" he says as he walks away.

As soon as he leaves you rush into the house to see if you have anything to wear. As you enter you almost run into Rhysand, he just stops you just in time, putting his arms out to hold your shoulders. "ho there" he says "what's the rush". "oh I uhm" you say a little shy now, but still smiling because Azriel just asked you out. "y/n why were you storming in like that?" he asks, looking confused now, because you were clearly happy about something, not afraid or anything. "Az asked me out and I don't think I have anything to wear. So I, you know. It was just my enthusiasm I think, I never been on a date". "you can wear a dress of mine" Feyre says walking in behind you. "really" you say turning around. "yeah sure" she says smiling at you. "come on, let's get you a beautiful dress for your date" she says. You follow her upstairs. "have fun!" Rhysand yells behind you.

"so Az is taking you on a date huh" Feyre asks. "yeah it's weird, I know we only know eachother for like a day. But it feels like I've know him way longer than that. Maybe that's just how strong the mating bond is, I guess". "wait he's your mate?" Feyre asks surprised. "yeah he is" you tell her. "wow, I'm happy for you. and I'm happy for Az, he deserves it more than anyone else. He deserves the peace and love" she says, she sounds sincere. "has he been though a lot? I mean I've seen his hands. but was it really that bad?" you ask her, feeling like maybe you should take it slow with him. "yeah he's been through a lot. But that are stories you have to ask him yourself. I don't even know half of it" she says. "I will, maybe not on this date though" you say smiling to her. "no not on this date. Just take It slow with him, he can really be closed off sometimes. Mostly he just sits and observes, he's a man of not many words". While you 2 talk she's putting some dresses out on the bed. "wait really, I haven't noticed, we talked a lot last night". "really?! He must really trust you then" she tells you "he barely talks to us. And if he does it's all tactical planning or what he heard when he spied on someone". "oh" you say a little confused now.

"what about these?" she asks changing the subject the the dresses. "these are beautiful" you tell her. Feyre laid out a yellow , black and deep blue dress. All equally beautiful. you try all of them on. "I think I like this one the best" you tell her coming out in the deep blue dress.

"you look stunning. Blue is his color by the way, so you chose perfectly, he will love it". "thanks Feyre" "no worries, have fun on your date tonight y/n" she calls after you as you leave her room. You quickly do your hair and make-up when there is a knock at the door. "come in" you say. The door opens, and you don't hear anything for a moment. "wow" you hear a low voice say, Azriel "you look so beautiful". "thank you. you look great to" you tell him. "I'm just wearing my leathers" he says dryly. "yeah so, you still look beautiful" you tell him, which makes him blush a little and you already know you want to see that blush way more often now. "are you ready to go?" he asks you. "yes let's go" you say hooking your arm thu his as. "were are we going?" you ask him. "to the best restaurant in Velaris, I reserved the best spot, just for us" he says as he leads the way.

part 4

masterlist

#acotar #acotar smut #azriel x reader #eris x reader #azrielxreader #erisxreader #azrielxeris #azriel smut #eris smut #sjm universe #smut

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zoe-the-booklover · 2 years

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So, I'm rereading acotar, and just began acowar... Was Feyre always that insufferable? I thought she was fine in the first 2 books, but in acowar, since she was now "High Lady", she's so full of herself! She treats my poor baby Lucien awfully, although he did nothing to deserve it. He has only ever tried to help her. Has his fear of Tamlin restricted how much he could help her? Yes, but at least he tried! He always just wanted to help her, being her one true friend in the Spring Court, and how does she repay him? By lying to him, trying to guilt trip him, bringing Tamlins wrath upon him.... What did he ever do to deserve that?! I swear she thinks everything besides the Night Court, and the IC, is beneath her! And, not to mention, trying to destroy the Spring Court out of pure spite is a bitch move. I get the has major issues with Tampon, but the people of that court don't deserve their homes falling to ruin, to chaos.

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #feyre archeron #lucien vanserra

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abbababbasblog · 1 year

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This is a continuation of me moving over theories I posted on me Reddit acc.

In comparison to the previous post, this one is pure theories and doesn’t have my opinion of the book quality like in the previous post I made.

——PART 2——

GUYS I THINK IM ON TO SOMETHINGGGGGG ⚠️spoils for ACOTAR, HOSAB, AND TOG

sooo, let me start with HOSAB. First I wanna point out how little we know about Hunts lineage, but we know his real name is Orion, which is part of Greek methodology and he’s the god of hunting. ANYWAYS, we know little about his lineage so keep that in mind.

At the end of the book bryce jumps to the ACOTAR world, meets the inner circle (kinda), sees some similarities-most notable would be amren and rhys. Bryce sees heavy similarities between Rhys and Ruhn, Fury and Amren (But rn imma focus on the rhys and ruhn). OKAY KEEP THAT IN MIND!

At first, I was not convinced that there was a time jump, meaning that I thought bryce entered the ACOTAR world shortly after ACOSF happened. But now I’m having second thoughts. I’m thinking that when she got into their world, she’s there MANYYYYY years down the line. I think this because I did research on Ryhs and Feyres son: Nyx. I THINK NYX IS SUPER IMPORTANT FOR THE STORY SOMEHOW

in Greek mythology, Nyx is “ the goddess of night, one of the primordial gods, who emerged at the dawn of creation. She was a child of khaos (Chaos, air), and coupling with with Erebros (Darkness) she produced Aither (Aether, light) and Hemera (Day)”.

NOW, I know in the real mythology Nyx is female, but it’s Sarah’s story and she could’ve just made Nyx a dude. So imma go with that. I think Nyx is somehow connected to maybe ruhn or hunt. Moreso ruhn because Ruhn looks a lot like Ryhs, and has similar abilities. I think Ryhs’s blood somehow went down the generations thus the similarities. I think when we get new books for ACOTAR, the story will move towards Nyx and maybe something happens where he goes to another world, or one of his kids do, either way I think he’s connected and those genes somehow ended up in Midgard. The Asteri have admitted that Fae have been brought to that world, so maybe further down the line in the ACOTAR world, someone from Ryhs family crossed over. It’s probably a huge stretch, but who knows? I think there’s definitely an family connection between ruhn and rhys, and I think Nyx plays a huge part in it. We know Sarah loves to take inspiration from mythology, so why the name Nyx?

That brings me back to Hunt. Because he has some type of connection too. We don’t know much about bout him so obviously there will be some big important reveal. Nyx in the real mythology had a child names Aither (aether, light)… WHAT A COINCIDENCE FOR OUR HUNT ATHAR. It’s pretty close isn’t it? And think about hunts abilities. Electricity. But think about how he interacted with the gates, took the magic and energy from it. And all that electricity is LIGHT. So I FEEL LIKE THERE IS SOMETHING THERE. There has GOTTTTT to be a link. Maybe Bryce plays a part with Nyx, since her main thing is literally lighting up. And her phrase “light it up” so there IS A CONNECTION FOR SURE. I just don’t know how all the relatives and timing will sort out. But there’s definitely a lot to unpack.

Also side note, we know that TOG is the word where all fae are shifters with an animal form, and it’s very clear they are connected to CC because the Asteri have even stated that they took fae from a world like that. So maybe there’s a connection of our favorites there. But jeez there’s so many possibilities.

#sjmaas #sjm theories #sjm crossover #sjm books #sjm universe #sjmass #sjm

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vidalinav · 3 years

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Make Nesta a Witch 2021

I would love to see Nesta’s power actually being death or magic or something to do with souls, you know like this nuclear concept of life and death, rather than this abstract, philosophical concept of death and destruction. We know she still has some of the power, we just don’t know what it is. So let me explain.

Nesta is described almost always like a star, like this “newborn star” is what she’s referenced as when she first turns fae and there’s constant references to explosions. “When you erupt girl makes sure it’s felt across worlds” is what Amren says. When she first uses her powers it just kind of swipes out of her, blasting Hybern’s army, taking them out and leaving only ash. When she’s dreaming, she’s this glow-y bright mass of light that gets smothered by Rhysand’s darkness. When she faces briar-who’s-it-what’s-it her powers again explode out of her and is felt across Prythrian. In my head, the constant references to stars and exploding link to supernovas, and then to just this general concept of chaos and destruction... which I guess could be considered “death” in the most esoteric of ways. Again, I think this is a rather cabbalistic way of thinking of death. However it would make sense that Nesta wouldn’t know how to use this without destroying herself or hurting herself or losing control, which tended to happen, and why she wouldn’t want to use it as it would be horribly overwhelming for her. Because the concept itself of mass extinction, chaos at it’s core is already just too large to comprehend and it’s way more power than one person can really use and Nesta didn’t even know what it was, just that it was too much and it was sometimes out of her control.

But we see the littler aspects of life/death with her power, which personally I see as two sides of the same coin, especially when paired with this concept of making and unmaking things. When she makes the house, she essentially gives it life, but she also technically unmakes it because it’s no longer just a house. Like when she is made fae, that human part of her dies. It no longer exists. She’s not just changed. She’s entirely different. She can’t go back. And then we see this again, when she makes the weapons and then charms the bracelets. And we know because of what happened to Feyre, that Nesta probably could have saved her life without giving up any of her power except she didn’t know how to use them. So Nesta’s power couldn’t have been just “death.” I’m assuming that it would have probably been the life and death combo and this making and unmaking things concept. I think it should be said though that the people who said she was “death” or had “death-powers” was literally Feyre and Rhys, and they don’t know shit I’m sorry. Why would they? It was purely assumption. How can they really grasp that concept, and then just keep asking what did you take? Like didn’t you just say?

Anyways, we also know that SJM doesn’t like explaining powers in ACOTAR specifically. But it would make sense that Nesta would keep the power that SJM has already explained, if only to not have to do it again. Because she has to explain something, because Nesta still has some of that power. This being said though, I would LOVE if Nesta can now be the more accessible concept of life and death as in how it relates to people around her, how it perhaps relates to the magic of Prythrian, the balancing concept of life and death and the cosmos, making and unmaking things. The nuclear version of her power rather than the destruction of the cosmos themselves. A smaller concept of her regular powers that she can actually control and learn to use. Especially now that she’s blessed by the Mother, and the Mother is the one who spilled the cauldron’s contents to make the known world. Personally I would like this power to be related to like witchy magic, because why set up literally that idea and associate it purely with Nesta and never make her a witch? Especially since the Triple Goddess is literally a witch concept, and a cauldron is a witch thing, and now she has literally every association with witch lore. So... Nesta’s a witch.

That’s my conclusion.

Goodbye.

#I literally have theories about her power which I will write in fanfiction #nesta archeron #acosf #acosf spoilers

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houseofhurricane · 3 years

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ACOTAR Fic: Bloom & Bone (10/32) | Elain x Tamlin, Lucien x Vassa

Summary: Elain lies about a vision and winds up as the Night Court’s emissary to the Spring Court, trying to prevent the Dread Trove from falling into the wrong hands and wrestling with the gifts the Cauldron imparted when she was Made. Lucien, asked to join her, must contend with secrets about his mating bond. Meanwhile, Tamlin struggles to lead the Spring Court in the aftermath of the war with Hybern. And Vassa, the human queen in their midst, wrestles with the enchantment that turns her into a firebird by day, robbing her of the power of speech and human thought. Looming over all of them is uniquet peace in Prythian and the threat of Koschei, the death-god with unimaginable power. With powers both magical and monstrous, the quartet at the Spring Court will have to wrestle with their own natures and the evil that surrounds them. Will the struggle save their world, or doom it?

A/N: We're back to the Night Court in this chapter, and Elain has some ~feelings~. So does Tamlin. You can find all previous chapters here, or read Bloom & Bone on AO3. If you'd like to get an early peek at chapter 11 and all future chapters, follow me on Instagram at @house.of.hurricane. Thank you for reading! ❤️

As soon as Elain and Rhys disappear, Tamlin whirls on Lucien.

“You lied to me,” he says, the words barely more than a punctuated roaring.

Fire blooms in Lucien’s palms. It illuminates the hollows of his face.

“I couldn’t tell you anything then.” Though Lucien’s tone is soft, it is unmoving. “What would you have done, if you’d known? After the damage you’d already caused? She was still wet from the Cauldron.”

“You should have told me.”

“You cannot be so out of practice with politics as to think you could have come out victorious in the war that would have ensued. Feyre would have destroyed you.”

“You have a great degree of sympathy for these Archeron sisters.” He palms the hilt of his sword, letting the words dig their claws into Lucien. “You weren’t waiting for Elain to decide she loved you after all? Once the human queen had died, of course.”

Lucien finally hurls the bolt of fire and though Tamlin dodges it easily, he can smell his own singed hair. Lucien’s face is still, his eyes, both gold and russet, deadly and focused. The next onslaught will not be so easy to avoid. This was only a warning shot.

“You want to be left alone at this estate again and watch it crumble?”

“I want--” Tamlin starts, and then he thinks, and it’s as if his mind has been a blessed blank for hours or maybe years, because all of his thoughts are of Elain, all his longings center on her, every inch of his skin either recalling or trying to imagine how she would feel against him. Then he remembers what he did with feelings like these, how he hurt Feyre, and he shudders.

Lucien, damn him, does not even bother to pretend he didn’t see every thought that flickered across Tamlin’s face.

“I wouldn’t give up on her so easily,” he says, sounding almost conciliatory, though he hasn’t guttered the flames that burn between his palms. Once, Lucien used to argue with him the way good friends argue, knowing that rage will always be tempered by a deep affection.

“She went back to the Night Court.”

“Could you teach her how to use her powers?”

“Whatever would have kept her here,” Tamlin says, the words so honest they grate against his throat.

“There is too much at stake for you to start another war over whatever your cock wants.”

At that, Tamlin runs at Lucien, sword raised, and he’s blocked by a wall of fire. He could blast it away entirely, with the power inside him, but through the flames, he sees the pity in Lucien’s eyes, the same as the pity in Rhysand’s eyes after he’d finished yelling tonight, and it was the same expression on the faces of the Night Court artisans when they’d seen the sorry state of his estates. Even Elain has looked at him like this, Elain who does not trust him with her power or her heart.

He lets his sword fall, clanging, to the ground. The sharpening and oiling tomorrow will be extensive, will force a trip to the village and an exorbitant payment to the smith.

But little by little the fire banks, and he and Lucien are standing face to face, alone in the great hall of the Spring Court. All the servants are asleep, and Vassa and Elain have both disappeared.

“You’re not going to go off in search of Vassa as soon as I fall asleep, are you?” he asks.

“Elain extracted a promise that I’d stay. Though I’m sure the Night Court will be working on a plan in the morning.”

“I’ll help you find her.”

“You don’t have to make me any grand promises.”

“You know that’s not true.” When he was at his worst, Lucien stood by him. There are days when this fact, and what he made Lucien do, make his skin crawl. “This is just a fraction of what I owe. You would have torn the world apart, once, if I’d asked you.”

“It’s late and you’re getting maudlin,” Lucien says, his eyes roving across the hall, landing on the spot where Vassa disappeared, screaming.

Tamlin remembers how, with Feyre, in that time before Amarantha finally claimed him, every moment with her seemed like the last moment, her life so fragile he could snap it between her fingers. A human life was like the beam of light before the sun completed its descent on the horizon, the beauty enough to rend him completely.

“You love her, don’t you?” he asks, wondering if Lucien will laugh and say that Tamlin’s proven his point, the hour has grown very late and they both need sleep more than anything.

But instead Lucien gives the slightest nod, his eyes still fixed on the last place Vassa stood.

Tamlin rescued him once from the consequences of a match Beron deemed beneath his youngest son. He knows the value of this information, what he’s been trusted with knowing. He forces his mind to enclose this secret, bury it deep.

“Do you want to leave tonight?” he asks, and finally Lucien turns toward him, a rueful expression on his scarred face. Despite everything that’s happened, all the loss and defeat, the chaos and revelations, Tamlin feels some part of himself relax at the familiarity.

“I would have thought you’d try to avoid pissing off your mate, at least at the beginning.”

“Maybe she’ll find us heroic.”

For a moment, Lucien turns back to the spot where Vassa disappeared, and Tamlin is ready to reach out for him and urge him to winnow, to strike out for Koschei’s lake and whatever spells and horrors might greet them. But then Lucien turns toward him, and though his eyes look haunted, his face is resigned.

“We will need a better plan than I’ve been able to devise so far,” he says, and Tamlin knows his friend is truly at a loss, to admit his schemes and stratagems are not sufficient to the task. How much he must love her, to admit the futility of this plan and accept an inaction that might save her. “And Vassa is strong. She survived that first imprisonment.”

“I saw her on the battlefield. She’s a formidable opponent.”

“Imagine being in an argument with her.” Lucien’s smile almost looks genuine. “In all my years I’ve never been cursed at so inventively.”

“It seems you’ll need to build up quite a repertoire of apologies,” Tamlin says, clasping his shoulder, steering him to the staircase, towards whatever rest they can snatch from this longest of nights.

For the first time in years, Tamlin falls into sleep gently, easily. The walls do not close in on him. The night does not threaten with noises at the edges of his hearing, new monsters his half-sleeping mind will race to conjure. Instead, his sleep is lit by fire, scented by flowers.

They are all on the brink of sure disaster, his court closer to ruin than it has ever been. Still, he claims all the sleep the night will give him.

The Night Court is shocking in its familiarity, as if Elain had never left the estate by the river. By the time she wakes up, it’s nearly midday and Nuala and Cerridwen have moved all her gowns to her closet, all her jewels to their jewelry box, her perfumes and cosmetics and creams to their places on her vanity.

When she goes to select a dress for the day -- Rhys has left a note that she will meet with him and Amren in the afternoon, so first she’ll visit her gardens to see how they’ve fared in her absence -- she realizes that her simplest dresses have all been decorated with an exquisite floral embroidery, so that even her dull muslins do not require adornment. She thinks of Melis, holding the yellow gown so that it hid the knife.

That beauty could banish evil seems a tall order, Tamlin had said to her, on the day she took up residence at the Spring Court. But even if she’s still foolish and too innocent, Elain cannot accept Melis as purely evil. She wanted to be safe. She did not believe that she would be protected. Elain herself has felt these worries gnaw at her, has contorted herself into a pleasant creature who is easy to care for. Melis chose the knife instead.

Nuala and Cerridwen knock on her door and greet her with hugs, then fuss over her hair even after she tells them she’ll be in the garden most of the day, turning a simple bun into a riot of braids and curls, adorned with jasmine. She thinks of the gardenias pinned in her hair only the day before, a day which feels like a century must feel to the rest of the High Fae. The jasmine of the Night Court is a little more subdued than the gardenia, a little muskier, as if it had been caressed by a loving hand.

Elain jams her gardening hat on her head, enjoying the way it squashes the arches of her ears because the familiar twinge of pain distracts her thoughts from Tamlin and the Spring Court. It’s the gardens she’ll miss most of all, the decadence of all those pale and fragrant blossoms. Maybe she can convince herself to believe this lie, she thinks, smiling at Nuala and Cerridwen as the three of them arrange the blankets and pillows on her bed for the day. She tells them how much she’s missed them, asking them about the goings-on in the Night Court, the dinners and parties and, of course, the gossip. Nuala offers her scones made with lemon zest and cherries, which are delicious, and Cerridwen tells her that Feyre has started training with Nesta and her Valkyries, that when she and Nesta sparred, the other females watched them for hours, groaned when the fight ended in breathless laughter and a draw. She tells them about the Spring Court, though her tales focus on the gardens and her time with Vassa. When she demonstrates what she calls the Queen Voice, Nuala and Cerridwen both managed to look awed for a few seconds before they begin to giggle, and Elain can’t help but draw them close and breathe in their scent of vanilla and spices, the scents that first brought her back to herself and which always make her feel at home.

When she finally reaches the garden, the sun is high, but Elain realizes that the Night Court’s gardeners, trained by her and paid handsomely by Rhys, have kept the garden perfectly. The flowers are all exquisite and the plants have all been carefully tended without looking too meticulous, just the way she prefers, the hint of wildness which suggests that a garden is not a museum but rather alive.

Elain spends an hour wandering before she realizes she prefers this garden to what she’d left behind here two months ago. She’d been fussing over the details, planting and re-planting, and now the result looks effortlessly beautiful, perfect for Feyre and Rhys, for Nyx to wander through, chasing butterflies and learning the name of every color.

The Night Court no longer requires her for much of anything.

Before this epiphany can overwhelm her, she’s being pulled into a hug, enveloped by Feyre’s scent of lilac and pears.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Feyre murmurs, and Elain’s heart clenches at the way home will always sound like the voices of her sisters, the implications of this knowledge. “Rhys told me what happened. Do you want to talk about it?”

Elain loves that Feyre won’t ask if she’s all right, will never expect that from her.

“I’m not sure,” she says, because there are so many things she doesn’t know how to tell her sister, “but I want to hear how your training is going.”

“Annoyingly well, according to Nesta. Cassian will bring her in a little while for lunch. If you’re hungry?”

It hurts Elain to lie to Feyre, even when she thinks it’s for her sister’s own good, but it’s impossible to lie to Nesta, barely possible to even withhold the truth under her older sister’s penetrating gaze.

Still, she nods and smiles at Feyre, and when Nesta arrives, she hugs her tight. Sometimes, even after Nesta has found happiness and purpose and love, it still feels like a miracle to feel that she’s not wasting away to nothing, to feel the solidity of her muscles and the warmth of her body.

Over the meal, she tells them about the Spring Court gardens and about Vassa, her lessons in royal deportment, the topics she knows her sisters will expect or else enjoy. She can hear in the silences before their questions that they’re trying to ask about Lucien without being obvious, but when she runs out of her preferred topics, she begins to ask about training, about Feyre’s painting classes, the politics of the Night Court.

There are the usual rumblings from the Autumn Court, they tell her, and a tentative alliance with the Summer Court that’s growing more robust, based on a successful visit from Tarquin two weeks before.

“And is there any more news of Koschei?”

“Azriel is investigating,” Feyre says, her voice growing soft. “We will try and get Vassa free as soon as possible.”

“Though the enchantment will probably be tougher to break this time,” Nesta adds. “You should prepare yourself.”

“We can’t leave her for dead just because she’s a human queen.”

“That’s not what we’re doing,” Nesta says, and of course Elain knows she’s being unfair. Her sisters always consider the cost in human lives, have always liked Vassa, and anyway understand her value as an ally once she can return to Scythia. “But even with all of my powers, the way they were, I don’t think I could have beaten Koschei. Or don’t you think Rhys would’ve gone storming off to that lake this morning?”

“I understand that.” Elain can still feel Koschei’s hand on her wrist, the power she felt surging in him, though it was nothing compared to what she’d felt coming off the bone, and she’s not sure whether this was because of their location between worlds, or the spell that still binds him, but she knows he could have killed her as easily as breathing, still has no idea why he kept her alive, why he would let Tamlin retain her. “But if he’s able to leave his lake now, isn’t he a bigger threat than we thought?”

“He’s been able to communicate quite effectively when he needs to,” Feyre says, her eyes on Nesta.

“If anyone was going to go evil in Velaris, it was always going to be Merrill,” Nesta shoots back. The latest attack on the library had been brutal. Elain had found Feyre weeping over it in the gardens, and sat with her, handing over a dozen handkerchiefs until her tears subsided. The rebuilding was completed only a few weeks before she left for the Spring Court.

“How did you leave the gardens in the Spring Court?” Feyre’s tone is so familiar, and it occurs to Elain that she’s been steered like this for years, onto the topics that lead only to pleasant conversations.

“I’d like to meet with Azriel today,” she says, trying for the same tone of knowing gentleness. It sounds like a mockery, and she watches Feyre’s eyes widen.

“What would you like to discuss?” Nesta asks, her voice too smooth.

“I want to know what he knows about Koschei and put it together with what I’ve seen,” Elain says, and their shoulders lower in tandem. She exhales to keep from rolling her eyes. “I understand that he is no longer pining for me. Anyway, I can’t avoid him forever, and Vassa is too important.”

She’s never seen this look in Nesta’s eyes before.

“What happened to you in the Spring Court?” her older sister asks.

“I was unleashed on the gardens and had the longest night of my life.”

They are too used to the old version of her to steer the conversation into awkward topics, so instead Elain brings the conversation back to the happenings of the Night Court and her time in the Spring Court gardens. Nobody mentions Tamlin, and so she does not have to lie.

“When I arrived,” Rhysand says, “you were a pillar of light. Would you care to explain how that happened?”

“I picked up the bone. I told you this last night.”

“You said it spoke to you,” he continues, and she detects the performative twist to his voice, even though it’s only Amren in the room with them, Amren who tends to be older than any ancient or sacred or powerful object the rest of the court dredges up.

“It seemed to know who I was.”

“The Harp recognized Nesta,” Amren says.

“Are there myths of an ancient bone?” Rhys waggles his eyebrows, and Amren rolls her eyes.

“You little boys make everything about fucking,” she mutters at him, but she’s smirking.

“Have you seen the bone, Amren?” Elain asks.

“Not yet. I think that Rhys is hoping to perform a grand reveal.”

“I was only waiting until you’d heard the full story from Elain,” he says, and so Elain tells them what happened the night before, the chamber and the passageways and the great carved doors. She tells them only a little of what it told her -- the promises of power, though not the fact that it had called her little goddess, she’s not sure what she thinks of that, or what they might think of her -- and does not mention Tamlin’s voice or presence, only the fact that she dropped the bone and returned to the room.

When she finishes, the silence is laden. She turns first to Amren and then to Rhys, who crosses quickly to the door. Elain is sure that he will lead her to the hallway, that she’s revealed something horrific in her story, but when he opens it swiftly, Nesta and then Feyre trip into the room, and Rhys lunges forward to grab Nyx before he can so much as bobble in Feyre’s arms.

“If you had asked, I would have invited you both to this meeting,” he says, smirking at them as they straighten their skirts.

“I thought Elain would tell me the whole over lunch,” Feyre protests.

“You said that Rhys had told you everything!” Elain protests, surprised as the laugh bubbles in her throat. She’s not being cast out. Her sisters are here. They’ll help her come back to herself, to the girl in the garden who causes harm to no one, who betrothes herself to an appropriate male, who smiles prettily and loves well.

“I thought he had,” Feyre says, shooting a glare at Rhys that dissolves into a smile within seconds. “Did you think about opening any of the doors?”

“I wasn’t sure what I would have done if there was something horrible on the other side,” Elain says, too relieved to be anything but honest. “I only picked up the bone because I wanted to stop it from talking to me.”

“What was so horrible?” Nesta asks, her gaze unflinching.

“It saw what I could be,” she says, and her sisters both nod at her, and Elain wishes she’d told them over lunch, that they’d been seated here from the beginning.

“I saw your bone in a vision, when I was in the Prison,” Nesta says. “Lanthys showed me his version of how we’d dominate the world, and apparently we held a bone wrapped in fabric on an altar behind our thrones.”

Amren rises, steps aside to reveal a little dias.

“Did it look like this, girl?” she asks, the pleasure at the dramatic flourish evident in her voice, in the appraising look Rhys gives her. Amren turns her eyes to Elain. “Does it still speak to you?”

If there were whispers, she’d tuned them out, but as Elain steps closer, the voice returns.

You’ve traveled far, little girl, it says in its thousand voices, and you seem very unaware of how long the road stretches before you.

I do not like to think about eternity, she thinks before she can stop herself. How silly, to be thinking at an object, no matter how powerful it seems to be.

Do you want to spend a thousand years waiting in your garden, until some lesser male rescues you?

The question sounds so much like something Vassa would ask, so that Elain’s vision blurs.

“I don’t understand how all of this connects to Koschei,” she says, trying to block the bone’s voice out of her mind. “We don’t know what Vassa is enduring. We need to free her, not worry about this bone or what I might be able to do with it.”

“You wouldn’t last a moment in a fight with Koschei,” Amren says, crossing her arms.

“He’s already had his chance.”

“Then he wanted you alive, which could be worse.” Amren studies Elain for a moment, and she can feel Nesta and Feyre start to bristle.

“I left the Spring Court because Rhys thought you could train me with these powers. I don’t want to be used as bait, if all I am is helpless damsel.” Though she knows Amren has lost her powers, Elain still feels the fear coil inside her. Her body has always been slow to unlearn its lessons. “But we need to rescue Vassa.”

“If we all get killed rescuing Vassa, then she’s stuck with Koschei forever,” Nesta says, her eyes moving between Elain and Rhys, as if waiting for him to contradict her. “Vassa survived Koschei for months before our father helped her escape.”

“What if he’s torturing her?” She should be embarrassed by the sound the tears make, clotting her voice, but instead she’s thinking of Vassa’s screams, her rage and fear, Tamlin’s fingers hard on her wrist as she ran for the woman. For all his strength, he could barely keep her from escaping his grasp.

“You cannot be near Koschei,” Rhys says. He’s using the deceptively calm tone he likes to employ when he refuses to be contradicted. “We’re lucky he didn’t take you with Vassa, especially when he’d already captured you.”

“You were the key, weren’t you?” Amren says, not caring that she’s interrupting Rhys’ monologue. Her eyes widen. “I do not think you are a seer, girl.”

It is an effort not to roll her eyes at Amren’s dramatics.

“Then why do I have these visions?”

“Do your visions always come to pass?”

Nesta’s eyes narrow. “You saw Cassian die once.”

“All futures look the same to me, no matter when they happen in time,” Elain says. “And anyway, Azriel thought that--”

“You’re not seeing the future.” Amren has the gall to smirk. “You’re standing at the crossroads between worlds and looking through the window. All Koschei needed was to touch you, and his curse thought he’d left this world behind. Thanks to you, he could unbind himself from that lake.”

“Koschei didn’t try to grab you before he took Vassa?” Feyre’s voice is soft and soothing but Elain knows her, sees that her mind is churning.

“I… Tamlin pulled me away.”

She feels the weight of all their eyes.

“Where was Lucien?” Rhys asks, and Elain wants to snap he’s not my mate! But she’s not ready to have the conversation, to linger with the way everyone will have their feelings and expect her to adopt them. Not when her thoughts still hum with Tamlin, above even the whispers from the bone.

“Everything happened quickly,” she says, reaching for her temples as if her head aches. “Lucien was trying to get to Vassa. And I’m sure Tamlin knew what Nesta would do to him if Koschei took me again.”

“He already took you once.” Nesta’s eyes glitter. She’s already prepared to unleash herself on the Spring Court, diplomacy or no.

“That was Melis.”

“And where is she being held now?” Rhys asks.

“Lucien and Tamlin secured her in the servants’ quarters. We tried to question her but she wasn’t especially forthcoming.”

“Azriel should speak with her,” Amren says.

“No.” Elain makes the declaration the way Vassa would, daring them all to contradict her. “We do not torture Melis.”

“You do not understand Koschei.” Amren tosses the words off, already dismissing Elain as she turns to Rhys.

Before he can speak, Elain makes her declaration.

“Melis had good reasons to do what she did. The citizens of the Spring Court do not feel that they are safe against any invading force from the continent or the Autumn Court or even the human lands. Koschei promised her security. If you were small and alone in the world, wouldn’t you have done the same thing? We need to remedy the situation at the Spring Court, and make sure that the border with the human lands is not being abused.”

“Tamlin has had every opportunity to stabilize his court and instead he’s wandered off into the woods. You should be aware of how often this court has offered him counsel. He has not chosen to heed it.” Rhys is always deadliest when he’s quiet, but now Elain recognizes this strategy. A powerful ruler knows that volume isn’t required. Subjects and supplicants will always lean closer, bare their necks out of eagerness alone.

“Our court ensured the destruction of the Spring Court,” Elain says, trying to match his tone. She does not look at Feyre, though she knows this is an act of cowardice, but presses on before anyone can interrupt her. “I am aware that the costs were considered, but if there is war between the courts, we played our role. If the Spring Court falls, who will rule it? Tamlin has no heir. It will be even easier for Koschei to gain a foothold. And Tamlin is trying to win his people back. This is not the work of a single day, Rhys. I would imagine you know how long it takes to gain the loyalty of citizens.”

She can feel the weight of their eyes on her. Has she ever spoken so much without stopping in their company?

“Vassa gave me lessons in diplomacy,” she says, into their silence.

“She found the perfect student,” Rhys says, and though there’s something diminutive in his words, Elain also hears their fondness, and schools her face into a smile. “We still need information from Melis. And Tamlin must secure his borders.”

“We need Azriel,” Amren says, and aims a pointed look at Feyre, who shrugs.

“Elain has asked to meet with him as well,” she says. “We may as well invite the rest of the court.”

“We’re going to need food if Cassian’s coming,” Nesta says. “And not that anyone asked me, but I think we’re going to have to put Elain in training.”

Tamlin has changed his plans for the day a hundred times already, but when he passes Lucien in the great hall, he imagines how disappointment would look on the other male’s face and asks, “Would you like to come to the village with me today?”

Lucien gives a tight nod.

“Rhysand hasn’t summoned you to his court yet?”

“I’m sure he’s still gathering information.” Lucien’s voice is strained, and Tamlin thinks that whatever he feels for Vassa must be the love of songs and legends if he’d abandon all his stratagems and schemes and rely so entirely upon the Night Court “I’ll go with you. The smith is making a set of throwing knives for me.”

Tamlin isn’t sure if Lucien is trying to shield him from the blacksmith’s dismissal or whether he wants company when he investigates knives that were probably meant for Vassa, but either way they have a pleasant enough ride into the village, a companionable quiet descending between them. He still finds himself looking longingly at the forest, imagining the way the cool morning air would feel on his skin, crisp as it cuts through the fur of his beast form. It’s midsummer in the rest of Prythian, but the mornings here still have a little chill, perfect for a run amidst the trees.

When they reach the smith, Ilya will not meet Tamlin’s eyes and it occurs to him, much too late, that his son Vuc was killed in the battle with Hybern, an ash arrow in his heart. He should have made this visit months ago.

Beside him, Lucien greets the smith warmly, flashing a smile as if they were old friends.

“Tamlin seems to have had some trouble with his sword,” he’s explaining, “I reminded him that you are the best smith in the village, he didn’t need to try and fix it himself.”

Ilya shoots a grimace towards Tamlin, who unsheathes his sword in a fluid motion. He thinks about letting the exchange pass in silence, Lucien doing his best to bridge the awkward gap, and then he thinks of Elain, the night before, standing tall in her bedroom even with her blood dried on her neck and splattered on the carpet, the purple half-circles blooming under her eyes from terror and exhaustion. How he’d wanted to hold her. Let your acts be your apology, she’d said, her crossed arms her only armor.

“I am sorry about the loss of your son,” he says, loud enough to hear over the sound of the forge.

Ilya only grunts in reply, the mallet in his hand swinging harder than seems strictly necessary. Beside him, Lucien gives him a small nod.

“I have recently been told that I’ve been sulking in the woods instead of ruling my court,” he continues, steeling himself to keep his voice audible, though it feels to him as if the whole village could hear him admitting weakness. Still, Ilya seems to muffle the sounds of his work ever so slightly. “You are well regarded in this village, and I know that this reputation is well-earned. In addition to my apology, I wanted to seek your counsel.”

Ilya is staring now, but he’s looking at Lucien when he finally seeks.

“Is he serious?” he asks, his voice ragged and angry, and Tamlin thinks that he’s tried this last desperate attempt too late, but Lucien gives another little nod, and though what Tamlin really wants to do is turn around and make a beeline to the forest, he continues.

“I lost sight of the fact that the most important thing in my life is ruling this court. Not love or loss. I am your High Lord and I abandoned you. I left you alone in your grief. I left all of you, my people, alone in your grief and fear and loss.” He heaves a breath, the daggers on his baldric thumping against his chest, barely padded by the fabric of his tunic so that they each land their own little blow. “I want to apologize to you and I want to be a better High Lord. Will you do me the honor of giving me your counsel?”

“You won’t throw me in the forest if I tell you something you don’t like?” Ilya sets the glowing sword down, his mallet next to it. For the first time, he is looking straight at Tamlin.

“I swear on my life that I will only listen.”

“Get rid of the tithe. You are rich and we have sacrificed enough over your folly.” Ilya pauses, eyes darting between Tamlin and Lucien, trying to calculate which one of them will rush at him and commence the punishment for his frankness. “Secure the borders. I can’t speak for everyone in the village, but I don’t much care about the humans one way or another. But there are rumors swirling across the land that you cannot rule this court, and one of the other High Lords is sure to pounce. Unless the stories have already reached the continent.”

“And if I need to raise an army to achieve all this?” He fights to keep himself from roaring. Ilya clearly does not understand the first thing about ruling and Tamlin has no idea how to do any of these things, not with his court in the state its in. But things cannot continue as they have been. That much has become clear to him. The figure of the High Lord is not enough to keep even his own servants in check.

“I will gladly serve a High Lord who cares enough to protect his people in this world,” Ilya says, and picks up the mallet again, his eyes back to the sword. “Will you let me know if he ever arrives?”

“We’ll be back for the sword in an hour,” Lucien says, into the tension, and pulls Tamlin through the door.

“There’s no point in this,” Tamlin says once they’re outside. He speaks into his own hands, which blot out his face from the light. “If my own subjects feel they can speak to me like this--”

“Then they might actually care enough to share their opinions.”

“Or they want to be rid of me.”

“Or they believe you can be a better High Lord.” Lucien steps forward, into the sunlight, and waves Tamlin forward. “Let’s try another shop.”

After they’ve visited three shops and four cottages, distinct themes emerge: everyone believes the Tithe is too high and doesn’t see its value, they are angry about Hybern, do not understand how Tamlin could have betrayed his guards. They miss having Feyre in their court, but they say this with trepidation, and Tamlin realizes they know more than he realized, the way he pulled at the seams of the world to rescue her, only to find ashes in his hands. They tell him about the weapons they’ve hidden under their beds, how they’re teaching their children how to use swords and daggers and bows with arrows made from fallen branches.

Three stops in, he begins to get used to these complaints. He starts asking questions. What if the Tithe were used to raise an army? What would make them feel safer in their homes? Did they feel safe during his father’s reign, and why?

The villagers do not all answer in the same way, and this makes Tamlin want to tear out his hair from the roots, but Lucien has produced a pen and paper and takes notes dutifully, and so he continues with his questions until he sees the speakers’ faces soften.

In the last cottage, speaking to a young mother whose husband was lost to Hybern, he says, finally, “I will try to be better. I will try to keep your children safe.”

And when the faerie smiles at him, her silver skin glistening in the noon light, Tamlin realizes that this is the first time he’s truly enjoyed his position. There are a thousand problems, many that may be beyond fixing, but the first steps toward solutions are buzzing in his brain, like the bees that flock to his gardens.

Returning to the forge, he pays Ilya triple the standard fee, and leaves before the smith can thank or curse him. Either way, the sword feels lighter on his back, as if he’s been relieved of some great weight.

He and Lucien are halfway back to the estate before he speaks.

“I never wanted to be High Lord,” he says, the truth he’s usually kept hidden.

Beside him, Lucien huffs a laugh, and Tamlin realizes he’s trying not to say I know.

He wants to force his emissary, his former friend, to compliment him instead, to say that he’s been a great High Lord, that poems will be written of his deeds. In truth, he knows there are a few heroics on his ledger, though they do not outweigh the evil he’s committed or allowed.

Instead, he says, “How did you gain all this diplomatic skill?”

“I was always afraid my father was going to kill me. I learned to intuit his moods, make him happy or get out of the range of his wrath. It’s not so hard when you’ve been trained from boyhood.”

Tamlin thinks of those first wooden practice swords, the way they’d made his muscles strain until he mastered them, gained the required strength to wield them, and then the swords and daggers he now handles with ease. He thinks, only for a second, of the threat of his own father and his older brothers, the violence, the way they would harm every soft part of him, any place he left vulnerable. The exhaustion of the visit to the village is the only reason this door in his mind has opened even a crack. If he allowed it to open, he does not know how he would function.

“You will help me parse this mess of anger and complaints?” The self-deprecation is purposeful, both to elevate Lucien and, if he’s being very honest, to achieve a little praise for himself.

“I think it’s better than you fear. Your people want to talk to you. And you really listened to them today, Tam. I saw their faces. They still have some hope in you.” Then Lucien shoots him a smirk, as if to say that he heard the request for praise and isn’t prepared to dole it out in full, particularly not under such pathetic circumstances.

“I always thought a good ruler didn’t need to ask for advice.” He never saw his father ask a single question.

“That could be why everything’s gone wrong.”

Tamlin allows himself a momentary silent anger, and then masters himself enough to say, “You’re lucky you’re such a skillful ambassador, or someone would’ve killed you years ago.”

Lucien only smirks.

When Azriel walks in the room, Elain’s body does not react. Probably this is the result of the mating bond, but it feels like a victory, the absence of visceral desire or pain. Behind him, Cassian lingers in the doorway, finishing a story that makes Gwyn, standing next to him, burst out laughing. Instantly the mood in the room lightens.

“You needed me?” Azriel asks Rhys, in that soft voice that cuts through any noise.

“Actually, your presence was requested by Elain,” Rhys says, his voice sharper than it needs to be. “She thinks you might be able to share your knowledge on Koschei.”

“I’ve told you everything I know,” Azriel says. He doesn’t look at Elain, and this makes her want to scream. If his love for Gwyn is so all-encompassing, surely he can hazard a glance at her.

“But if we funnel everything through Rhys,” she says, hardly bothering to mask her irritation, “then everything we know is filtered through his interpretations. Not everything needs to be quite so secret. You and I have now both seen Koschei face to face. Who else has that level of information on him?”

“I’ve seen him and I didn’t enjoy the encounter,” Cassian says, smirking. “And Gwyn had an encounter, when she and Azriel freed his other captives.”

“I never heard that story,” Elain says, sharp, and everyone looks at her as if startled by some fundamental transformation.

“We didn’t think you needed to know.” Feyre’s voice is soothing. “You weren’t going to the Spring Court to go after Koschei.”

“I’d like to hear what happened.” The words sound sulky, petulant. Elain thought she was convening a meeting that would drive some grand military or diplomatic strategy, and instead she’s forced to acknowledge, once again, that she’s really been the Night Court’s most overpaid gardener. She had been so happy to return, and in the span of the last half-hour, she’s been forcefully reminded of why she wanted to leave this court.

“You were actually our first source of information on Koschei,” Azriel says, “in one of the visions you had when you first arrived. We were able to locate the rest of the girls, but we weren’t able to find the onyx box from your vision.”

Elain can barely remember what he’s talking about. Those first visions are hazy in her mind. Only fragments remain, as if she’d gotten horrifically drunk and tried to recollect the night’s events in detail, weeks later.

But she tries not to dwell on this, one more gap in her memories, as she listens to Azriel and Gwyn tell her about their mission to Koschei’s lake, the girls he held, glamoured as swans and muted by a barrage of spells. Human and faerie, their throats gone raw and bloody with screaming as soon as they could speak. Tortured and worse, though their faces both grow strained when they reach this part of the story. They double back to speak of strategy, the way they cased Koschei’s habitation for any trace of information or treasure or artifact, found either a glamour so strong neither one could penetrate it, or nothing at all. There hadn’t been enough time to be certain.

“Why couldn’t you rescue Vassa?”

“She was already gone,” Gwyn says, too patiently.

“But there was no way to break the enchantment?”

“My own magic does not untangle complex spells,” Azriel sighs, his shadows clustering closer towards him, Gwyn following after. “Lucien is the expert, or Helion. I’ve been told Lucien has been attempting new methods at breaking Vassa’s curse. Did he mention anything to you?”

“We didn’t speak much, at the Spring Court,” Elain says, fighting to keep her face expressionless, but across the room, Rhys raises his eyebrow.

“Did you ask him to leave you alone?”

“Lucien stayed quite busy,” she says, though Elain isn’t actually sure if this is true. Lucien spent most days with Vassa at the lake, sometimes visiting the village or trying to offer advice to Tamlin with limited success, but he dodged nearly all of the visits from the Night Court. They would have smelled Vassa’s scent on him immediately. “In fact, I believe he still has business at the Spring Court.”

“You asked for the truth but you’re concealing something,” Rhys says, his voice light, but Elain watches Feyre reach for him and knows she’s not imagining the promise of danger in his tone. “Are you going to tell me, or will we have to extract the truth from Lucien?”

“Rhys--” Feyre starts, but as much as Elain’s own secrets are dark and dangerous and, if anything, she only needs to learn how to keep them closer, there is one secret with which she can unburden herself, one that, at least temporarily, will restore to her the power to choose her own life, whatever follows.

“Lucien isn’t my mate,” she says, and though this is supposed to be a shocking revelation, she can’t help the smile that blooms on her lips, the relief that sings in her.

“He knows you think this?” Rhys walks toward her, and Feyre pulls him toward her.

“I went into his mind,” she says, her eyes wide and a little wretched. Feyre knows what she’s admitting, the violation. “It seemed clear to me that he believed --”

Elain does not allow her sister, the High Lady, to continue speaking, because she’s worried that if she or Rhys have their say, her reality will be dismissed as supposition. She has sat at dinner with Lucien many times in these last few years, but those meals only became enjoyable when no one was trying to convince her to fall in love with him, subtly pointing out all his virtues and telling flattering stories about his heroics and schemes. Vassa was more likely to laugh at him for something ridiculous he’d said when he thought she was too far across the lake to hear, and the first time Elain heard Lucien laugh along with them, she knew she truly liked this male. The friendship, now, is too precious to disappear in a political alliance.

“Lucien is not my mate. I am not his mate,” she declares to everybody in the room, her sisters and their mates, the majority of the Court of Dreams, who in this moment does not seem so extraordinary. Her hands, at her sides, are balled into fists. “I am sure that he is busy in the Spring Court, but you can ask him if you’d like.”

Rhys only nods and disappears, and in the quiet moments that follow, Elain sees that nobody wants to look at her. When Feyre and Nesta finally meet her eyes, their gazes are apologetic, but Elain’s heart is thumping too hard to mouth any words of comfort. Soon, Rhys will return and she’ll be free.

But Rhys does not winnow into the room alone. Lucien is caught up in his arms, a dagger at his neck.

“Why are you covered in the scent of Queen Vassa,” Rhys asks, in a snarling whisper, “and why did you announce to the world that Elain was your mate? It seems that I was wrong to trust you.”

Lucien’s eyes, the russet and the gold, whirl to Elain, and in spite of all her better judgement, the fact that she has no idea what he’ll say, how Rhysand will react, she nods. Let him say whatever’s needed to free Vassa, to unbind them.

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patruchilles · 4 years

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might it be just me, but despite all the mistrust and uneasiness between the two, the friendship between lucien and feyre is just really pure? and heartwarming? i dont know, why but i really ship the two, platonically.

in the beginning of acotar, lucien was seen as snarky and sarcastic to feyre, claiming that if she died he won’t shed a tear, yet when she ‘died’ under the mountain, he literally stepped from the crowd and whispered no. because don’t tell me he wouldn’t mourn her death because he really would. believe it or not, lucien has grown fond of the human girl.

and when feyre was at the night court, she was so angry at tamlin, but not only him, but also angry at lucien—who she thought was her friend. lucien who tried to help her, yet was always caught on a leash. she was hurt because she has grown close to lucien, him being one of her first true friends since she set foot in prythian.

and when feyre returned to the spring court in acowar, lucien knew all the lies she hid behind her mask, and yet was still there for her despite her lies. and she knew all the lies she was throwing in his face but they’re still their for each other.

i ship them so much. platonically. can we have a moment to appreciate feyre and lucien’s friendship? it has it’s ups and downs ever since the beginning but they’re so pure and perfect for each other, as friends.

this one quote got to me:

He might have completed the Great Rite with Ianthe of his own free will, but he certainly hadn’t enjoyed it. Some line had been blurred—badly.

And my heart shifted a bit in my chest as I said to him with no guile whatsoever, “I won’t tell anyone unless you say so.” The weight of that jeweled knife and belt seemed to grow. “I wish I had been there to stop it. I should have been there to stop it.” I meant every word.

Lucien squeezed our linked arms as we rounded a hedge, the house rising up before us. “You were a better friend to me, Feyre,” he said quietly, “than I ever was to you.”

—

i kid you not, my heart literally burst out of my chest. because despite everything, despite the rift of their friendship, the mistrust, the chaos, they still deeply care for one another. their conflict didn’t get in the way of how much they mean to each other. i can just honestly manage how amazing their dynamic would be if all things mended between them, and they become good friends again.

okay, rant over, but my heart still beats for their friendship. as a brotp though, because i can imagine that. my heart also belongs to feysand :)

#acotar #acowar #acomaf #feyre archeron #feyre #lucien vanserra #feyre x lucien #feysand #a court of wings and ruin #userreya

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wildfirewritings · 7 years

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An Empire of War and Ruin - Chapter 1

Rating: Teen and Up (May change later)

Fandoms: A Court of Thorns and Roses, Throne of Glass

Chapter: 1/?

AO3: Here

Summary: She had meant to break the barriers, to allow Rhys and her Inner Circle to flee. She hadn't meant to unlock a power that she didn't know was caging her very soul, tearing her from the world she knows and throwing her into a new realm.

Feyre Archeron - Cursebreaker, Spellbreaker, Converger of Worlds

The only way to uncover where she is, and how to get back home, is by making allies in a torn and broken world, even if that means searching for a lost queen, finding friends in the oddest of people, assisting in a war, and realizing that fae in this realm want her as dead as those in Prythian. (Diverges from the end of ACOMAF. After EOS. Eventual ACOWAR elements)

A little idea I've had for a while. Will I finish writing the whole dang thing? I don't know. But it keeps reappearing in my mind, so...

Deviates from the ACOMAF ending, straight to right after Empire of Storms. As the story progresses, some ACOWAR elements will appear. Woooo.

Chapter One: A Hidden Light

"If you're so willing to hand out bargains, perhaps I'll make one with you.”

Rhys—oh Rhys. Feyre knew him, knew him all too well, knew that he would do any and everything to keep his friends—his family—safe. To keep her safe. The King of Hybern could demand Rhys's head on a silver platter for his friends to have a guaranteed exit, and he would comply. The bounds of his love, of his selflessness, were limitless, and Feyre knew that if she refused to do anything, to let him find some sort of compromise, that there would be sacrifice.

She was healed, overall. Healed from Amarantha, from Under the Mountain, from those innocent lives she had to take. But that didn't mean she could handle whatever plan her mate had.

She couldn't see her family hurt anymore.

Her family, her friends. They were here, bleeding onto the cobblestone, staining the ground a sickly crimson. She had one task, and she failed them.

They didn't need her, not really. She had failed with being an emissary, and failed with the Cauldron. But them...the Third, the Commander, the Spymaster, and the High Lord. The Night Court needed them—Velaris needed them. She wasn't important. And they...they had all given enough.

So she could give up whatever she needed to. Anything to let them escape.

Her eyes flickered from her court, to her mate, to her sisters. They needed to leave.

Feyre was not afraid.

She collapsed on her knees in a spasm. Sobs escaped her gnashing, clenched teeth as she gripped her hair and pulled, the wracks that left her body so violent—

That spell the King put couldn't reach her in time as she exploded, leashed all that she possibly could, into breaking past that choking, iron fist.

Rhys reached for her, but she continued. All of her power reached out into pure, white light. Cleansing, purifying, washing her whole. She reached that flash into every dark corner and nook she could find. Past the spell, past the barriers and glamours...so far and thorough that she could feel something new arise.

It erupted through the room, breaking the wards and anything else it dared touch. She could feel it in the Cauldron, in the book Rhys hid in his jacket...in a fae, like molten lava pooling in her chest.

And in the first time in her life, Feyre felt something unlock within her. A key that unlocked her very soul.

The light was no longer Day's light that she had released for only her mate. It became something different. She could feel it prowl through her very bones, igniting each and every vein in her body, warming her insides until she felt like she was glittering—not like the glow that she released with Rhys in their private moments in the cabin, but...like the sun. Like a star.

Voices—there were voices somewhere. Hisses, cries of confusion and outrage. But they were all so far away, fading away more with each passing second. All she saw was light everywhere, whole, consuming—

“Feyre!”

The last of it released, and she felt herself tumbling into blackness.

The first thing that hit her was the smell.

She knew it well enough. Even before she had fae senses, her human ones could recognize the scent anywhere. Trees, the grass, a light breeze, damp dirt, and moss; a place of hunting and training.

A forest. So familiar, but different enough with the faint smell of the sea to let her know that it was no area she had ever stepped in.

The ground was next. Moist, firm, grass tickling the back of her neck and her ears. Then the sounds of ruffling leaves and buzzing insects.

And a massive headache.

A groan left her stiff lips. She fought to open heavy lids, only to be greeted with a blurry forest and cloudless sky. Another grunt past clenched teeth, and she blinked slowly several times until the view could focus. Tall trees surrounded her, with birds passing by with the flap of wings and the occasional fly flying far too close to her face for comfort.

Every limb in her body was aching and stiff. Even rising to a sitting position proved to be a challenge, arms wobbling and hisses of pain escaping her. Leaves were stuck to her leathers—and probably her hair, too—but she couldn't find it in her to care. Not when everything else was distracting her.

Rhys, Mor, Azriel, Cassian, Elain, Nesta...even those mortal queens and the King of Hybern, Jurian, and Tamlin and Lucien. No where in sight, and not a single sign around to indicate that they were in the area.

And that power that she had unleashed unto the world. She had meant to use it to break the wards so her friends could leave. She had meant to crawl to Tamlin and find a way to make his court fall. She hadn't meant to...do whatever she did.

She looked around, wincing at having to move her neck. Maybe in the midst of all the chaos, she had winnowed somehow. Or maybe Mor or Rhys did...as long as it wasn't Tamlin or Hybern. Reaching whatever magic she had left in her out, she tried to feel the bond, only to be met with...air. Not a wall or a cage, but she felt nothing.

The mating bond...she couldn't feel a trace of it.

Rhys Rhys Rhys Rhys—

She was so preoccupied in her thoughts, so tired with the new soreness heavily weighing down on her muscles, that she didn't even hear footsteps until they were right behind her.

And the scent...definitely not anyone she knew.

Remaining sitting, she whirled her torso around, body protesting at the movement. There, standing tall, was a fae male she had never seen before, with silver hair, green eyes, tan skin, and tattoos in ruins she didn't understand decorating one whole side of his face, and downwards.

He gripped her shoulder, hard enough on the already aching area that a cry of protest left Feyre's lips. Staring deeper into his eyes, she saw nothing like mercy. Only rage and desperation.

“Who are you?” he seethed. “And who sent you?”

Thoughts??

I don't know, I've seen a lot of things where Aelin ends up entering the ACOTAR world, but I haven't really seen a lot the other way around, where Feyre (and possibly others?) enter the TOG world. I know the first one probably makes more sense (wyrdmarks, wyrdkeys, portals, yada, yada, yada) but I just want to see if I can do this. With it seeming believable.

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rattle-the-stars-gb-blog · 6 years

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ACOTAR fanfic ch.1

I was on the edge of the street, sprawled across the curb. Confusion panged through me. I rose at the same time wailing resounded in my chest, coming from the street over. I knew then, something awful had happened. Panic gripped me and I was afraid to see the destruction of my home, Velaris. What happened? A crushing headache slammed into my head, crippling my thoughts.

Pushing through the pain, I tried to remember what happened. Even though the headache clouded the memories I desperately craved, flashes peaked through my consciousness. Not enough to actually know what happened... but enough for specific emotions and sensations, images and people to flash in my mind. Pain, death, suffering.

Fear, crippling fear crashed through me. A battle had happened. I raised my gaze from the cracked stones of the sidewalk and looked to my surroundings. Tears welled in my eyes. Bodies were everywhere, blood leaking from their wounds. Some of them stirred, while others did not. My people. There was so much blood and death. So much pain and suffering; and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Breathe. Just Breathe. Your name is Asteria. You live in Velaris. You love to read and to paint. This is your home... you will not be afraid. I told myself trying to calm down

A blood curdling stream echoed throughout the streets. The scream had come from the Rainbow, the artists quarter of Velaris. The most peaceful quarter, and it seemed as if the concentration of the enemy force was there. I then realized... the fight was not over. Velaris could still be saved, and the people I cared for so much could live. If only there was someone there to stop the carnage and defeat the unknown attackers of my home. I tried to get up but pain lanced through my side.

"Ahh," I sucked in a breath as I looked down. Blood was soaking through my tunic, originating from a gash in my side.

I ignored the pain, Gods know that I've had worse injuries, and I stood up to face the incoming assault. My power rose to help me, but I refused and pushed it down. Causing it to churn in anticipation. I gripped the blades hidden in my tunic ready for a fight. I crouched down into my fighting stance, blades at the ready, as I surged towards the Rainbow, prepared to defend my home.

But then I saw a strange woman. One I had seen earlier that day, I think. I was not able to remember, but the woman looked and smelled familiar. She stomped down at the edge of the water, and the water rose to her command. I sucked in a breath. Such power she held.

She closed her eyes as if preparing for something. But when she opened them, pure power churned in her irises. Her blades rose and the river obeyed her command rising with her blades, forming shapes. She was creating hounds out of water and as they broke free, the creatures began to flee. The woman was rushing them towards the intruders of her home, her golden brown hair streaming behind her. The woman was rushing with her water wolves destroying enemies in her wake, cutting down more soldiers that had surrounded the shopkeeper she defended earlier. The sight of her stirred a memory and I let it engulf me.

"My name is Feyre. " she answered. Furrowing her brow. So, the woman coming to aid the rainbow was called Feyre. I had never heard the name, but nevertheless, she smelled familiar.

Feyre halted whispering two words, "The Sidra," and rushed towards the river. Leaving me to deal with the creatures. I unstrapped my blades and fell into my training from so long ago. Rushing towards the creatures, roaring I dealt them fatal blows. Liberating their heads from their necks. I rushed down the street, bodies of the creatures in my wake.

Her name was Feyre, and she was defending the rainbow with water wolves of her own creation. I marveled at the power she wielded. My own power still churning within me. I saw Feyre raise her arm and as she did, the winged creatures fell from the sky and then shattered upon impact on the stones. She had frozen their wings.

The screams changed. They were no longer from the people around me, but from the soldiers and creatures attacking us as Feyre's water wolves raged around us. I saw her look up into the sky as she sent birds made of water towards an escaping creature. Irritation crossed her face as I stood still, in awe of this familiar yet unknown woman. She sheathed her blade and picked up an arrow before winnowing onto a nearby rooftop. I was amazed when she winnowed again, but this time she landed right on top of the creature.

A shudder passed through me as tendrils of night whispered through the streets, searching for someone. I ran from the tendrils into a nearby shop hiding from the familiar powers. Evading recognition in this time of chaos. I looked outside the window back towards Feyre and the creature screamed. I gasped as she turned into a ball of flame and the creature began to fall. I looked closer and I saw that she had punctured his wings with arrows the soldiers had been firing at us with earlier.

The dark tendrils retreated, finding the one they searched for. They found their way back to their dark master and then started to surge for Feyre. I knew I should run, but I was in a trance that I could not escape. I opened the door to the shop and stood in the frame, marveling at what Feyre was doing. This woman I didn't know, sacrificing herself for people who did not know her. As the creature and Feyre descended I saw her stab the creature over and over again with a personal vendetta. Right before they both hit the stones of the street, Feyre winnowed away, leaving the creature to splatter on the stones. She appeared next to it and rose, right before falling against the wall behind her.

I made to rush and help her but something stopped me in my tracks. Star flecked night swept through the streets. I could hear grunting and squelching before the night was lifted, before it reached me. I breathed a sigh of relief. A man was in front of Feyre. Lifting her chin to meet his eyes. I stiffened. Eyes I knew where violet, like my own. Love bloomed in Feyre's eyes as the high lord leaned forward meeting her with a gentle kiss. Rhysand. The high lord. He looked at the woman with such love that it made me tear up. I heard him whisper her name, like a prayer, Feyre. Then I knew, she, the woman I had met moments ago-- Feyre-- was his. His beloved...his mate. I could clearly see the golden chain of their bond reaching from her chest and towards his. She collapsed into his arms and began to cry. I took a step forward, my body betraying my mind. And then the high lord stiffened, smelling the air as recognition of my scent hit home. I reached into my pocket spraying the potion on my neck to reduce my scent. I calmed, knowing he could no longer smell me I watched from afar as tears welled in his eyes remembering that scent and the pain that went with it. But the tears never fell. He looked to his mate with steely resolve and calmed.

It brought tears to my eyes. He was being strong, not for himself, but for his mate. He nuzzled her neck comforting her. As my own tears dripped from my cheeks I ran away from the embraced couple. I ran so not be to discovered. Recognized. It brought even more tears to my face. I should be running towards him, not away from him. Towards the boy who once brought great comfort... but only brought sadness and lingering pain to be felt now. The high lord, my...never mind what he was. I was dead to that world and I would never go back. To the heartbreak and the danger.

I ran through the streets of Velaris to get to my safe haven: my apartment. The only place where I felt truly safe and alone. Protected from those stupid Illyrian noses. Away from prying eyes and people that I had to keep up a front for.

My beautiful apartment. The first time I walked into the top floor loft I broke into tears. It felt so much like home. It was the first time I had felt safe since... the greatest sadness in my life. I knew when I walked into my apartment for the first time exactly what I would paint on the walls. Exactly how it would look, because it was my home.

Since then I have painted the walls for my namesake and my home. I painted falling stars. When my mother named me, she wanted to honor our heritage and birthplace by naming me Asteria, after the goddess of falling stars and nighttime. It didn't really help that my birthday was on one of the most cherished holidays in the Night Court. Starfall. The one day a year where the stars fall rejoining their loved ones.

Breaking from the image of my mother and the pain I felt, I saw my surroundings and slowed. I passed broken shops and citizens roaming the streets, looking for loved ones. I saw a woman cradling her dead child and a man staggering by with an expressionless face. Almost as if he left his body to escape this bloodbath. I saw my favorite bakery ripped to shreds and the owners lying dead inside. The ones I had seen moments ago. Seeing the damage, the destruction, the death, opened the floodgates to the memory of what happened in the fight, and it hit me...

A tremble shook the earth. Puddles in the streets rippled as people looked around, confused as to what it was. Velaris never had earthquakes. I resumed my shopping, which mostly consisted of sampling all of the pastry items and buying a few paint brushes. I looked up at the clear, beautiful, blue sky and marveled at the beauty. Registering the colors for my paintings later. Everything was just so... peaceful, and I drowned in the happy feeling. I could feel it seeping through my pores as I stood there, staring at the sky.

But then I saw people were pointing towards the sea. Muttering prayers and answers of confusion. I whirled towards the direction of the stares and froze. I felt the unnatural power rippling off from the distance in waves and peered closer to see what the source was. My limbs would not respond to the fear pushing me out of the street, away from the invading host that I saw approaching. I had never seen anything like this, especially not in Velaris.

People started to scream as they beheld what was approaching. Long limbed, flying creatures with blades of hard iron. They were gray as the dead and had rows of teeth to halt anyone in their spot. Razor sharp teeth and claws that could slice through your belly in an instant. They held soldiers that had bows at the ready, facing down... towards us. And they were coming to Velaris, they were coming too fast. I sucked in a shuddering breath. Feeling the churning of a long kept secret rise to greet the threat. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see arrows raining down on the inhabitants of Velaris as the screaming and panic reached my ears.

But then, a fragment of hope crept into my mind as I beheld a red light explode from the direction of the coast, near the theater district. The light formed a shield above us, and the winged creatures bashed into the shield and it flickered with every impact. I could hear bones cracking and flesh sizzling. The shield expanded and rose into the air, pushing back the host. Hope blossomed inside me, and I had control of my body back. I rushed to enter one of the shops, my favorite bakery. I crouched down in the corner waiting for the impending attack.

"Asteria, are you alright?" the fleshy female owner Mrs. Chamberly approached me. "What is happening? We heard screams but didn't dare go outside." Mrs. Chamberly crouched lower. "Asteria..." and her eyes widened at the fear in my eyes. "I'll grab you a raspberry tart, sweetie, how 'bout that?"

I nodded slowly, thanking the woman for her comfort. I watched her waddle back to the counter and her husband. I could hear him questioning his wife as to what was going on but she just shushed him and grabbed the pastry, walking back over to me.

"Now sweetie, what is going on out there?" Mrs. Chamberly questioned, handing me the tart.

"They're coming. An invading host of winged beasts carrying soldiers. They're coming to the city. Here. Right now." I shuddered with fear in my voice.

A BOOM echoed through the streets and I rushed up, dropping the pastry and ran outside, pushing away the fear to see the unfurling events. And what I saw rendered me imobile. Screams were streaming all over Velaris and I could smell, rather than see the tangy metallic scent of blood waft through the air. I saw Illyrian warriors wearing blue and red syphons overpower the creatures near them. But the warriors could not fight them all.

Raining down from the sky the creatures came. Like a cloud of mosquitoes descending over Velaris. Killing and laughing as they did so. I saw bodies of both the creatures and citizens fall from the sky. I felt the unused power bundle inside me. The violet ribbons of power churning inside me. Ready to be released. But, I could not, would not release that, even to save myself.

That power had done awful, evil things, and I couldn't handle that again. Releasing that power would only unleash more chaos into the streets along with more death of innocent people. I stayed away from the power coursing through my veins and the threat I was to everyone I had ever loved.

I ran, slipping through blood as I fell to the ground and a shadow hovered over me. I heard it then, the creature, laughing at me as I flipped over to face him.

"Pathetic, faerie," the creature breathed. He bent down with his claw and cut into her side. My scream joined the chorus of my people. The creature then rose, sniffing the air. I laid on the ground watching my blood pool around me. But then a woman crashed through the street with... I gasped... and Illyrian blade. The creature above me lost it's head, along with all the others in the woman's vicinity.

The woman paused. Looking to me. Something stirred within me. I could smell a familiar scent on her. One that I had not encountered in a long time. She held out her hand, offering me help to rise. I accepted.

"Thank you," I choked out as I stood. The woman seemed familiar somehow. "What is your name?"

"My name is Feyre. Yours?" she questioned. Furrowing her brow. So, the woman coming to aid the rainbow was called Feyre. She had never heard the name, but nevertheless, she smelled familiar.

But I did not have time to answer her as we whirled to see a green skinned faerie holding a rusted pipe above her shoulders ready to defend her shop in the wake of the attack. Creatures were surrounding her, laughing, taunting her.

We both made to help the woman, but Feyre halted whispering two words, "The Sidra," and rushed towards the river. Leaving me to deal with the creatures. I unstrapped my blades and fell into my training from so long ago. Rushing towards the creatures, roaring I dealt them fatal blows. Liberating their heads from their necks. I rushed down the street, bodies of the creatures in my wake.

I felt my power leaking purple tendrils As I fought my way down the street. No, no, no! Not now. I feared what would happen to Velaris if my power was ever unleashed. Gods, what would happen if Rhysand felt that power? The pain that would resurface. He would come running, recognizing her tendrils of my power. Rushing to find the all to familiar woman, and the power she wielded. One he thought he would never see again.

I pushed away the dark thoughts and resumed my slaughter. One I undertook only to save my city. My home.

I rushed down the street even faster than before. Slicing at the creatures as I ran. Racing against the clock to get back to my apartment where I could keep my power contained. I could feel the creatures behind me surging after the power that leaked from me. I dropped my blade and ran faster down the blood soaked street. I was so close to my apartment, on a floor so heavily guarded by wards that no one could enter but myself. I ran over the debris and almost tripped, I rounded the corner to my street, but I stopped dead in my tracks. It was blocked. I could see my apartment building. But I could not get to it. I had to turn around, back towards the Rainbow.

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