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Chapter Text

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, Queen of Terrasen, was currently beating the shit out of Lorcan Salvaterre.

The lord had claimed that he could win against the assassin with both hands tied behind his back. And Aelin, being the badass that she is, took him up on the offer. Immediately. 

Aelin grinned, her elongated canines gleaming in the sun as she clung to his back and swung punch after punch into the lord's gut. 

Beyond the fighting ring Rowan Whitethorn, Aelin’s beloved mate, cheered for her every punch and beside him Elide Lochan, lady of Perranth, did the same. 

Aelin couldn’t help but laugh when Elide had come to the fight wearing a green tunic that reached her knees, and therefore must’ve been one of Lorcan’s own, that said “Queen Aelin’s #1 fan” written in some kind of silver ink. The lady had even brought Rowan a matching one that said “Queen Aelin’s #1 man”. The warrior had burst out laughing when he read the words and had spun Elide in his arms in thanks. Lorcan had only rolled his eyes and murmured something about giving up enough of his clothes to Elide already and that he needed new shirts. 

Aelin could sense that Lorcan had had enough of the monkey on his back and the laughing of his friends around him. Hel, even Manon Blackbeak, Queen of witches, grinned as Aelin beat into the warrior. 

Manon leaned back into the King of Adarlan’s chest and the young king placed a kiss against her neck before resting his chin on her shoulder to watch the fight.

Once the word had spread of the soon to be match between the Queen of flame and shadow and the lord of Perranth Manon had practically skipped to the fighting ring to watch. She had arrived to the fight just before it began, dragging Dorian behind her by the hand. 

Lorcan roared as Aelin managed to get in another hit to his gut. Aelin cackled as the male she was clutching onto began to lose the battle he had started. 

The queen leaned over into the lord’s ear and said, “That’s what you get for being an arrogant-“ 

A pain, sharp and ripping, tore through Aelin’s body in such an intense wave that she gasped and released Lorcan so suddenly that they both slammed to the ground. 

Aelin’s body jerked against the dirt so hard that for a moment she thought she might be having a seizure. But then Rowan was there above her and he was shouting. 

“Someone get Yrene! Now!” 

Manon ran off without a word, her immortal speed carrying her faster than any of the other’s would. 

Rowan cradled Aelin’s body in his lap, “Fireheart,” Rowan gasped, “Fireheart, what’s wrong?”

Aelin couldn’t move, couldn’t even think through the pain tearing through her body. It felt like ripping- like something was tearing-

Rowan’s eyes lit with fury when tears began to roll down Aelin’s cheeks and his eyes snapped up to his friend across from him.

“What did you do to my wife?” The King asked, voice soft and low and filled with menace. 

“Nothing,” Lorcan said frantically, “Honestly Rowan, she was the one winning the fight and then she just… let go…” 

There was silence for a moment and then Rowan’s fist slammed into the side of Lorcan’s face. Before the king could get in another hit, Dorian was there prying the two apart while Elide tried to talk them down. 

Aelin, the pain suddenly dissipating but leaving her feeling like something- some hole had been left carved open inside her, sat straight up. Everyone around her stopped arguing and swarmed to the Queen’s side. 

Aelin was panting, eyes wide and terrified with the knowledge that she now knew for certain in the depths of her soul. 

Rowan cradled her face in his hands and tried to meet her eyes. “Fireheart, Are you alright? What’s happened?” 

Aelin was quiet for a long second, knowing the moment the words left her lips her world would change forever. 

Aelin looked up at Rowan and then at all of her friends around her.  

“The gates,” Aelin whispered, voice shaking, “They’re open.” 

Chapter Text

Part 1

The Drop

“It’s just a tattoo,” Bryce insisted. “I don’t even remember getting it! My friend got it inked on me while I was drunk! It’s nothing—”

“Liar,” Azriel hissed. The way his shadows seemed to thrash around him made Bryce hold her tongue afraid that this male might just cut it out. The wicked black blade strapped to his side seemed much more menacing when he looked at her like that.

The silence stretched as Rhysand tilted his head in an almost feline gesture to study her. 

The silver eyed female, Amren, said, “The ink feels… strange… like something made .” 

“What is it?” Rhysand, the male who looked unnervingly like her brother, asked again.

Bryce looked down. Unwilling to be called out for lying once again, she decided to remain silent. It wasn’t like they’d cut the tattoo from her back—

Azriel took a step forward, knife in hand, looking like he was about to do just that before Rhysand placed a hand on his chest to stop him.

“This tattoo, it means something to you?” Rhysand asked cautiously. “To your world?”

Bryce nodded.

“And… you’re unwilling to share that with us?”

Bryce nodded again. “I- its value is not something that is known to many in my world and the knowledge of its existence has been mine to keep secret,” Bryce said, willing him to see the truth in her eyes. 

The male looked at her appraisingly, as if weighing her words in his mind. “Does this… thing… put my world, my people, at risk?” Rhysand asked.

“No,” Bryce answered quickly. 

“Alright.” Rhysand nodded like the matter had been closed. 

The small female’s head whipped towards him with an outraged gasp. “Rhysand, I hope you’re not about to let this girl from a different world prance about the night court like she’s lived here all her life just because she’s told you a sob story.”

Azriel looked to Rhysand as well waiting for his answer.

Rhysand looked to Amren. “I will not keep her prisoner when all she has done since arriving is try to return home.” Rhysand gave the female a pointed look. “Surely you know what that feels like better than most Amren.” 

The fire in Amren’s eyes died out and she looked away.

“But, no,” Rhysand continued, “she will not prance about. We will make a bargain.” 

“A what now?” Bryce asked?

“A deal.” Rhysand smiled. “You agree that the tattoo on your back as well as yourself mean myself and my people no harm and we will let you out of this room and discuss further on how to get you home.” 

“And there’s no catch?” 

“Well, if you break the bargain I’ll kill you. Slowly.” 

The way Rhysand’s tone had darkened made Bryce inclined to believe the male. He wouldn’t hesitate to skin the tattoo from her back while she was awake if it meant he kept his people safe. 

Bryce stood up, “Good news!” She said brightly, “I definitely don’t plan to do that so let’s get on with this before Edward Cullen over there rips my throat out.” She pointed to Azriel who had been glaring at her like he wished he could shoot laser beams out of his eyes since her tattoo had begun to glow.

“Edward who?” Azriel asked. His face dropping the ‘I’m going to kill you and your whole family with a pair of kitchen scissors’ look for one more similar to a ‘I just walked downstairs and don’t know why I’m here’ look.

“You know,” Bryce said, looking around at the three people who very clearly did not know, “dark hair, tall, immortal, unageing, kinda sparkly, strangely attractive,” Azriel gave a feral, proudly male smile at that, “vampire, looks like they might bite, weird old fashioned clothes,” Azriel looked down at his clothes and frowned as Bryce went on, “hot as—” 

“What’s a vampire?” The male asked. “And what’s wrong with my clothes?” 

“Well for starters—”

“Enough,” Rhysand cut her off. “Do you accept the bargain?” He asked as he extended a hand out in offering.

Bryce hesitated for a moment. Could she trust these people she just met? Though after a few moments her mind asked her a better question: did she have a choice? 

Bryce clasped her fingers around Rhysand’s own and shook his hand. A strong flow of magic seemed to pour from the promise and into Bryce.  A searing sensation went down the inside of her arm and she gasped at the quick pain letting go. 

When Bryce turned her arm over the inside, from elbow to wrist, held a new black tattoo of a mountain with three stars surrounded by a towering city that looked much like her home. 

“What is this ?” Bryce asked, looking at the fresh ink upon her skin.

“A reminder,” Rhysand said, “of what you have to lose if you break our deal. In our world, in our court, bargains are marked upon the flesh permanently as a way of sealing them.” 

“You’re lucky it’s pretty,” Bryce mumbled. 

Rhysand’s gaze zoned out for a moment, his eyes going glassy, then he returned to himself and pushed out of his seat heading to the door that opened at a wave of his hand. “Come, Bryce, I’ve asked my mate, Feyre, to gather our court for a meeting to discuss the matter of your world.”

Bryce got up and walked towards the door that Rhysand opened for her, Azriel in tow, when her pocket began… buzzing. 

She looked down as it began to get louder and her pocket started to heat up. The  vibrations could be heard by all of the fae in the room.

“What is that?” Amren demanded.

“I— I don’t know,” Bryce said frantically as the buzzing got louder and seemed to morph into new sounds. 

“Take it out,” Azriel said menacingly from behind her. The blade of his knife digging into her spine. 

Bryce stuck her hand in her pocket and felt a smooth, warm, oval object. She pulled it out—

“Slowly,” Azriel snapped. 

She slowed, pulling the stone-like object out and holding it in her open palm so all of the room could see.

“I don’t— ” Bryce began.

“Quiet,” Amren barked, watching the stone.

The room was silent as the buzzing turned slowly— so slowly into words. Into a voice. A voice Bryce recognized.

“Br— Bryce… Bryce… can— can you hear me?” 

Bryce gasped and clutched the crystal to her body, bringing it closer to her mouth not caring about how Azriel dug the dagger harder into her back. 

“Lidia?”

Chapter Text

Tharion Ketos, formerly the captain of intelligence for the River Queen, had only just stepped foot into the Viper Queen’s fighting pit and been graciously greeting the crowd when his opponent, the nine foot tall Minotaur, rammed into him from behind and flung him into the seats high above. 

All of the air left Tharion’s body when his ribs hit the seats of the very crowd he’d just been waving to. 

Like a fish out of water the mer was left to gasp on the floor of the stadium, but only for a moment. 

Just as he began to get accustomed to the pain tearing through his abdomen a large hand grabbed his auburn hair, the hair Ariadne had warned him to cut the night before, and wretched him up and threw him back into the ring. 

This time he landed face down on the floor of the ring and got to not only receive the pleasure of hearing his own nose snap and touch his cheek but also the knowledge that he’d probably be acquiring ringworm from the unwashed mats. Great. Tharion: zero. Minotaur: one. Or was it two? Should the beast get a point for each of Tharion’s ribs he was able to crack because if that was the case—

A deep echoing boom of heavy feet hitting the floor behind him snapped him out of his trance. Tharion jumped up and spun around— which was an immediate mistake as he doubled over in pain from his ribs. 

The mer slowly stood back upright, his left hand holding his ribs together as his fingers were covered in a steady stream of thick red blood that fell from his nose and down his bare chest. 

Tharion had to look up as the Minotaur approached him— ran at him— with his head ducked low and horns out. Tharion jumped out of the way just before the creature's horns could impale his head. He very much preferred his head attached to his body, thank you. 

Tharion’s ribs ached and it felt like his hand pressed against his side was the only thing stopping them from turning into light up glow sticks. 

Above him someone whistled and Tharion looked up at the sudden sound seeing a group of creatures, primarily mer, from the House of Many Waters smirking down at him. 

“You’re a fucking coward for leaving your court, captain ,” one of the mer males snickered down at him. 

“Pathetic,” another female spat.

Tharion looked away sharply as more laughter came from the group as they mocked him. 

“Not even your own house can stand you,” the Minotaur taunted. “How sad.”

The Minotaur charged him again and this time Tharion was able to duck under his body and throw a punch right into the beast’s gut causing him to stagger back. 

Tharion held his chin a bit higher as the crowd screamed his name and he soaked in the feeling of triumph. These moments were few and far between these days. 

With a smirk and a wink at the crowd and then the Minotaur, Tharion patted his knees at the creature, ignoring the pain in his body. “Come and play beasty.”

The Minotaur roared at the insult and ducked his head low in a charging stance. Tharion bounced on his toes with anticipation as the bull raced for him but just as he was about to jump away the words from the mer up high in the stands caught his ears.

“Is there anything you’re good for?” 

The words made him pause— caused him to hesitate just for a fraction of a second as they hit home.

Was there anything?

 It was a second too long as the Minotaur’s horn slammed into his shoulder and severed the flesh. 

Tharion barely had time to process the injury before the Minotaur stood from his hunched over position causing Tharion to go up with him and his wound slide painfully down to stretch around the base of the horn. 

The beast laughed as Tharion struggled to breathe— to even stay conscious. Black spots and stars filled the mer’s vision. The Minotaur shook his head and Tharion’s body was whipped around like a rag doll before he was finally— finally flung against the far wall. 

He fell into a heap of limbs on the floor and had the courage to look over at his shoulder which had a hole the size of a fist in it streaming blood. 

His Vanir powers were trying to repair the damage but it was to much— 

The Minotaur got ready to strike again and Tharion pushed to his feet, barely able to feel his wobbling legs beneath him. Numb all over—

“I expected more from you, Fishboy” The Minotaur grunted in a rough voice. “A mer so high in the blue courts ranks should have at least some fight in him.” 

The Minotaur charged at Tharion again and the mer wasn’t fast enough to avoid the horns that skimmed along his left side leaving a stinging wound in their wake.

“Then again,” the Minotaur huffed as steam erupted from his pierced nose and he kicked his feet against the dirt, preparing to charge at Tharion once again. “You weren’t of much use to your whore sister when she was killed now were you?” 

In that moment all Tharion’s pain evaporated and all he could see was red. 

“Bet you the slut screamed your name as she died— as she was murdered — ‘oh, Tharion, please come save me please’ — but you were to much of a weak, spineless—”

And then Tharion was there, jumping with all his Vanir strength against the wall of the fighting ring and up onto the Minotaurs back. He wrapped a hand around the Minotaurs jaw and saw the fear in the beast's eyes as he violently snapped his neck. 

The creature fell to the ground and Tharion went with him. 

The mer was only just able to catch himself from tumbling over when his feet hit the floor and his injuries screamed. But he stayed upright— begged his body to hold out just a little longer— as he lifted his head and watched with satisfaction as the Minotaur's head, nearly decapitated from the force behind his hands, bleed from a large rip in his neck. 

The Minotaur’s head was only hanging on by the skin at the base of its skull, which made it easy for Tharion to grab the beast’s hair, place one foot on its chest and rip its head away from what remained of its neck. His ribs and leaking shoulder screamed with the effort but Tharion hadn’t felt more victorious in weeks as blood sprayed his face, his body, his teeth from where he grinned. 

He threw the head so hard against the upper wall of the fighting pit that it exploded with a squelch and covered himself and everyone in the stands in a mixture of blood, bone, and hair. The people in the crowd were screaming for more but Tharion only spit on the headless body below him and looked up at the members of The House of Many Waters who had dared to taunt him during the match. His eyes seemed to say: come, come down here, come let me tear you apart. 

The mer and other creatures of the deep turned away from him in a mixture of disgust and outrage at his performance as they left the pit.   

The moment Tharion turned away from the bloodthirsty crowd all the pain, all the agony of his injuries hit him. The wound on his left shoulder poured blood as he moved. The left side of his body looked like a vampire's orgasmic fantasy.

Just get to the door, he willed himself, then you can pass out. Then you can be done. 

He tried to keep his shoulders back, tried to seem like he had barely broken a sweat from that fight, and did his best to walk without a limp. 

By the time he made it to the back of the room he was panting and when his hand hit the door he had to hold himself against the wall for a moment just to stay upright.

With his final breath of strength he opened the door and stepped inside. His hand swung wildly behind himself as he slammed the door closed just as he collapsed to the tiled floor.

He had asked for this— begged even. He deserved this life. Captain whatever indeed. 

Is there anything you're good for?

After a bit of mopping and a lot of blood, Tharion got to his knees and crawled over to the bathroom sink to clean himself up. 

Tharion’s blood dripped into the porcelain sink of the hushed, humid bathroom, the roar of the crowd a distant rumble through the cracked green tiles. He breathed in through his nose. Out through his mouth. Pain rippled along his aching ribs. 

Stay upright. 

His hands clenched the chipped edges of the sink. He inhaled again, focusing on the words, willing his knees not to buckle. Keep standing, damn you. He’d taken a beating tonight.

Tharion loosed another breath, wincing, and reached for the small medkit on the lip of the sink. His fingers shook, fumbling with the vial of potion that would blunt the edge of the pain and accelerate the healing his Vanir body was already doing. 

He chucked the cork into the trash can beside the sink, atop the wads of bloodied cotton bandages and wipes he’d used to clean his face. It had somehow been more important than addressing the pain—the hole in his shoulder—that he should be able to see his face, the male beneath. 

The reflection wasn’t kind. Purple smudges beneath his eyes matched the bruises along his jaw, the cuts on his lip, his swollen nose. All things that would fade and heal swiftly enough, but the hollowness in his eyes … It was his face, and yet a stranger’s. 

Tharion didn’t meet his own gaze in the mirror as he tipped back the vial and chugged it. Silky, tasteless liquid coated his mouth, his throat. He’d once done shots with the same abandon. In the span of a few weeks, everything had gone to shit. His whole fucking life had gone to shit. 

He’d given up everything he was and had been and ever would be. 

He’d chosen this, being chained to the Viper Queen. He’d been desperate, but the burden of his decision weighed on him. He hadn’t been allowed to leave the warren of warehouses in the two days since arriving—hadn’t really wanted to, anyway. Even the need to return to the water was taken care of for him: a special tub had been prepared below this level with water pumped in directly from the Istros. 

So he hadn’t been in the river, or felt the wind and the sun, or heard the chatter and rhythmic beats of normal life in days. Hadn’t so much as found an exterior window.

Before long the door groaned open, and a familiar female scent announced the identity of the new arrival. As if at this hour, in this bathroom, it could be anyone else. 

The Viper Queen had a crew of fighters. But the two of them … she treated them like prized racehorses. They fought during the prime-time slots. This bathroom was for their private use, along with the suite upstairs. 

The Viper Queen owned them. And she wanted everyone to know it. 

“I warmed them up for you,” Tharion rasped over a shoulder at Ariadne. The dark-haired dragon, clad in a black bodysuit that accentuated her luscious curves, turned toward him. 

Tharion and Ariadne were required to look sexy and stylish, even as the Viper Queen bade them to bloody themselves for the crowd’s amusement. 

Ariadne halted at a sink a few feet away, surveying the angles of her face in the mirror as she washed her hands.

“Still as pretty as ever,” Tharion managed to tease. 

That earned him a sidelong assessment. “You look like shit.”

“Nice to see you, too,” he drawled, the healing potion tingling through him. 

Her nostrils flared delicately. It wasn’t wise to taunt a dragon. But he’d been on a hot streak of making stupid decisions lately, so why stop now? 

“You have a hole in your shoulder,” she said without taking her gaze from his. 

Tharion peered at the ghastly wound, even as his skin knitted closed, the sensation like spiders crawling over the area. “Builds character.”

 Ariadne continued examining herself in the mirror. Was she hunting for herself—the person she’d been before coming here—as well? Or maybe the person she’d been before the Astronomer had trapped her inside a ring and worn her on his finger for decades? 

Tharion had done what the Viper Queen had asked regarding Ari: he’d woven a web of lies to his Aux contacts about the dragon being commandeered for security purposes. So the Viper Queen didn’t technically own Ari as a slave—Ari remained a slave owned by someone else. She just … lived here now. 

“Your adoring public awaits,” Tharion said, grabbing another cotton wipe and holding it under the running water before beginning to clean the blood from his bare chest. He could have jumped in one of the showers to his left, but it would have stung like Hel on his still-mending wounds. He twisted, straining for the particularly nasty slice along his left shoulder blade. It remained out of reach, even for his long fingers. 

“Here,” Ariadne said, taking the wipe from his hand. 

“Thanks, Ar—Ariadne.” He’d almost called her Ari, but it didn’t seem wise to antagonize her when she’d offered to help him. 

Tharion braced his hands on the sink. Ariadne dabbed along the wound, wiping up blood, and he clenched the porcelain hard enough for it to groan beneath his fingers. He gritted his teeth against the stinging, and into the silence, the dragon said, “You can call me Ari.” 

“I thought you hated that nickname.” 

“Everyone seems inclined to use it, so it might as well be my choice for you to do so.” 

“Was that your thinking when you abandoned my friends right before a deathstalker attacked them?” He couldn’t keep the bite from his voice, antagonizing her be damned. “Everyone expected the worst of you, so why not just be the worst?” 

She snorted. “Your friends … you mean the witch and the redhead?” 

“Yes. Real honorable of you to ditch them.” 

“They seemed capable of looking after themselves.” 

“They are. But you bailed all the same.” 

“If you’re so invested in their safety, perhaps you should have been there.” Ari tossed the wipe in the trash and grabbed another one. “Who taught you to fight, anyway?” 

He let the argument drop—it’d get them nowhere. He couldn’t even have said why he’d felt inclined to bring it up now, of all times. “Here I was, thinking you didn’t care to know anything about me.” 

“Call it curiosity. You don’t seem … serious enough to be the River Queen’s Captain of Intelligence.” 

“Such a flatterer.” 

But embers sparked in her eyes, so Tharion shrugged. “I learned how to fight the usual way: I enrolled in the Blue Court Military Academy after school, and have spent the years since honing those skills. Nothing cool. You?”

 “Survival.” 

He opened his mouth to respond, but the dragon turned on a booted heel. “Ari—” he called before she could reach the door. “We didn’t, you know.” 

She turned, eyebrows rising. “Didn’t what?”

 “Expect the worst of you.” 

Her face twisted—rage and sorrow and a drop of shame. Or maybe he was imagining that last bit. She didn’t answer before stalking out. 

The dripping of his blood again filled the bathroom. 

Tharion waited until the potion patched most of the holes in his skin, and followed the dragon back to the heat and smells and light of the fighting ring.

Chapter Text

Azriel’s voice was soft as death when he said, “what is it saying?” 

Bryce ignored him as the stone began to heat in her hands once again and that voice— Lydia’s voice— came through.

“Yes— Bryce, did you get to Hel? Can they help us?” 

Rhysand, the bastard, began to approach Bryce in slow, unhurried strides. His eyes darkened the closer he got and Bryce could see the promise of pain if she did not comply. 

Bryce switched back to the common tongue of Midgard, “No— I didn’t, I’m—”

Rhysand snatched the stone out of her hand. 

“Please,” Bryce began, switching back to their world's language. “That’s my… friend, she just wants to know if I made it to Hel—”

“ No .” Rhysand said simply. 

In his hand the stone began to heat once again and Lydia’s voice came through, “who’s there with you? I can hear—”

Rhysand’s eyes went glassy and Lydia’s voice cut off. Everything was quiet until Rhysand snapped out of whatever trance he had gone in and held the stone up to Bryce.

“You have a daemati at the other end of this crystal,” Rhysand stated. “She does not seem pleased. Especially when I knocked on the walls of her mind to say hi.” 

“You what?” Bryce demanded.

“I didn’t see anything before she blocked me out with a wall of flames. Besides, she speaks your world’s language.” 

The crystal spoke again, “If you’re not in Hel, where are you Bryce!? Who the fuck was that?”

“Can I speak to her?” Bryce begged, “Please.”

Amren looked up to Rhysand and shook her head. “It’s too risky.”

Rhysand sighed. 

“Wait! I can try and speak to her in the old language of the fae? She might not know it but both of you do and you’ll know what is said between us.”

Rhysand considered that for a moment and then nodded, handing her back the crystal.

“Lydia, are you there?”

There was a pause. And just as Bryce began to give up hope, Lydia’s voice came over the line in a chopped up version of the ancient language, “yes, where are you?”

Bryce could cry or even hug the hind in relief. 

“I— I don’t know. But this world… it’s not Hel. It’s somewhere else. There are fae here—”

“Do not tell her about us.” Rhysand cut her off.

“Bryce who was that?”

“It doesn’t matter. How are Ruhn and—” her voice broke. “Ruhn and Hunt, are they alive?”

“Yes,” Lydia said softly, “they’re— they’re alive.”

The way she hesitated… Bryce shuddered. She didn’t want to think about what state they were in. But if they were— if they were alive, then they could still be saved. Bryce wanted to fall to her knees and sob in relief at the thought.

“Good,” Bryce whispered. “That’s good.” 

Voices and cruel laughter came through the line. Then banging, like someone was throwing bowling balls into a metal wall. “I have to go,” Lydia hurriedly mumbled. “Someone’s coming. Stay alive.” 

And she was gone, the stone sat quiet and cold once more in Bryce’s palm. 

Rhysand opened his hand and raised an eyebrow, giving Bryce an expectant look.

Bryce held back the urge to curl into a ball on the floor and scream “ precious, must have the precious, my precious ” like that one creature from a movie Ithan had made her watch.

Instead, Bryce let out a huff and handed the stone over without looking at the male. 

“I’m going to need whatever else is in your pockets as well.”

Bryce took in a sharp breath, about to argue, but Rhysand continued quickly, “just until we have this all sorted out. I can’t have you near those I love with anything I’m unaware of.” 

“Alright,” Bryce sighed. 

She admittedly didn’t have much on her. She took out her phone, wallet, keys to her apartment, a chapstick, an old receipt, and a random treat for Syrinx that had somehow ended up in her pocket.

Rhysand barely spared the objects a glance as he put them in a pocket of his emaculat black suit. Ah, to be a man with large pockets.  

The male held the door open for her once again and gestured her forwards.

When she didn’t immediately walk Azriel lightly pushed the dagger into her back. “ Go .”

“ Ow ,” Bryce yelped and jumped forward putting a hand to her back. “Can you watch where you’re putting that thing. It’s sharp.”

“No,” Azriel said simply.

Bryce turned back to Rhysand. “Can someone please pull the stick out of this one’s ass?” She pointed her thumb over a shoulder at Azriel

Rhysand snorted a laugh, “I’m afraid it is well and truly lodged in there after all these years.”

Bryce didn’t turn around but she could feel Azriel’s eyes roll behind her.

~

Bryce sat at a round table in what they called the townhouse. It was a beautiful space. Wide and open and smelled faintly of citrus and night-blooming jasmine. 

Rhysand had given her a change of soft clothes to get rid of the blood soaked ones she had arrived in, which was an oddly thoughtful gesture. 

He had left her to change and get cleaned up in a bathroom while he waited outside. She was grateful for the time she was given to be alone and even more so when Rhysand, even with his fae hearing, had not barged in when she had silently sobbed on the ground for a few precious moments for all she had lost and all she still had left to do. 

Hunt— Her mate — she had left her mate. The thought was too much to stand and the thought of it alone had almost brought Bryce to her knees once again. So, for the moment, she focused on what she had to do instead so she didn’t fall apart. 

The people sitting around the table were all the same people that Bryce had seen when she’d first arrived and just like the last she’d seen them, they were all staring right at her. Some of them even had their heads tilted slightly to the side like they were waiting for her to do something strange or spectacular.

“I’m sorry to say I’m fresh out of party tricks, unless one of you happens to have a karaoke machine that is?” Bryce asked sarcastically. 

“What’s a karaoke?” The broad chested winged male asked, the word sounding foreign on his tongue. 

The warrior female next to his side drove her elbow into his ribs and he winced. “Jeez Nes, was that necessary?” the male grumbled. 

The warrior rolled her eyes but Bryce could have sworn she saw her lips tug upward in amusement at the males expense. 

“Bryce,” Rhysand said, “let me introduce you to the rest of my family. This is Cassian and Nesta.” He waved a hand towards the broad chested male who smirked and gave Bryce a salute while the gray eyed female at his side dressed in what Bryce had to assume were warriors clothes just glared. 

“And this,” Rhysand said as he looked to his side where a beautiful fae woman sat. He smiled softly at her as he went on, “is my mate, Feyre.” He locked hands with Feyre and kissed the back of her knuckles affectionately before returning his gaze to Bryce.

“I have briefed the others about what you have told us of your world,” Rhysand said. “About the Daglan— the Asteri— and of the weapons they have and what they wish to bring here. But why come through the portal in the first place? What did you think Hel could offer you?” 

This much Bryce was willing to share. At this point she decided that she honestly didn’t have much to lose by sharing her story— what her world was facing— with these strangers. Even though she was still somewhat wary of fae from her own past knowledge of them, what she had seen from these people in her short time of knowing them had already led her to believe that they were better than most fae in her world. Besides, what did she have to lose anyway that wasn’t already lost?

“Hel,” Bryce began, “has already defeated the Asteri once, as has your own world, but the people of Hel, mainly the Princes, have been hunting the Asteri for thousands of years trying to stop them from colonizing other worlds. I was trying to go there because one of the Princes, Prince Adais, had promised us that he would help fight the Asteri by sending armies to fight against them. But… I’m starting to think I was sent here for a different reason.”

“And that is?”

Bryce nodded her head to Azriel, to his blade. “As I’ve told you, in my world we have a prophecy that once the sword, the one I brought, and the dagger, the one I assume is his, are reunited so will our people be.” 

“And you believe,” Feyre said in a light voice, “that you may have been brought here to reunite the people of Midgard and Prythian?” 

“Is that the name of this place?” Bryce asked cautiously. 

“Yes,” Feyre said softly. “You are in Prythian but specifically…” she bit her lip and glanced at Rhysand as if holding something back. “Specifically somewhere in the Night Court.” 

“Then yes. I believe that I may have been brought here to unite my people with yours… my people with the original land of the fae.” 

“What—” Rhysand began but was cut off by the sound of a hallway door opening. 

Bryce turned and saw a stunning, barefooted, female dressed in a floral gown walk into the room. 

“Elain what are you doing up so—” Nesta started but stopped when she saw that Elain had her eyes still half closed, almost as if she was sleep walking. 

Elain sucked in a sharp breath, her feet wobbling as her eyes rolled up so far into her head that all that was left was the whites of her eyes. 

Nesta lunged forward to catch the girl but before she could Elain stepped forward and her unseeing white eyes focused on Bryce across the table. 

“What is—” Bryce began.

“She’s having a vision,” Feyre said stepping towards her Elain’s side. She gently pushed a loose lock of hair from the female’s face and whispered, “what do you see?” 

Elain continued to stare unnervingly at Bryce until her mouth dropped open and a deep dreamy voice that wasn’t wholly Elain’s own filled the room, “Bryce Quinlan, worldwalker lost between. Life and death will be brought together at your hands. Like leather meeting scissors.”

Elain held up her hand and mimicked the slicing of scissors in the air as she spoke, “ Snip. Snip. Snip. Blades so sharp, so filled with pain, no one will know where to look. You will bring ones once lost far, far, far, away so close to home. Air will be taken by the one who is lost. Secrets of skin long ago forgotten will come back to the surface, left to roam as they please. Who is who is the question.” 

Her hands drifted up to her face and she ran them from her eyebrows to her neck and down to her heart. “The flesh carved into will bring us together like sealing wounds. Brothers born of darkness will come together at last. The tide— I can see it, you have brought it with you. I wonder if you can see it too? See the salt under the water like diamonds… how will he swim when the land is dry, I wonder? Who let him go where the dust surrounds him, how have two souls of opposite ends met and lit a match? The one of fire has seen us and she… she is coming.”

And this time when Elain wobbled, she fell straight into Nesta’s arms.

Cassian scooped Elain out of Nestas’s arms and without another word he began walking her down the hall with Nesta at his side. 

“Does that… happen often?” Bryce asked, voice shaking at the way Elain’s words had filled her body, filled the room, with something that felt like a soul deep promise. 

“Not much anymore,” Feyre said.

 Rhysand gave the female a look as if telling her not to say anymore but Feyre ignored him. “When she was… made… she was gifted the visions by the cauldron.”

Bryce hummed at that, deciding not to push her luck by asking anymore questions, though she had many. What was the cauldron? And what was it that Rhysand had called Lidia earlier… a daemati? What did made mean?  

She guessed that Elain would be named a mystic in Midgard, destined to spend the entirety of her life from birth to death in a small glass tube filled with water. Bryce wondered what it was like, to see the things that others could not. Was it truly a gift or a burden?

A door banged open behind Bryce and she turned in her seat to see a curvy bodied female with gleaming blonde hair covered in a light dusting of snow enter. Her cheeks were red from the cold as she stared at Bryce and then at Rhysand.

“Is it true, Rhys?” She asked. “Is she from another world?”

“Yes,” Rhysand answered gravely.

The female glanced back towards the door, at Rhysand again and then away.

“Mor, what’s wrong?” Feyre asked.

“There’s something I haven’t told you all— something I haven’t shared… I was told that when the moment was right to tell you, I would know and I think— I think this is it.” 

Before anyone could question her further the female—Mor— poked her head back outside and her mouth moved as if she was talking to someone. When she opened the door Bryce gasped as the familiar face overwhelmed her.

His hair, once long and to his shoulders, had been cut short. His eyes were the same light brown and as he took off his jacket Bryce could make out the band of strange symbols inked around his left bicep. But his face, one that used to absolutely lack emotion, was different, brighter, as he looked upon Bryce and grinned. 

“Hello princess.”

Chapter Text

Hunt could see. 

He could see and yet he couldn’t blink, couldn’t move, couldn’t even talk. 

He could feel, though. 

He felt every burn, every cut, every mark of torture that had been done to him as his body moved against his will. 

The more he tried to stop it, stop what he was doing, the hotter the halo burned on his brow. 

This halo felt different than the last. His first halo, inked by the old hag, had felt like cold shackles wrapped around his magic, forcing it to slumber so he never had access to his full power. 

This halo, inked anew upon his brow, inked by the hand of Rigelus himself, however, felt different. It burned, hot like acid, eating away at every part of him. But that wasn’t the worst part— no far, far from it— the worst part was the thing that now lived inside of him, that controlled him.

Hunt did not know how long he had been in the Asteri’s dungeons but the first few hours or days were filled with torture of every kind and Hunt thought it couldn’t get any worse. He thought he’d already learned every language of suffering that existed.

Oh, how wrong he had been. 

Now, as he watched himself burn Ruhn Dannan with a block of heated iron, one Hunt held against Ruhn’s back with his own hand until the skin of his palm had melted off and fell to the floor along with the block, he knew that this was worse. Every scream he wrung out of either of his two companions felt like they were his own. Their pain was his. 

Watch the thing inside of him hissed. Listen.

When the iron block clattered against the concrete floor and the sizzling of both Ruhn and Hunt’s skin had finally stopped, Hunt could hear the prince. He heard him screaming through clenched teeth. Watched as Ruhn’s body shuddered and his shoulder blades curved inwards in an effort to lessen the burn. To protect himself— protect himself from Hunt.

He watched as the thing inside of himself brought his unburnt hand up and pressed his fingernails deep into Ruhn’s fresh burns until they were lodged to the knuckles. 

Ruhn screamed then. A full, gasping sound that tore from his throat and made Pollux laugh as he watched. His lover sat at his side gazing at Hunt with dead eyes. Hunt had begun to wonder if Lidia had really been on their side at all or if it was all one massive trick. 

Every time Pollux had asked Hunt where Bryce had gone, Hunt would close his eyes, shake his head, and endure whatever sick torture Pollux had planned for him. 

He would not break. 

He watched as Lidia—the hind— cleaned her nails with a blade, barely glancing at them except to give orders to Pollux or throw that same blade into Hunt’s chest. 

He would not break. 

Every time Pollux had made the thing try to break apart Hunt’s mind and tear the information out of him, he slammed down a wall of lightning, one that got weaker and weaker each time he was forced to summon it. 

But he would not break.

Each time he was forced to torture Ruhn or Baxian to within an inch of their life, he still told them nothing. 

He would not break. 

That is what he told himself. That is how he got through the hours upon hours of torture everyday before his body gave out and not even the thing inside of him could get his broken body to stand. 

And now he watched himself take the fresh block of iron from the prongs that Pollux had used to heat it in the fire. Smelled his hand burning as his muscles and tendons and ligaments all began to give way until all that was left was the bones of his palm underneath. And those too, he knew, would soon start to fall to the floor like shattering glass until all that was left of his hand was a flap of skin. 

And then Pollux would have him start on his other. 

Hunt pressed the iron hard into Ruhn’s side and watched as the prince roared and his skin began to melt off once again. 

Even the shadows in the room seemed to recoil at his actions. But they only watched from the darkened corners and bore witness to his crimes.

Enjoy it , the thing said, enjoy what you have chosen to do to him. Let yourself feast in his pain as I feast in yours.

~

They were finally alone again and sobs racked Hunt's body until it felt like he’d never get down a breath of air again. His chest jerked against the chains that attached him to the ceiling with every rattling inhale and his dislocated shoulders screamed in agony. Though, not a tear ran down his cheek because of the lack of water they had received and yet he sobbed anyway. 

The last time he was tortured, any of the times that he’d been tortured, he’d never wept. Not like this. Sure, he’d cried in pain, but never before had he done so in grief of his actions because of what he had done.

It was different when he had been forced to kill people under Micah’s hand. Then it had hurt him, but he didn’t ever know any of the people he had been demanded to harm. And even then, even when they screamed and pleaded with him for mercy, it was his own decision to kill them, he may not have been given much of a choice but he was still in control of his mind when did it, could have stopped it if he wanted to. 

But now— now there were no choices except to protect Bryce. All he could do was watch as he’d been forced to tear his friends apart. 

He had been forced to like it, to enjoy it.

The thing inside of him laughed and writhed in his mind and he gagged at the feeling of the creature inside him. Hunt knew it had only allowed him the freedom of being in control of his own body once more because it knew that this would be worse for Hunt. Having to deal with what his own hands had done to his friends. Having to look over at Ruhn’s battered body and wonder what Bryce would think of him— of what he’d done. Bryce—

He could not even think of his mate. Not because he didn’t want to, gods how he wished he could use her as an escape from this Hel. But he had to keep her safe— protect her, that’s all he ever wanted to do and he’d failed. Miserably. He could do this one last thing for her, he could give her time— as much as he could manage. 

He couldn’t breathe— he couldn’t—

Baxian and Ruhn knew better by now than to try and comfort the male, it only seemed to make it worse for him. Instead, they remained silent and bore witness to his pain. 

“I—I…I’m,” Hunt licked his cracked lips and tried to swallow around the dryness in his mouth. “I’m so—”

“We know,” Ruhn said roughly from somewhere beside him. His chains rattled as he readjusted himself.

“It’s not—” Baxian said but broke off into a fit of wet, hacking, coughs. “It’s not you, Athalar.”

“It is,” Hunt gasped, “I did this—”

“Only— only because you’re being forced to do so.”

“You don’t get it. I—I should have known this was going to happen. I should have stopped it ,” Hunt said, voice shaking. “I should have.” 

All he wanted was to think of his mate, his Bryce, think of her so that the pain would fade. She was the one bright thing in this dark place, the one person he thought would be undeniably his forever. The only candle he could hold to keep the suffering at bay and keep him strong. But even she was taken from him here. Because to think of her was to give them what they wanted. To give them Bryce.

And so, Hunt Athalar hung from his chains and hoped for the only thing he could: that the thing would eat away enough of him that it would take away the memories of Bryce too. He would rather give up his existence, his hope, than be the reason that hers ended.

He. Would. Not. Break.

Chapter Text

Today had been quite the day. 

When Mor had brought the stranger— a stranger Bryce clearly knew— into the town house the High Lord’s mouth had dropped open as he watched everyone in the room look from the stranger— to Bryce— and then to Rhysand and back again. 

Rhysand did not even bother asking Mor who the man she had brought with her was. He’d get to that in just a moment. 

“Bryce,” Rhysand asked in a tone much to calm for the situation. 

When she finally tore her eyes away from their new guest and looked over at him, he stood, gesturing for her to follow him to the hallway. “if you would?”

There, he asked if she would be alright to be alone with her… friend… for a moment so that he and his court could discuss this… situation. 

After she agreed he led her and the stranger, who was rippling with shadows and staring oddly at Rhysand almost as if he knew him, into a side room of the house that contained a bookshelf and a quiet reading area. He magically locked them in with one flick of his wrist. 

Cassian and Nesta had appeared back in the main room at some point while Rhys had been off dealing with their guest. The couple was already in whispered conversation with Azriel in the corner of the room, who was probably filling them in.

One glance at Spymaster let the High Lord know that their guest were already being watched by his shadows. 

Rhysand sat back down in his seat and let his head fall into his hands. The silence around the room was palpable as Rhys rubbed his eyes with heels of his palms. He loved his friends but sometimes the line between High Lord and friendship seemed to blur which never went well. 

It was Azriel who spoke up from his spot in the corner of the room looking directly at Mor. “Where did you find another shadow singer?”

Mor was quiet until Rhysand looked up at her and gave her a pointed look. “Speak.”

“I didn’t find him. He was… well he was…given to me?”

“What the hel does that mean? He's not some lost dog you found on the side of the road.” Cassian said. 

“Actually it was kind of… kind of exactly like that,” Mor said and looked down. “The first Winter Solstice Feyre had been crowned High Lady and after the celebrations of the night, I was in the woods of Velaris on my way to the Winter Court to visit Viviane and Kallias. That was the first time I saw him…”

“The stranger?” Feyre asked softly, glancing over shoulder to the room where the man and Bryce were. 

“No, not him. It was… someone else, someone older.” Mor looked up and caught Rhysand’s eyes. “I wanted to tell you— I did. But he told me it wasn’t time yet. That I could ruin the fate of our world, of all worlds. Then, six months ago, he came back and this time with him — with Cormac— he had been injured and—”

Rhysand growled, “I trusted you—” 

“I know, just let me explain Rhys. Please .”

Rhysand swore he felt his eye twitch in irritation. How could Mor, his own cousin, keep such a thing from him. Something that could put all of Velaris, all of Prythian, at risk. He’d worked so hard and done such unspeakable things to protect this place, protect the people in this room, just for her to lie to him. It made his anger rise—

A gentle hand laid across his own on the table. Fingers softly lacing with his and when he glanced to the side his mate gave him a small, reassuring smile. 

A moment later he felt a soft knock against the obsidian wall of his mind and allowed them open just enough for her to slip through. 

Just hear her out, Rhys. I’m sure she has a worthy explanation for hiding this from you , Feyre’s voice echoed in his mind. We’ll figure this out together, as we always have, as we always will. You are not alone.

Just the sound of her voice alone was enough to have his heart rate calming and he let out a long breath. He nodded his head and Feyre squeezed his hand before rubbing her thumb along his in a soothing motion that grounded him. 

“Go on.”

“He was injured when he was brought to me,” Mor began.  “Almost dead. Nothing my healing magic did allowed me to help him. That's when the other male— the one surrounded in shadow— told me of his world. That something was inside his wound, a weapon created to disable all fae magic. He was too weak then to take it out so I had to bandage him up and hope that he would make it, mending the mortal way until he was strong enough to survive an attempt at removing the weapon.” Mor paused before she added, “I was also told that the tattoo on his arm is what allowed him to travel here, it’s some accident language. But he’d been sent here through a blast of magic so strong and unpredictable that he’d been sent through not only space but also time . He had arrived 6 months before his own timeline.” 

“That’s all?” 

“Well… after a few weeks, he’d been in and out of consciousness, not even able to recognize where he was. That was when I winnowed him to Helion—”

“You brought him to Helion before me?” Rhysand said in disbelief.

“Yes,” Mor said a bit sheepishly. “I knew that he would be able to heal him, that he was my best option. I didn’t tell Helion who he was but he owed me a favor. When the weapon was removed, that was when we discovered he was a shadow singer,” Mor glanced at Azriel. “And then when he woke up we realized he didn’t speak our language which was… a whole other issue.” Mor sighed before continuing, “Helion and myself had to search through the libraries of the Day Court for days before we found a spell that would work. Hence the pretty black necklace Cormac now wears.” 

“Alright, well does anyone else have any secret people that they’re hiding from other worlds that they’d like to share?” Cassian asked sarcastically. 

Rhysand thought about the red star he had seen in the last Starfall. He had told his court about it of course, but only Feyre knew the true depths of suspicion. How he had so clearly seen a female figure in the ball of light, how it had felt like the Mother herself had whispered for him to help her. To lend her a push of his magic so that she could get back to…wherever it was she was going. Another world perhaps…

Ever since Starfall Rhysand had begun to study the theory of other worlds. The ones that were stacked on top of each other without the knowledge that the others existed. There were stories of course, and he had researched plenty through the House of Winds extensive libraries. He even went as to ask some of the priestesses to look into the theory of the worlds for him. His work had led him to create the solar system in his office but until now it had only been that— a theory. But this— these people, it suddenly felt a lot more real. A lot more dangerous too. 

“And the reason you didn’t tell us was?” Nesta asked.

“I didn’t want to mess up the timeline. I was told by the one who dropped him off that if I showed Cormac to you all before it was time, I could disturb the fate the Cauldron has been weaving for millennia.”

“I’d like to have a talk with this shadow man,” Rhys mumbled.

“Well I haven’t seen him,” Mor said flatly. 

“And this Cormac guy, he’s just been… staying with you,” Azriel asked suspiciously.

“Yes,” was all Mor said.

“And you and him are…”

Mor rolled her eyes. “By the Cauldron Azriel, no we’re not together if that’s what you're asking. He’s just been trying to get home.”

Rhysand’s pocket buzzed and all eyes around the table turned to him. His eyebrows raised as he pulled out the objects that Bryce had given him in the dungeon. What a weird collection of things indeed. 

The flat, neon pink box seemed to be the thing that had done the buzzing so he picked it up. 

When Rhysand touched the flat box, light came bursting out of it and he jumped back, dropping the thing onto the table. 

On the top of the box was a portrait, but not a painting. It was almost like a flat image captured from someone’s eyes. 

A male was looking back at him from the screen. He had dark hair and wings. But unlike Rhysand’s own wings, this male’s were covered in dark feathers. The male was smiling and seemed to be holding some strange fluffy creature in his arms.

“Is that a portable painting?” Feyre asked from beside him.

“I don’t know,” Rhysand answered. “But it glows.” 

Then suddenly the box went dark and the image was gone. When Rhysand touched the top of the box again the image returned. 

He played with the small, flat, metal box that contained the portrait—

Mor reached for the box, “Rhys let me try—”

“I’ve got it,” Rhys snapped and lightly slapped his friend’s hand away without bothering to look up. “Just give me a second.”

Then he finally swiped it to the side and a window opened up in the phone that showed himself. He jumped backwards again so he was out of the shot—

“What, what is it!?” Feyre asked as she grabbed his arm.

“I—I don’t know, some kind of window.”

Feyre went to look into the box, “We’ll let me see—”

“No!” Rhysand grabbed his mate and pulled her back into his chest. “We have no clue what kind of dark magic may be contained in that box.” 

“Rhysand,” Mor said impatiently, “Let me just get Bryce. This is just one of those phone things that Cormac had. She’ll show you.”

 ~

“Luna spare me,” Bryce said with a sigh as she walked over to her phone. “It’s not a weapon, it’s just a phone, look.”

The world these people lived in was so unlike Midgard, she honestly had no clue how they had gone this long without trashy TV or vibrators. Bryce swiped the phone off the table and aimed the lens at Nesta to take a photo. 

“Noooooo!” Cassian said and jumped out towards the female to body slam Nesta out of the way. The warrior just took one casual step backwards and Cassian was left to fall to the floor on his face. “Oof”

Bryce laughed hysterically as she looked at the photo of Cassian mid flight in front of Nesta who was rolling her eyes with her arms crossed. 

Bryce flipped the phone around to Feyre who looked mildly apprehensive about the device in Bryce’s hand until she saw the photo. Feyre laughed, a beautiful sound, and Rhysand beside her couldn’t help the low chuckle that escaped his lips.

Azriel stepped closer and even his mouth twitched as he saw the photo. “So noble, brother,” Azriel taunted. 

“What— what’s so funny!?” Cassian demanded as he pushed himself from the floor.

“Perhaps it is the gargantuan fool you make of yourself daily?” Nesta asked with a smirk as she leaned up to kiss his cheek. 

Then Bryce flipped the phone around to show them the photo as well and Nesta snorted. “A fool indeed,” she mused.

Cassian grumbled while Nesta asked if there was any way they could have the portrait framed in their bedroom.

“Well back home, yes, we would just print it out but I assume you don’t have printers here?” 

“A printer?” Nesta asked, the word sounding unfamiliar on her lips.

“Yeah, it would basically take this image and put it on a piece of paper you could hang up.” 

“Oh how interesting!” Feyre said in excitement. “So an instant painting?” 

Bryce tried not to laugh. “Yes I suppose so. You could take hundreds of photos in a matter of minutes if you really wanted to.”

“Could I see some more?” Feyre asked.

“Feyre darling, maybe—” Rhysand began.

“Quit being such an Illyrian baby Rhys,” Feyre said in a tone that left no room for argument. “She made a bargain with you, didn't she?”

When Rhysand didn’t immediately answer, Feyre raised her eyebrows at him. 

Bryce watched in amusement at the way the female before her was able to make the bossy male follow her own will.

“Yes, she did.” 

“Perfect,” Feyre spun on her heels and walked over to Bryce. 

Amren chuckled. “She told you.” 

Bryce opened up her camera roll without thinking and began to swipe through photos. 

The first one made her heart sting as she looked into Hunt’s smiling face. “That’s my mate, “ Bryce said softly. 

She swiped to the next one before the tears could come. Ithan was on the field in his college uniform. “This is my friend, Ithan, playing a game of sunball. It’s all he ever talks about sometimes I swear,” Bryce laughed. 

She swiped to the next one which was, she realized, a mistake. On the screen was a picture of Juniper, Fury, and Ruhn all in a club. Bryce’s heart dropped at the sight of her brother, the one who looked so undoubtedly like Rhysand. 

Feyre gasped. “Who is that?” 

Bryce was speechless as Amren came up beside her and took the phone from Bryce to examine it and she, too, let out a breath of unexpected air, raising her eyebrows. 

Apparently Amren’s shook was enough to cause an uproar as everyone else in the room began to speak all at once while also trying to glimpse the photo. 

Amren passed the phone back to Feyre and turned her eyes on Bryce, ignoring the commotion behind her.  “The assassin,” Amren said. “Who is she to you?”

Bryce looked at her, surprised she wasn’t asking about Ruhn instead. Surprised even further that this female knew what she did for work. “That’s Fury, she’s a friend,” Bryce said. “Why?”

“I knew her once, long ago. Back when she had been sired of darkness and I from the gods themselves.”

Chapter Text

🚨 Manorian Smut Ahead!! 🚨

You have been warned. I also think it’s pretty clear that Dorian is an absolute freak in the sheets so be aware! 

Dorian jumped off Abraxos’s back and down to the floor of his and Manon’s balcony in their shared estate in Orynth. 

Quiet rage filled him as he calmly walked into their bedroom and placed his hands against a windows ledge. Barely moving, barely breathing. The only sign of his emotions was the ice that climbed up the window and froze his breath. 

His mind was whirling with what had happened today. The gates were open? After all they’d done, all they’d sacrificed, after everything that had happened to him ? 

He wanted to strangle whoever it was in some other world that had opened the gates. He wanted to watch the light drain from their eyes as he smacked their head against the ground. But he also wanted to be sick, to curl into a ball somewhere no one would find him and cry. Scream. Just completely break down some place where he didn’t have to be King. Hide somewhere far, far away where no one would ever find him. Hurt him. 

His magic had returned. All of it, every last drop he had lost closing the gate had been returned to him. It had only furthered his anger, fueled it.  

He would never beg, never be controlled, never have his body taken from him again . He’d rather die, go wherever it was that the gods sent mortal men after death. He swore it. 

His head dropped between his shoulders as the weight of everything crashed into him and he could barely breathe.

Without a word Dorian felt a familiar body press softly against his back and arms slide smoothly around his waist. Manon pressed her cheek against his shoulder and held him for a while as he watched the stars outside of their window and tried to calm his racing heart. The pressure of her arms around him allowed him to feel safe enough to take a breath and then another. 

“I don’t know if I can do this again,” he said quietly, running a hand down the back of his neck, letting his fingers rest on the outline of where his collar had once been. The skin that never changed color no matter how many hours he spent in the sun. He could sometimes still hear the echoes of the prince in his head when he was alone. 

He didn't have to say he was scared out loud, she knew, she always knew. 

“You’re not alone this time,” she whispered. “You’ll never have to do any of this by yourself.” She placed a gentle kiss on his shoulder. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

He knew it was true. Manon would, had, killed men for him. She’d killed witches for him. Her own people. She had chosen him just as much as he had chosen her. He would destroy worlds if it meant the witch at his back was safe.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked.

He sighed, shook his head, and turned around in her hold pushing a strand of white hair behind her ear. “I don’t even want to think about it anymore tonight.” 

“I can help…” she said, sliding her arms around his neck, playing with the curls at the base of his skull. “Distract you,” she kissed the underside of his jaw. “If you’d like.” 

Manon kissed his neck, the place where his collar had once been. Dorian tilted his head to the side giving her room as he slipped his hands beneath her clothes so he could caress the bare skin of her hips, pulling her closer.

Her iron teeth grazed his collarbone and his breath hitched as his eyes slid closed.

She unbuttoned his shirt slowly until Dorian felt the bite of her cold hands sliding over his ribs and up his chest. When she dragged them down, she let her iron nails come out and scratch across his skin, drawing just a hint of blood, just the way he liked.

Dorian couldn’t take it any longer, he grabbed her white hair in his fist and brought his lips to hers in a dominating kiss. Gods the way she tasted— he could get off on that alone. 

Manon kissed him back just as savagely and allowed him to press her body back into the wall of their room. Using her hands wrapped around the back of his neck as leverage, she ground up into him until he growled against her lips.

She took the opportunity to lift up onto her tip toes and whisper against his ear, “I want you in my mouth.”

Fuck yes.

He nodded as he panted against her neck and felt the tips of her nails trace along the inside of his trousers. The fist in her hair tightened and for a moment he thought about dragging her to the ground before him but he let go. He was too worked up to use her like that now. 

Manon pressed a soft kiss under his ear, seeming to sense what he needed. “Don’t be gentle, Princling. ” 

That single sentence turned his blood boiling. He tore her robes and under shirt off so her top was bare. “On your knees then, Witching .”

She gave him a filthy grin before dropping to the floor in front of him. What a sight…

He watched with a possessive stare as she unzipped his pants and took his cock in her hands, giving it a soft stroke that had his thoughts scattering. 

“Spit on it,” he ordered and she looked him in the eyes as she did it, her tongue flicking out against his head.

“ Fuck .” His grip tightened in her hair and he placed his other forearm on the wall. 

He watched her as she worked him with those pretty lips, swirling her tongue around his dick and taking him in her mouth while she hollowed her cheeks. 

A groan slipped out of his throat and his fist tightened in her hair, pulling her back. Her lust glazed eyes flicked up to him as she licked the taste of him from her lips. 

He traced his fingers around her jaw, over her puffy lips. “Open your mouth and relax your throat for me.” 

She did just that, not taking her eyes from his as he thrust his cock deep into the back of her throat. She gagged but her nails dug into his thighs, urging him on. He threw his head back, angling her neck just right so he could slide further down her throat. 

When he pulled back for just a moment and looked down he was eager to see the way her eyes watered and the string of liquid that connected her lips to the tip of his dick. It was enough to have him forcing her back down once again.

He felt her swallow around him and he moaned as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. “That’s it.” He murmured, rolling his hips again and feeling his abs tighten. “Choke on it.”

He was so close— he was going too—

Dorian dragged her up by her hair until his lips met hers in a devouring kiss. She panted against him, barely managing to get down a breath before he ran a hand down the center of her body. His shadow hands already pulling her bottoms off for him as he slipped his fingers between her thighs.

“I haven’t even touched you,” He whispered against her lips. “And you’re already this wet.” 

A blue blush bloomed over her cheeks and her thighs tightened around his hand. He forced them back open and lazily circled her clit as he kissed her, pulling her closer to deepen the kiss. Her hips jerked and she shivered against him. Her knees buckling the longer he teased her. 

He grabbed her ass and lifted her into his arms. Iron teeth teased his lips as he sat down on their bed. His fingers dug into her hips as he rocked her body against his as they kissed. Breathy little moans slipped out of her throat each time he moved against her and he wanted to swallow the sounds.

“I love those pretty little noises you make,” he whispered and felt her thighs clench around his waist. 

Dorian laid back on their bed and pulled her up his body until her legs were on either side of his head and he was forcing her pussy down exactly where he wanted. His mouth closed over her clit and sucked. 

She bucked against him but he held her firm as he licked her hungrily. Wetness ran down his chin as he tasted her on his tongue. 

“So fucking perfect,” he murmured against her and the vibration of his voice on her pussy made her cry out. He slipped a finger inside her and crooked it upwards in rhythm with his tongue in a way that had her muscles tensing.

Loving the way she clenched down on his finger, he hummed against her clit adding another. His hand on her hip rocked her onto himself as her fingers threaded through his hair. 

Gods, the sounds she made… 

He took his fingers out and reached down to stroke himself, using her wetness as lube as she ground herself against his face. 

He sucked her clit hard and she shuttered on top of him, her fingers twisting in his hair just enough to give him that hint of pain he loved. He felt her pulse against his tongue as he continued to work her through her climax until her limp body fell beside his. 

He would feast in the pleasure of her body for hours if she’d let him.   

Pushing himself up on an elbow, he watched as she twitched and her breathing hitched. He licked his lips, savoring her sweetness as his fingers ran gentle patterns across her skin that made her jerk. 

When she finally returned to herself he grinned and leaned over to kiss her, letting her taste herself on his tongue. It was a soft kiss that turned messy and desperate as they clawed at each other's skin. Manon shoved what remained of his shirt from his shoulders. 

Dorian sat back on the bed, grabbed her hips and flipped her face down. She growled and tried to sit up but he placed a hand down on the back of her neck. “Don’t move.” He pulled his belt from his pants and gripped both of her wrists before tightening it around them. 

Before pulling her up, he kissed her shoulder and then bent her over their dresser.

He made her watch in the mirror above the dresser as he slowly, methodically, took each ring off of his fingers and placed them beside her. 

When he was done, he leaned over her and kissed her neck as he pushed his cock inside in a single hard thrust. She gasped but he didn’t give her any time to adjust as he set a punishing rhythm. He grabbed her chin in one hand and forced her to look into the mirror before them. 

“See that?” He whispered against her neck as he slipped his fingers into her mouth. “How fucking desperate you are for me?” She sucked on his finger and moaned as his phantom hands slide to her clit. “I love that.”

He grabbed her hair, yanking it back as he ground his hips into hers. 

“Please,” she pleaded, pushing back against his thrusts. Her eyes met his in the mirror as her legs began to buckle and he snaked a hand around her waist to keep her steady. 

His hand wrapped around her throat and jerked her head so she was looking in his eyes. “I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. Hear you like this. Fuck you like this, ” he whispered, licking up the side of her neck to her ear. “Only me.” 

Manon bit her lip to hold in her moan at his words, her eyes rolling back into her head as his shadow hands worked magic on her clit.

“ Say it, ” Dorian murmured against her temple. 

“Only you,” Manon panted beneath him, the angle of him making her see stars. “Only ever you.” 

He hummed in approval and kissed her cheek softly before shoving her head down onto the dresser. He placed a hand between her shoulder blades and pressed her harder into the wood as he arched her hips higher, surely leaving fingerprints. Bruises which he’d get to admire later. The thought made him grin. 

He brushed his fingers over the marks he’d made on her throat. “Now everyone’s going to know you’re mine.”

Picking up his pace, he placed a hand back around Manon’s throat and squeezed. His cock twitched as he heard her gasping for air and he lost control as he thrust in an unrelenting tempo. He let go of her neck right as he felt her clench around him so tightly that he went over the edge with her.

He laid his forehead against her back and caught his breath for a moment, letting his hands continue to move along her sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

He kissed her shoulder blade before making his way up her body as his hands undid the belt that tied hers at the base of her spine before throwing it to the floor.

She was incredible, always was. 

His arms wrapped around her waist and he pulled her up so her back rested against his chest. One of her limp hands came up to run her fingers through his sweaty hair and she tilted her face to look over her shoulder at him.

Her golden eyes softened when she looked at him. She turned in his arms so that their heaving chests were pressed together and cradled his face so, so gently in her hands. Like he was something precious. 

If anyone outside of this room had accused her of being so vulnerable he knew that she’d chop off their head just to prove otherwise. But here, with him, she was not afraid. So he wouldn’t be either. He leaned his head into her touch and she pulled his face down to meet hers in a soft, lazy kiss. One where their breaths mingled and their hands wandered until Dorian found himself lifting her into his arms. 

She growled and swatted lightly at his hands, but didn’t protest when he walked them to the bathroom, ran a hot bath, and got to work cleaning her up. 

Chapter Text

Pain and dark and quiet. That was the entirety of Hunt Athalar’s world. 

No, that wasn’t true. 

Those things were the entirety of the world beyond his tortured body, his sawed-off wings, the aching hunger writhing in his stomach and thirst burning his throat, the slave brand stamped on his wrist. The halo inked anew upon his brow by Rigelus himself, its oppressive power somehow heavier and oilier than the first. Filling his head with thoughts and commands he couldn’t escape from, only allowing him to be free once it was time for him to feel pain again. All that he had achieved, regained … wiped away. His very existence belonged to the Asteri once more. 

But inside him, beyond that sea of pain and despair, Bryce was the entirety of his world. 

His mate. His princess. His joy.

Prince Hunt Athalar Danaan. He would have hated the last name were it not for the fact that it was a marker of her ownership over his soul, his heart.

There was Bryce, and nothing else. Not even Pollux’s barbed-wire whips could rip her face from his mind. Not even that blunt-toothed saw had severed it from him, even as it had hewn through his wings. 

Bryce, who had gotten away. Gone to… somewhere he didn’t even say in his thoughts for he was afraid the creature inside him would hear it. He’d stay here, let Pollux rip him to shreds, cut through his wings again and again, if it meant that the Asteri’s attention stayed away from her. If it bought her time. 

And because she was his world, to keep her safe, he couldn’t think about her. Everytime her name popped up in his head, he had to pretend it didn’t even exist. That she didn’t exist. No one could have his Bryce; not even him. 

He felt himself sliding further and further away from his own mind with each passing day as the creature corrupted his body. Soon, he was sure, he would be lost entirely. Though maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing if it kept Bryce safe from this place. Safe from him. 

The only time he even got to see her face now was in his nightmares where he would be the one torturing her to death. 

He’d die before he told them where she was. His only consolation was that Ruhn would do the same. 

Baxian, bloody and swaying on the other side of Ruhn, didn’t know where Bryce had gone, but he knew plenty about what Bryce had been up to lately. Yet the Helhound hadn’t given Pollux an inch. Hunt would have expected nothing less of a male Urd had chosen to be Danika Fendyr’s mate. 

The Hammer and the Hawk had come down especially hard on the Helhound. It was personal with them—Baxian had been one of their own. A brother-in-arms, a partner in cruelty. Now they’d take him apart piece by piece.

It was quiet now—the only sound the clank of their chains. Blood and piss and shit coated the floor beneath them, the smell almost as unbearable as the pain. 

Pollux was creative, Hunt would give him that. Where others might have gone for stabbing in the gut and twisting, the Hammer had learned the exact points on the feet to whip and burn to cause maximum agony while keeping his victims conscious.

Or maybe it was the Hind who’d learned those tricks. She stood behind her lover and watched with dead eyes as the Hammer slowly—so slowly—took them apart. 

That was the other secret he and Danaan would keep.  

A few feet away, Baxian groaned softly. 

Hunt’s arms had gone numb, shoulders popping out of their sockets from trying to support the weight of their bodies. But thankfully, he could feel the creature in his mind at rest, allowing him time to be lucid. He mustered his energy, his focus, enough to say to Baxian, “How … how you doing?”

 Baxian let out a wet cough. “Great.” 

Next to Hunt, Ruhn grunted. It might have been a laugh. Their only options were screaming and sobbing, or laughing at this giant fucking disaster. 

Indeed, Ruhn said, “Wanna … hear a … joke?” The prince didn’t wait for a reply before he continued, “Two angels … and a Fae Prince … walk into … a dungeon …” 

Ruhn didn’t finish, and didn’t need to. A broken, rasping laugh came out of Hunt. Then Baxian. Then Ruhn. 

Though every heave shrieked through his arms, his back, his broken body, Hunt couldn’t stop laughing. The sound bordered on hysteria. Soon tears were leaking down his cheeks, and he knew from the scent that the others were laughing and crying as well, like it was the funniest fucking thing in the world. 

The door to the chamber banged open, echoing off the stones like a thunderclap. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Pollux barked, stalking down the stairs, wings blazing in the dimness. 

Hunt laughed louder. Footsteps trailed behind the Hammer—a dark-haired, brown-skinned male followed him in: the Hawk. The final member of Sandriel’s triarii. “What the Hel is wrong with them?” he sneered at Pollux. 

“They’re stupid shits, that’s what,” Pollux said, strutting to the rack of torture devices and grabbing an iron poker. He thrust it into the embers of the fire, the light gilding his white wings into a mockery of a heavenly aura. 

The Hawk prowled closer, peering at the three of them with a close scrutiny that echoed his namesake. Like Baxian, the Hawk hailed from two peoples: angels, who had granted him his white wings, and hawk shifters, who’d granted him his ability to transform into a bird of prey. 

Those were about all the similarities between the two males. For starters, Baxian had a soul. The Hawk … 

The Hawk’s gaze lingered on Hunt. Nothing of life, of joy, lay in those eyes.

 “Athalar.” 

Hunt nodded to the male in greeting. “Asshole.”

 Ruhn snickered. The Hawk pivoted to the rack, where he pulled out a long, curving knife. The kind that was designed to yank out organs on the withdraw. Hunt remembered that one—from last time. 

Ruhn laughed again, as if almost drunk. “Creative.”

 “We’ll see how you laugh in a moment, princeling,” the Hawk said, earning a grin from Pollux as the Hammer waited for the poker to heat. “I heard your cousin Cormac pleaded for mercy before the end.”

 “Fuck you,” Ruhn snarled. 

The hawk shifter weighed the knife in his hands. “His father has disowned him. Or whatever’s left of his body.” A wink at Ruhn. “Your father has done the same.” 

Hunt didn’t miss the shock that rippled over Ruhn’s face. At his father’s betrayal? Or at his cousin’s demise? Did such things even matter down here?

 Baxian rasped to the Hawk, “You’re a fucking liar. Always were … always will be.” 

The Hawk smiled up at Baxian. “How about we start with your tongue today, traitor?” 

To Baxian’s credit, he stuck out his tongue toward the Hawk in invitation. 

Hunt smirked. Yeah—they were all in this together. To the bitter end. 

The Hawk cut his stare toward Hunt. “You’ll be next, Athalar.” 

“Come and get it,” Hunt gasped. Ruhn extended his tongue as well. 

The Hawk simmered with rage at their defiance, white wings glowing with unearthly power. But slowly, a smile lit his face—horrific in its calculation, its gradual delight as Pollux turned, the poker white-hot and rippling with heat. 

“Who’s first?” the Hammer crooned. The angel stood poised, silhouetted against the blazing fire behind him. 

Hunt opened his mouth, his last bit of bravado before the shitshow began. As the screams started from Baxian, Hunt felt the dark creature inside of him stir awake, slowly taking over his body but just before it did in the shadows behind Pollux, beyond the fireplace, something dark moved. Something darker than shadow. 

Not Ruhn’s shadows. The prince didn’t seem to be able to access those when constrained by the gorsian shackles. Only the prince’s mind-speaking abilities remained. 

This shadow was different—darker, older. Watching them. 

Watching Hunt as he faded away. 

***

Ruhn screamed through his teeth as Hunt carved another patch of flesh from his back letting the hunk of skin slap wetly against the concrete floor. 

Pollux sat in a chair beside the Hind laughing along with each of Ruhn’s screams. His fingers gripping tightly around her upper thigh. 

Ruhn didn’t know what to think of her. She had stopped trying to reach out to him in his mind and in his anger he never tried to speak to her either. 

Every now and then, when no one was watching, she would look at him. Really look at him. Her features would soften and Ruhn could have sworn that, just for a moment, her eyes would go glassy as she gazed upon his bruised and broken body. Her hands would shake and her lips would silently form his name.

But just as quickly, the second someone else turned their head in her direction, it was gone. All of it gone just like that, her face went back to its unbothered and bordering on bored expression as she continued to watch his torture.

It made him think he was going crazy, that he was hallucinating it all. He couldn’t even talk to the guys about it because Hunt had informed them that the fucking parasite living in his head was not only their to torture them but also to spy on their conversations and Hunt’s own thoughts in order to gain any helpful information for the Asteri. 

Just as Hunt’s blade pressed into a patch of skin on top of Ruhn’s ribs the door to the dungeon burst open.

Ruhn’s head jerked up at noise and through the darkness the only thing visible was the whites of someone’s eyes before they stepped into the light. 

Ruhn paled as he took in Polaris, The North Star, standing in the doorway. She paused, taking in the scene in front of her. “Please,” she purred, waving her hand towards Hunt. “Don’t stop on my account.” 

The second the words left the Asteri’s mouth Ruhn felt a searing pain as the blade tore through his flesh. He squeezed his eye shut, copper filling his mouth from how hard he was biting his lip to prevent the screams from escaping his throat. 

“Ah,” Polaris said, breathing in Ruhn’s pain. “How wonderful it is to watch the great Umbra Mortis finally fall.” She watched Ruhn’s face contort. “I take it that the prince is doing his job in there, then?”

Ruhn did his best to breathe through the pain. No one had come down to the dungeon besides Pollux and his crew of jerkoffs since they’d arrived. This was a conversation he needed to hear. 

“Beautifully so,” Pollux said, motioning to Hunt who remained completely expressionless and engaged in his task. “He’s almost gobbled him right up. Barely anything left. Shame really, I do so enjoy playing with him.” 

“Fucking cowards,” Baxian mumbled from besides Ruhn.

Polaris' head snapped in his direction. “What was that?” She asked sweetly. 

“I said.” Baxian growled, lifting his head up to stare at the Asteri. “You’re a fucking coward. Having to go to such lengths to ruin Athlar, too afraid to have a real fight with him that you decided to break his mind. You’re fucking cowards.” Ruhn heard him spit on the floor after that last statement. 

Ruhn’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as Hunt’s blade sunk deeper into his skin, grazing bone. 

He heard Polaris footsteps approaching them as she laughed, such a heavenly sound. 

Ruhn let out a breath as Athlar severed the final bit of skin and he heard it hit the floor. His eyes flicked to the side to watch as Polaris stood in front of Baxian. Her head was tilted at a predatory angle, studying him. 

“What a ferocious little thing.” She grabbed his face, turning it this way and that as she examined him. His nostrils flared but he could do nothing to stop her. Her voice went cold. “This is the traitor?” 

“Yes,” The Hind drawled from her chair. “The bastard born one.” 

“Hmmm,” Polaris hummed aloud, tracing a finger down Baxian’s bare chest. “I was coming down here for the prince but it would appear this one has more fire left in him.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t follow?” The Hind said, her tone sharper now that Ruhn had been mentioned. 

Polaris smiled, a wicked and cruel thing that curved up her face and showed far too many teeth. “My sisters and I have been in need of a play thing— a toy.”

“A whore?” Pollux said his eyes lighting up with malice.

“If you must say it so crudely,” Polaris snapped. She turned her head back to Baxian who lifted his chin as her fingers wrapped lightly around his throat. “I think this one will do quite nicely. Take him down.”

Ruhn paled. 

Pollux unchained Baxian from the ceiling causing the angel to drop to the ground as his legs were unable to support his body. He could barely move, let alone fight back. “It’s your lucky day hound.” 

“No,” Ruhn breathed, blood dripping from his mouth. “No.”

“Ruhn, don’t.” Baxian snapped harshly.

“Stop,” Ruhn begged as Pollux drug Baxian by his chained arms across the concrete floor following Polaris.

“Shut up,” Baxian pleaded with him. “It’s fine, Ruhn. I’m fine. It’ll be—“ the door slammed shut.

The room filled with silence, except for the sound of Hunt sharpening his blades behind him.

Ruhn’s eyes frantically searched the room, looking for something—anything— to help him get out, to stop what was about to happen. His eyes landed on The Hind.

She looked gaunt and almost afraid as Ruhn’s panicked eyes landed on her.

Lidia

The Hind flinched as his voice finally echoed through her mind. 

Lidia, he said again. This time a little more desperate. 

She looked away.

Day, please.

She looked up at that.

Day, you have to help him, Ruhn begged not caring how fraught his voice sounded. Please Day, they’re going to hurt him. 

It was quiet then. Lidia closed her eyes, tears sliding down her cheeks.

I can’t. Her voice was a broken thing as it sounded in his mind. I can’t, Ruhn. 

Please. Ruhn urged, his voice breaking as he heard footsteps approaching him from behind. He’s my friend. 

They’ll do worse to us all if I’m caught. 

I’ll never forgive you for this if you sit by and do nothing. Ruhn fumed, his grief quickly morphing to anger as his chance to help Baxian slipped through his fingers. Never. 

A blade sliced into his back as her final words echoed sadly through his head. I know. 

Chapter Text

After Amren dropped the bomb that she somehow knew Fury, her eyes seemed to focus on somewhere far away; or perhaps they focused on something that had happened long ago. She left without another word. 

“Who is this male?” Feyre pointed to Ruhn. 

Bryce decided that keeping secrets was not going to get her very far. “That’s my brother.” She sighed. “Ruhn.” 

Four sets of eyes, all of the boys and Mor, swung to meet hers. As If they recognized the name. 

“Ruhn…” Rhysand said aloud as if tasting the name in his mouth. “That’s what you called me, when you first arrived here, correct?”

“Yes.”

Rhysand furrowed his brows at that. He grabbed the phone, holding it close to his face. Narrowing his eyes, he studied the photo and then began swiping through more until it landed on one of just Ruhn. He tilted his head as his eyes scanned the face that looked so much like his own, down to the exact color of his eyes. The only real difference was the light dusting of freckles that Ruhn had across his nose and that Ruhn’s features were slightly softer than Rhysand’s harsh ones. 

“But you are not a true high fae like that male,” Azriel drawled. “Only part.”

“We don’t share a mother.” Bryce crossed her arms. “Mine is mortal, his is fae.” 

“His mother,” Rhysand said tightly and without removing his eyes from the photo. “What…what does she look like?” 

“Like Ruhn… and you, I guess… black hair and the same eyes that you both have. She has freckles, too, all across her face.” Bryce pressed her lips together. “Why?”

“Her name.” Rhysand finally looked up, his jaw twitching. “What was her name?” 

“Lorin.”

A choked noise came from Rhysand’s mouth as he took a step away from the table. Cassian’s mouth had dropped wide open at the statement while Mor covered hers. Azriel only narrowed his eyes at Bryce as if he didn’t believe her.

Feyre went to Rhysand’s side and rubbed his back tenderly, murmuring words into his ear. He seemed too shocked to say anything as he put a hand on the wall beside him for support. 

“Mother spare me,” Nesta muttered, looking at the males around her who were in various states of shock. “Would one of you like to explain what’s going on?” 

“I—l—”Cassian's head whipped to Azriel. “It can’t be true—right? Not after all this time?” 

Azriel stood up abruptly from the table and walked into the hall. There he searched the wall for a moment. 

“What are you—” Nesta started but stopped when Azriel reached out and pulled a frame from the wall.

He studied the painting before he placed it in front of Bryce. “Is this her? Ruhn’s mother?”

Bryce leaned forward to examine the painting before her. In the painting a young boy—Rhysand— stood smiling down at a young girl by his side. Rhysand was smaller in this photo, his shoulders not yet so broad and his features not so hard. His arm was around the girl’s shoulders. The girl had both her arms wrapped around his waist, face pressed into his ribs as she stared out at Bryce through the painting. In her hand that was pressed against Rhysand’s side was a worn stuffed bear. 

Bryce traced her fingers across the glass of the frame. The girl’s eyes, violet blue and flecked with starlight, were happy and bright, full of adventures to come and love to have. Black hair as dark and as smooth as a raven’s feathers fell around the top of her glittering purple gown. And there, all across her face, were a splattering of sun kissed freckles. 

“Yes,” Bryce breathed. “That…that’s her. She doesn’t have wings now but that’s Lorin, Ruhn’s mother. But how?”

“That,” Azriel pointed to the girl, his voice softer now. “Is Rhysand’s sister. Mor’s cousin. And that.” He pointed to the stuffed bear in the girl's hand. “Was her bear, or her son as she called him, Ruhn.” 

“How is this possible?” Mor choked out, tears flowing down her face. “She’s been dead for over two centuries.” 

“Tell me about her,” Rhysand pleaded, ignoring Mor as he stepped back to the table, his eyes on Bryce. “Anything. Do you have a painting of her on your phone? What is she like?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any photos of her.” Bryce bit her lip thinking of what to tell him. She honestly didn’t know much of Ruhn’s mother aside from what he had told her. “I don’t— I haven’t met her often, only a few times.” Rhysand seemed to deflate a bit at that. “But, Ruhn has told me about her. She is kind and gentle to everyone, always, even to me. Ruhn said— said whenever he would visit her she always seemed to be waiting for someone, but Ruhn never thought it was him. He always assumed it was his father that she was waiting for. They weren’t… romantically involved, their relationship always was purely for the bloodline— for Ruhn.” Rhysand snarled at that. 

“But I never thought she was waiting for him. After Lorin gave birth to Ruhn she was given a house in a villa in Lunathion. She never added anything to the house, nothing personal, not even a photo of Ruhn who she loved dearly. It seemed like she was always ready to leave at any given moment. She always had this sad far off look in her eyes, like she didn’t belong, like she was supposed to be somewhere else.” Bryce paused as if remembering something. “And when something broke in the house, like the AC unit— it keeps the houses cold in the summer months— she never knew who to call about fixing it, she always let Ruhn do that for her. The technology always seemed to confuse her. She seemed happy enough though, content with simply being alive.” 

Rhysand nodded, taking all of that in. He pressed his palms to his eyes as he turned around and leaned his head against the wall for a moment. 

Mor continued to cry, leaning against Cassian for support as she repeatedly whispered, “she’s alive, she’s alive, she’s alive.” 

Cassian just stroked her hair softly as he held her, his own wide eyes flicking to Azriel. “How could this have happened?” 

“Tamlin,” Rhysand’s deadly voice cut through the room as he turned back around to face them. “He did this.” 

Azriel nodded. “We have to find him. Now.”

“Get Lucien,” Rhysand snapped at Cassian. “We have a beast to catch.” 

***

Everyday was agony as The Hind sat by and watched the male she loved and his friends be torn to shreds. The Asteri wouldn’t let them rest, wouldn’t even give them the relief of death, until they had found out Bryce’s exact location. Beneath The Hind’s feet, Rigelus had his mystics working tirelessly to find her, but it seemed that Bryce, along with the horn on her back and the star sword in her hand, had disappeared without a trace. 

The Asteri’s only leads as to Bryce’s whereabouts thus far were the three males hanging from the chains before her. 

Ruhn wouldn’t even look at her anymore. Hadn’t since they took Baxian away the first time. Before that, he used to glance at her every so often as if wondering if what they had together was a lie or not. If she was still in there. His Day. She tried so hard each and every time to tell him with her eyes that she loved him, that she was here, that she would get him out. A small voice in her head screamed for her to help them. To kill Pollux and get them out now. But logically she knew they’d never make it past the Asteri stronghold and that even if they did she had nowhere to hide them. 

She had to wait. An opportunity would come where she could get them out safely, she was sure of it. Even if Ruhn would never forgive her, even if he hated her for it. 

The problem with waiting though was that each day the three of them seemed to fade further and further away from themselves. 

Athlar’s eyes were filled with darkness more times than not now. His face completely devoid of emotion as he let the creature take hold of him. She couldn’t remember the last time she saw him when she looked into his eyes. She understood though, hoped that when the creature was in full control as it was now that he wouldn’t remember all that he had done. 

Baxian though… he was hollow.

The first time he had come back, he was angry. Shouting curses and taunts towards Polaris as she walked away. Swearing that one day, he would be the one to kill her and that he would make it slow so she felt every slice of his blade until she was the one begging him for death, for him to stop. He’d spent all day pulling on his chains and using all of his strength as he tried to break free. He never did. 

He was quiet the second time Polaris had brought him back. Not looking much at anything. Handprints stained his body black and blue. A haunted look in his dark eyes. His shoulders seemed to curl inwards on themselves as though he was trying to cover up as much of himself as he could. Trying to make himself smaller. 

She had come back for him a handful more times. The Hind could never predict when she would come and how long the hellhound would be gone for. Or what she would do to him. Each time she came for him, Ruhn’s voice would fill her head. It would start off as angry threats and demands, some of which he even said allowed to Polaris who only laughed at his fury. Then it would change to pleas, his voice would break in her mind as he begged her to help him, to save him. Outloud he’d pled with Polaris to take him instead. She never did. 

Each time Baxian came back more ghost-like than the last. 

Ruhn had tried to talk to him. To extend what little of himself he had left to his friend. Even going as far as trying to make him laugh. Baxian would just nod or give a small twitch of his lips, too tired to do anything else. “I’m fine Ruhn,” he’d say. “It’s fine.”  

Hunt, in one of his rare moments of lucidity, one that he had fought for, managed to lift his head enough to say to Baxian, “I’m sorry, brother.” 

Baxian only nodded his head and let out a choked, chest rattling sob at the acknowledgment of his pain. 

They couldn’t go on much longer like this. The Hind knew that The Bright Hand was growing restless for answers. Torturing the males had been keeping him at bay but there had been talk of more extreme measures being taken in order to gain Bryce Quinlan’s attention. 

“And what will you do to make them talk?” Lidia had asked as she kneeled before the Asteri’s thrones, head bowed.

“I am starting to understand,” Rigelus drawled. “That there is nothing I can do to make those males betray Bryce Quinlan.” 

“And so what will you have me do?”

“If we can not find Bryce Quinlan ourselves we must make her come to us.” Rigelus said. “We will kill one of her beloved pets, either her brother or her mate. Whichever will hurt her more, I’ll leave that for you to decide, my hind.”

Lidia wanted to vomit at the words but she kept herself composed, slapped a wicked smile on her face as she said, “It will be my honor.”

Now, watching the broken males before her, she knew she was almost out of time. The next time Bryce called her they would need to make a plan. 

***

It wasn’t long before Rhysand had winnowed himself, Bryce and Lucien to the entrance of The Spring Court.

Bryce whistled. “You guys sure know how to decorate.” 

The gates surrounding the spring courts were completely overgrown with foliage. It looked significantly worse since the last time Rhysand had visited a few weeks ago. It seemed that as Tamlin continued to deteriorate and spend more and more time living as a wild creature so did his lands. 

Beyond the gate, Rhysand could barely make out the large estate in the center of the property, covered in vines as it was. The place, the whole court, had been left almost completely abandoned leaving Tamlin as its soul inhabitor. It had gotten so bad that both Rhysand and Lucien had begun to visit Tamlin every so often and give him supplies to help keep The Spring Court from total collapse. Though, it appeared that was exactly what Tamlin wanted. 

The last few times either of them had visited Tamlin had been in his beast form and had refused to speak to them, instead running off the second he saw them approach. 

As the three of them walked up to the estate, Rhysand could just see Tamlin’s fur through a broken window. He appeared to be asleep in a patch of sunlight. 

Lucien was the one who woke him, insisting it would go better if he was the one to speak. The second he touched the beast’s shoulder Tamlin jumped awake, trying to escape through the open window. Rhysand lifted a lazy hand to stop him.

“Tamlin please.” Lucien begged the beast. “Stop running from us. We just have a few questions.” When Tamlin’s gaze flickered back to Rhysand who was clearly giving off murderous energy, Lucien said,  “He won’t hurt you. Not if you speak to us. I promise I won’t let him.” 

Tamlin tilted his head as if considering and then a patch of light broke free from his chest as he shifted back into his fae form. The male looked as filthy and as wild as his court. His long golden hair was muted from the dirt that coated his whole body. A torn white shirt and black pants was all he wore, his feet bare. Though he seemed to be eating the food that himself and Lucien had been leaving for him. 

“Thank you,” Lucien said softly to the male. 

Tamlin nodded, his green eyes lingering on Lucien for a beat before he turned to Rhysand. “What is the meaning of this?” 

Rhysand wanted to snap his neck for lying to him about his sister's death. Rhysand wanted to break down and give him a hug for saving his sister. Instead he decided to introduce Bryce. “This is Bryce Quinlan.”

Tamlin lifted an eyebrow. “We haven’t met.” 

“No,” Rhysand laughed, not a pleasant sound. “I can’t say that you would’ve had the chance seeing as she is from another world.” 

Rhysand watched as Tamlin took that in. Watched him try to hide a grimace as his gaze flicked to Bryce. “What?”

“Where is my sister?” Rhysand asked in a deadly tone. He didn’t have the time to play games. Somewhere, in some world, his sister was out there alive and he had done nothing to find her. Nothing to save her. Left her there for some male to use as a breeding mare when he decided that he wanted an heir to his bloodline. 

Tamlin paled. “I don’t know—“

“Show him.” Rhysand said to Bryce. 

Bryce reached into her pocket and pulled out the bright pink box which contained all of her portraits of the other world. She flicked through some until she landed on the one of her brother, showing it to Tamlin. 

His face scrunched up, confused as to what he was looking at, but Rhysand could see from the way his brows lifted that he recognized something in the boy's face besides the simple fact that he looked similar to Rhysand, he just wasn’t sure what. 

“I’ve never seen that male before.” Tamlin said, sounding slightly unsure of himself.

“But you recognize something, yes? Beyond the fact that he looks like me?” 

Tamlin nodded. 

As if delivering the final blow, Rhysand said, “His name is Ruhn.” 

Sure enough that was all it took for Tamlin’s breath to be punched out of his stomach and for him to understand who this male was. Long ago, when they were both just boys, back before everything had happened, back before everything changed; Tamlin and Rhysand had been friends. Because of that simple fact, it meant that Tamlin had of course met his darling sister, Lorin. Anyone that knew Lorin knew that she had a stuffed bear, a bear that she insisted was her blood born son, named Ruhn. Rhysand would never forget the night after his mother and sister had been brutally murdered when he found that same bear torn and coated in their blood. 

“Where,” Rhysand asked again, gritting his teeth. “Is my sister.” 

Tamlin’s eyes flicked to Lucien and his shoulders sagged. “I didn’t have a choice.” The male hung his head. “When I told my father where your family was I never knew that he would do… do what he did.” He lifted his gaze to Rhysand. “By the time I got there, I was too late. My father had already killed your mother and made my brothers cut off your sister’s wings. She— she was screaming.” Rhysand flinched. “I—my father, he wanted me to be the one to kill her. And so I did or so they thought. I glamoured her, made it seem like I tore off her head.”

Rhysand stepped forward, his eyes murderous. Lucien caught him with a hand against his chest. 

“After they had all gone. I took her to the only place I knew would keep her safe, the only place he couldn’t get to her, one I wasn’t even sure existed beyond the legends told to children in The Spring Court.”

“Where,” Lucien asked softly. 

“The pool of starlight.”

“But that’s just a pool,” Lucien said in confusion. “You and I have swam there hundreds of times.”

“It is. But during the night of a full moon only for a few moments, it turns into a door. One that goes to another world where its mirror lives in the soil. When I brought Lorin there, I didn’t know if the legend was true, but I had no time to question it and even less time once the door opened. I could only push her through and pray to the cauldron that it had worked.”

Rhysand growled. “You slimy fucking prick. How could you do that to her!?” 

“I saved her!” Tamlin roared. “Without me, she would be dead just like your mother.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“You killed my brothers!” Tamlin spat. “They never wanted to be dragged into this, never wanted to hurt anyone and yet you killed them anyway and without hesitation.” Tamlin was breathing hard now. “It— it wasn’t fair.” 

Rhysand was fuming as he turned to Bryce and threw her the communication crystal he had taken from her. “Call your friend.” He said. “Tell her to find my sister.” 

***

Bryce caught the stone with greedy hands. She hadn’t been able to talk to The Hind since the stone had been taken from her. She was desperate to hear how Hunt and Ruhn and even Baxian were. She prayed to Luna that they were still alive. That it was not too late. 

“Lidia,” she said desperately into the stone.

There were a few moments of tension filled silence before she answered, “Bryce thank god—“

“How are they? Are they alive?” Bryce asked as she paced. Rhysand gave her a look that said he was pissed but he was just going to have to wait his fucking turn to ask his question. 

“Yes.” Lidia said hesitantly. “Yes they’re alive.”

“Thank the mother,” Bryce sighed heavily.

“But Bryce,” Lidia almost choked, “I can’t— they’re dying Bryce. The Asteri are taking everything from them I can’t—” she took a breath. “Rigelus is growing impatient. He wants me to kill one of them soon. We have to get them out. It can’t wait.”

Bryce froze, thinking through her options until her eyes met Rhysand’s. “You want me to get your sister out?”

“Yes,” Rhysand breathed.

“Even if you have to make another bargain?”

“I’ll do anything.”

Bryce smiled and said to Lidia, “I know a way, but first I need you to find someone for me…”

Chapter Text

Convincing The High Lord of The Night Court to listen to him was a challenge that Lucien Vanserra hadn’t prepared to take on when he woke up this morning. After the half-fae girl had announced that they would be reopening the portal to retrieve her friends along with Rhysand’s sister, Tamlin had seemed to shut down. He informed them all that only the touch of the High Lord of The Spring Court or one of their heirs would be able to open the pool into a portal on a full moon. 

Rhysand immediately started threatening Tamlin and from Lucien’s experience, that never went well. Once, long ago, Tamlin and Rhysand would never say and do such hurtful things to one another. But time goes on and people change. 

Lucien had explained to Rhysand that if he threatened Tamlin and even went as far as forcing him to open the portal with his daemati powers they didn’t know what might happen. There was a very small window in which the portal could be opened and the chance of having that ruined and being forced to wait for another full lunar cycle to even try again had the half-fae girl freaking out. Her friends, her brother, her mate, couldn’t wait that long. 

The girl had been on edge since the end of her conversation with the female from the other world. Apparently, when the girl fell into this world she had also slipped through time and what had felt like a split second of falling for her was weeks of torture for her friends. 

This left Lucien with two hot headed fae and one brat of an ex best friend. 

With the girl and the High Lord shouting at Tamlin, Lucien prayed to the cauldron for patience. 

“Enough!” Lucien boomed, his voice cutting enough that the two of them stopped speaking. “Nothing is going to get done with you two yelling at him. Go back.”

“But—” the girl started. 

“Don’t you have a bargain to strike?” Lucien reminded her. “I’ll take care of this.”

The girl narrowed her eyes at him but turned to walk away. Rhys waited a moment, looking between the two of them and finally nodded at Lucien. “Thank you.”

Lucien only inclined his head and turned back to face The High Lord of The Spring Court. 

It had been… longer than Lucien would like to admit since he’d checked in on his old friend. The state of The Spring Court had deteriorated significantly since he had last visited. And Tamlin, it seemed, had deteriorated right along with it.

There was a time when he would have done anything for the man before him. Would have jumped between any sword and done whatever was asked of him without question. There was a time when this place was home. Now it felt… empty. He didn’t feel like he belonged here anymore. Though now that he was thinking about it, he never had felt like he belonged anywhere he’d been.

The Autumn Court, where he grew up, never felt right. His brothers had always seemed like they belonged there, like that was the place where they were always meant to be. Sure, their father was a tyrant, but his brothers were always willing to play his loyal pets. 

Velaris was kind to him but he never felt wanted there. And Elain… oh Elain. He never wanted his presence to make her uncomfortable so he never stayed long. 

His newest home in the southern Mortal Lands of Prythian was nice enough. He loved living with his friends and it felt as though they had created somewhat of a makeshift family. Though it always felt like something was missing. His heart always ached for something he couldn’t find. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” Tamlin growled.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m some lost dog. I am exactly where I want to be.” 

“Really?” Lucien asked quietly as he looked around. “This is how you want to live?” 

“I have no other choice,” Tamlin hissed.

“You did, once. This place… it was beautiful.” Lucien looked at Tamlin, really looked at him. At the man beneath the filth and the anger and the shame. “You made it beautiful.” 

“That time has passed,” Tamlin said, looking into the trees as if he wanted to run off. 

“But it could come again. You just have to let it,” Lucien said, pleading with his old friend. “You have to try.” 

Tamlin glanced at him. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“A good place to start is by helping Rhysand.”

Tamlin scoffed. “That prick.”

“He used to be your friend,” Lucien said softly. “I used to be.” He took a step toward Tamlin. “Just reach out your hand and try, can you just do that? Just once? Surely it won’t do you any harm to just try?” 

Tamlin tilted his head, studying Lucien. He nodded once. “Bring Rhysand to meet me at the pool of starlight on the night of the full moon.” 

“You want me to be there?” Lucien asked.

“Yes,” Tamlin said, some look crossing his face as he looked at his old friend that Lucien couldn’t quite name but it felt a lot like heartbreak. Before Lucien could question it, Tamlin morphed into his beast form and disappeared into the overgrown wood. 

***

Upon Rhysand’s return to The Night Court he had summoned a meeting of the inner circle along with the two newcomers in the River House to discuss the matter of Bryce as well as his sister. He informed them all that he had made a bargain with Bryce that he would do his best to retrieve her friends as well as grant them safe passage in The Night Court as long as she and her friend in the other world would try to get his sister back to Prythian as well. 

Bryce had tried to get him to agree to help fight with her world against the Asteri but Rhysand had immediately disagreed. He said that he was willing to offer Bryce and her friends safe passage into this world but that The Night Court would not be fighting in a war they had business involving themselves in. Bryce, having no other option to save her friends, had agreed. Nesta couldn’t help but feel bad for the girl and wished she could do more to help her. 

He had also told them of the pool of starlight in the spring court that could turn into a portal to the other world for a short period of time at midnight on the full moon, which was in a week's time. Rhysand said that it would only open with Tamlin’s participation but that Lucien had somehow convinced him. 

At the mention of Lucien’s name, Elain had looked away from the table. After she had announced her interest in dealing with some of the court matters, Feyre had asked her to sit in on meetings with them when she would like, though that meant that sometimes she would see Lucien. Things between the two of them were…fragile. Though when Nesta would come to visit her sisters at the River House, sometimes, she would see them. In the garden Elain would be tending to the flowers while Lucien stayed a distance away from her, taking directions and helping to care for the plants. 

She never wore the gloves that he got her for solstice. 

He wouldn’t  stay long and always left once Elain seemed to no longer need his help, though Nesta saw the way her sister would look after the male as he walked away. 

By the calm look on Feyre’s face as she sat beside her mate, Nesta was sure that Rhysand had already discussed all of this information with her through their bond. 

“But the portal will only open for a short time?” Nesta asked. “And Bryce’s friends will have to make a prison break before then to even have a chance at reaching the portal?” 

“Yes. Bryce’s friend on the other side will have more information for us soon, she also believes that she can use some sort of magic to keep the portal open longer in order to give us enough time. It’s going to be difficult but that is the only option.”

“But what if it’s not?” Nesta said to the group that had gathered.

She got a room full of confused yet hopeful faces. 

“The thing on your back,” Nesta said to Bryce. “That’s what got you here, isn’t it? I can feel it, it’s made.”

Amren had told Nesta of the marks on Bryce’s back, how they had felt made. The first time Nesta had been in a room with her, she had felt it. Some kind of draw towards the female. She just hadn’t quite worked out why.

“I— yes, the thing on my back,” Bryce said. “The tattoo, it's similar to the mark on Cormac’s arm.” She nodded to the ring of symbols around her cousin's bicep, which he promptly flexed to show off. Bryce rolled her eyes at him and he smirked. “It’s what allowed me to travel to this world through a blast of power from my mate. But what is made? You all kept saying that when I first got here.”

“It is when something, anything, is made into something more.” Amren drawled in a bored tone as she spun the red goblet in front of her. “Made beings and objects can recognize each other and only made beings, like Feyre, Nesta, Elain, and myself, can use, or allow others to use, made objects.” 

“Hold on—people can be made?” Bryce asked. “How does that work? I mean this isn’t exactly an alien planet, you can’t like reproduce with yourselves right…right?” She looked at Cormac with wide eyes. 

“No,” Cassian scoffed from beside her. “We can’t fuck ourselves.”

“I’m sure you’ve tried brother,” Azriel said from across the table. 

Bryce snorted a laugh. 

Only because Nesta had grown so close to the spymaster could she see the small hint of amusement at the corner of his lips. 

Cassian flipped him off.

“Nesta and Elain were made into high fae when they were pushed into the Cauldron. Before that, they were mortal.” Amren said, ignoring the two illyrians who continued to tease one another. 

“Oh… so the Cauldron is like a real thing. Like you guys really just have some giant pot around here somewhere that you use to make fae soup with whenever the urge strikes you?” Bryce looked around as if expecting it to appear or be behind some bookshelf.

“I suppose when you put it like that it sounds rather strange,” Mor said. “But, yes, everything that has ever been created here has been done so by the cauldron. Without it, life and magic would cease to exist.” 

“The mark on your back, somehow the ink that was used was made.” Amren said.

Bryce crossed her arms. “It’s important in my world. It is the reason why the Asteri want me. The reason why they torture my friends. It is the key to defeating them.” 

“How would that defeat the Asteri?” Nesta asked. 

“It opens portals to other worlds, worlds that I hoped would be open to helping us.” She shot Rhysand a pointed look. “I used it to travel to Hel as they had agreed to help us but instead I ended up here.” 

“What if we use it again?” Nesta asked.

“Use what?” Feyre asked. 

“Bryce’s tattoo,” Nesta said confidently to the group. “Instead of going through Tamlin’s land we could use that to travel between worlds with a blast of power from a Siphon.”

“No,” Rhysand said immediately. “That’s too risky. Both Bryce and Cormac went through not only worlds but also time. If Bryce tries to go back through a portal created in that way it could take months or even years.” 

“But not if I help her by using the harp,” Nesta said.

Silence filled the space as that thought was considered.

“Great, now they have magical instruments,” Bryce whispered to Cormac loud enough that everyone could hear. “What in the children’s story book is going on around here?” 

“No,” Rhysand said again, more firmly this time. “It’s too big of a risk and you can barely control the trove objects as it is.” 

Nesta fumed at that. “I was able to control them enough to save your wife and son when they were dying, wasn’t I?” 

“I said no.”

“It’ll be safer,” Nesta growled. “To use the harp to open a portal here. That way we could open it for however long we want and to wherever we want. If we use the harp then we could go right into the dungeon to rescue Bryce’s friends rather than have to break them out and have them travel.” 

“Rhysand,” Cassian said, taking Nesta’s hand in his on the table to show his support of his mate. “She has a point. She’s proven that she can use the trove objects. Surely you can see that.” 

“It may not be a bad idea, Rhys,” Feyre said from beside him. 

“I can’t risk my sister,” Rhysand to his mate before turning back to Nesta. “I am grateful for what you have done for me Nesta, truly. But this is something that I will handle, not you.”

“But I can do it—”

“You can’t,” Rhysand said harshly. “You lack the power to be able to use the harp in such a way.” Nesta felt her cheeks heat as Rhysand said the remark as if he were speaking to a small child who was throwing a temper tantrum. “I know you hate to follow orders but this is one that I implore you to follow, unless you wish to discover the consequences.”

With that, Rhysand got up, kissed Feyre gently on the head, and went to his study. Feyre, feeling the awkward tension filling the room, dismissed the meeting. 

Nesta could feel the anger leaking off of Cassian and saw it in the way his jaw clicked as he stared off after Rhysand. After a moment, Cassian went to get up and follow him but Nesta squeezed his hand. 

“Let me speak with him,” she said, getting up. 

“I don’t like how he spoke to you,” Cassian gritted out. “You don’t deserve to be treated like that after all you’ve done for him.”

“He’s just scared,” Nesta said. 

His face didn’t lose that pissed off look it got when he thought his mate was upset. 

“It’s fine, Cas.” Nesta squeezed his arm softly. “I’m just going to go speak with him for a moment. I promise not to hit him.” 

Cassian looked unconvinced as he stood but trusted Nesta all the same. “If you do, I’ll take your side.” He grinned. “I’ll be right here when you come out.” 

Nesta smiled up at him before she leaned up and planted a quick peck on his cheek before pulling away to go to Rhysand’s office. They needed to settle this tension between them, it was driving her mad. After Nesta had saved Feyre and Nyx, Rhysand had been grateful, sure, but the tension between them still remained. 

“Go get em tiger,” Cassian teased from behind her. 

Nesta shook her head but couldn’t hide the soft chuckle that escaped her lips. 

The High Lord of The Night Court sat at his desk with papers scattered all about in neat piles. He looked up and sighed when he saw her. 

“Is there something else you would like to say?” Rhysand questioned. 

“I know that you don’t want to trust Bryce alone in another world to get your sister back, I get it.” Nesta sat down in the seat opposite him. “But I’ll be with her the entire time to ensure she does,” Nesta confirmed but Rhysand’s hard expression didn’t change. “Unless…” Nesta narrowed her eyes at him. “You don’t trust me too.”

Rhysand eyes flicked away from her, giving himself away. “It’s that, isn’t it? You don’t trust me to do this.” 

Rhysand sighed, exasperated. “Well, you haven’t ever given me much of a reason to.” He picked a piece of lint on his jacket. 

“I have given you plenty of reason.” Nesta snapped. “Do you really think so little of me?”

“I think you’re just a girl, trying to be something she’s not in order to prove herself,” Rhysand said flatly, eyes digging holes into her skin. “You’re not using the harp and you certainly aren’t going to go through any portals without my say so. That's final.” 

“Do you know what I think, Rhysand?” Nesta asked as she stood up. “I think that you can’t stand me, that you act like you hate me, simply because I pose a threat to you. You can’t stand the idea of anyone being more powerful than you and do you know why? It’s not because you’re afraid of your power getting taken away from you or because you’re greedy or selfish and don’t want to share it. If that was the case you would have jumped at the opportunity to be High King— but you didn’t. I think you want to hate me because my power being equal to yours means that I’m just another person who could hurt you and there’s not a thing you could do about it. Just like your father or Tamlin or Ameranta hurt you.” 

Rhysand clenched his jaw but didn’t say anything, just stared at her. Nesta took a breath and lowered her voice. “You talk down to me in front of your court just because you want to have control because without it you’re scared.” She looked him in the eyes. “You locked me in a fucking tower because you were afraid of my actions and you didn’t let me out until I met your demands, until I was compliment enough for you to be comfortable with letting me out. But what you fail to see, to realize, is that while I don’t like you very much, I would never truly try to hurt you. You’re my family Rhys. You’re my brother. I don’t like you because you’re an arrogant prick who tries to tell me what to do but I don’t hate you, Rhysand. And I follow you as a leader, not because you are the most powerful or the strongest of us, it’s because you are a good male. You can not control everything, and nor should you have too. You aren’t alone anymore.” 

Rhys looked away from her. Silence filled the room as he took in her words, but when his violet eyes met hers it was clear that what she had said wasn’t enough to change his mind. 

“No,” he said simply. “I won’t argue with you about this. It is safer for everyone if we use the portal in The Spring Court, I can’t even begin to predict what would happen if you open a portal on your own with the harp. I appreciate your offer, but I won’t risk my sister.” 

“You risk her already by following this foolish plan,” Nesta seethed. 

Rhysand lifted his chin. “Then that is my choice.” 

Nesta paused, took a breath and closed her eyes as if summoning patience. “So be it.”

She slammed the door on her way out. 

Chapter Text

Ithan had gone straight to the Fae males’ house when he’d hauled Sigrid out of the Astronomer’s tank. They’d stayed there while Flynn and Declan pretended that all was normal in their world. While they continued working for the Aux, Prince Ruhn’s absence dismissed as a much-needed vacation.

He’d have thought that the wolf would have been more docile given that she had spent the majority of her life inside of a tank barely even glimpsing the outside world. That maybe she’d just spend hours sitting inside afraid to leave again, fearful that the Astronomer would come back to claim her. 

Well, needless to say, he was wrong. Sure, getting her into the frat house wasn’t too bad seeing as she was still groggy and almost drunk-like from her time in the tank but the second that had worn off and she realized she was finally free, she had practically tried to claw his face off. They had wrestled on the floor, Ithan trying to pin her while the female tried to tear him into pieces so small not even a bloodhound would find him. 

That was how Dec and Flynn found them, rolling around on the floor like a couple of angry dogs. It had taken all three of them to lock her in one of the empty upstairs bedrooms of the frat house. Marc and Dec had given him hell for abducting her but Flynn couldn’t really say much seeing as he was the one to let Ariadne And the sprits out. 

For the past few weeks they had been able to calm her down some. It took days before she would eat any food they offered her and weeks before she stopped trying to escape. 

If she got out and Sabine found her—gods what a fucking mess. 

For a long time Ithan had been waiting for soldiers to show up. Or assassins, sent by the Asteri or Sabine or the Astronomer. 

Yet there had been no questions. No interrogations. No arrests. The Autumn King hadn’t even grilled Flynn and Dec, though he no doubt knew something had happened to his son. And that where Ruhn went, his two best friends went with him. 

The public had no idea what had happened in the Eternal City. Granted, Ithan and the Fae warriors didn’t know much either, but they knew that their friends had gone into the Asteri stronghold and hadn’t come out again. The Asteri, the other powers at play … they knew that Ithan and the others had also been involved, even if they hadn’t been present. And yet they hadn’t made a move to punish them. 

It wasn’t a comforting thought.

But since Ruhn and Hunt and Bryce had disappeared … 

Disappeared wasn’t the right word, at least for Ruhn and Hunt. They’d been taken prisoner, but Bryce … no one knew what had happened to her. They had searched everywhere , seeking any intel they could get their hands on after Declan’s computer searches had been fruitless.

 Any information on Bryce, on Ruhn, on Athalar … they were desperate for it. For a direction. A spark to light the way. Something that was better than sitting on their asses, not knowing.

But now, as they all gathered in the silent living room, everything seemed hopeless. 

It was Sigrid who said, “So what now?” 

Only a few weeks out of the tank and she was already assuming the mantle of leader, whether she knew it or not. A true Alpha, expecting to be answered … and obeyed.

 “We keep trying to find out what’s going on,” Declan said with a one-shouldered shrug.

 Flynn blew out an exasperated breath and plopped onto his chair again. “We’re no closer than we were weeks ago : Ruhn and Athalar are being held as traitors. That’s all we know.” That was all Marc’s inside source at the Eternal City had been able to glean. Nothing else.

 Declan sank into a seat and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. “Honestly? 

We’re lucky we aren’t in those dungeons, too.” 

“We have to break them out,” Flynn said, crossing his muscled arms. Rithi, on his left shoulder, made an identical gesture. 

“Urd knows what shape they’re in,” Declan said bleakly. “We’d need medwitches on hand, probably.” 

“You’ve got healing magic,” Flynn countered.

 “Yeah,” Dec said, shaking his head, “but the kind of injuries they’d have … I’d need to be working alongside a team of trained professionals.” 

The thought of what those injuries might be to require such a team of medwitches made them all fall silent again. A heavy, miserable sort of quiet. 

“And,” Declan challenged, head lifting, “where would we even go once we rescued them? There’s no one on Midgard who could hide or harbor us.” 

“What about that mer ship?” Flynn mused. “The one that picked them up at Ydra. It outran the Omega-boats. Seems pretty damned good at hiding from the Asteri, too.” 

Ithan, knowing he would be ridiculed, said , “Tharion could get us onto that ship.” 

None of them had seen or heard from the mer male since he’d left for Pangera. But they’d learned of his whereabouts thanks to a neon-green piece of paper taped to a lamppost, advertising an upcoming match in the Viper Queen’s fighting pit with Tharion as the main event. It was clear enough what had happened: the male had defected from the Blue Court and run straight here. 

The others had not been pleased upon learning his whereabouts and had dismissed him as a traitor. In all fairness, he was the one who left them. 

Flynn rolled his eyes at the mention of helping Ketos. “He can’t set foot beyond the meat market.”

Ithan countered, “Then we ask Tharion how to get a message to them.” 

Declan shook his head. “And what then? We all live under the ocean forever?” 

Ithan shifted on his feet. The wolf in him would go insane. No ability to run freely, to respond to the moon calling his name—

“We can’t just leave Tharion in here.” 

“Trust me, Holstrom, Captain Whatever can look after himself.”

 Ithan frowned deeply at Tristan Flynn from across the rickety table. 

Ithan was getting sick enough of their fruitless talking that he taunted Flynn, “Is this what Fae do? Leave their friends to suffer?”

 “Fuck you, wolf,” Flynn said flatly, barely glancing at him as he refused to take the bait. Even the usually unflappable Flynn now had bags beneath his eyes. He’d rarely smiled in the past few days. Seemed to be sleeping as little as Ithan was. 

Yet despite all that, Ithan went for the throat. “So Ruhn’s life means more—” 

“Ruhn is in a fucking dungeon being tortured by the Asteri,” Flynn snarled. “Tharion is there because he defected. He made that choice.”

 “Technically, Ruhn also made a choice to go to the Eternal City—” 

Flynn dragged his hands through his brown hair. “If you’re going to keep bringing the fish up, then get the fuck out of here.” 

“I’m just saying that we’ve got a friend in a bad situation literally right here and we’re not even trying to help him.” 

“Again, Ketos defected. Not much we can do.”

 “He was desperate—” 

A knock sounded at the door.

They all froze for just a moment, looking around at one another with wide eyes. Having been too busy talking with the others, he didn’t hear someone approach the door— a fatal mistake. 

The knocking came again, this time more insistent.

The Fae and the shifters jumped up this time, but no one made a sound. Ithan turned to Sigrid and pointed for her to go upstairs and hide. 

She shook her head. The stubborn wolf.

He pointed again. 

She flipped him off, starting to walk confidently towards the front door as if she was just going to swing it open and damn the consequences.

This female. 

Marc, slick and quiet as a cat, came up behind the wolf and wrapped her securely in a sleeper hold with a hand around her mouth before she had taken three steps. 

She didn’t have time to pull away from his hold until his grip was deadlocked and there was no escape from his hulking form. Her face flushed and she clawed at his arms as he dragged her back up the stairs. She tried to fling her head back into his nose but she was clumsy compared to the leopard shifter who easily dodged all of her attempts at escape. As they reached the top of the stairs she stopped fighting, having gone unconscious as Marc locked her in her room before joining them back downstairs. 

Ithan was already creeping towards the front window with Flynn at his back, gun drawn. He pulled back the blinds just enough to see— what the fuck?

Perhaps they were all bound to see Ruhn and Athlar much sooner than they had expected after all because The Hind was waiting on their doorstep. 

***

It was stupid, Bryce knew, to cry over her phone. She saw so many females do it back at CCU and always thought they were foolish. Surely nothing on there could be so bad as to cry over it. 

But this, staring into Hunt’s beautiful face, his joy filled eyes, eyes that had only known such happiness for such a short time, as her phone died. Yeah, she sobbed over that. 

She put up a good front around her cousin and the rest of the people she had met so far. Wanting to appear strong, unworried, and in control. The truth was that every moment, every breath, she was so close to a breakdown. One wrong word, one wrong thought, would send her spiraling down a hole in her mind she wasn’t she she would be able to crawl out of. 

What would happen to the rest of her friends? To her home? What if she couldn’t even save Hunt and Ruhn? 

She cursed herself as her vision blurred from the tears, preventing her from fully seeing Hunt’s features. She wanted to memorize everything, the way his lips curved upwards when he smiled and the way his hair curled around his ears. She wanted to remember everything, all of it, they hadn’t had enough time. It wasn’t fair, she wasn’t done loving him yet, wasn’t done being loved by him. They were supposed to have centuries together— a lifetime. With joy and pain and love—so much love. 

She just wanted a little more, anything, just to hear his voice—

Her phone screen glitched once and then suddenly and all at once went black, taking the last bit she had left of Hunt with it. 

For a few moments all she could do was stare at the dark screen as if she could still see him there. Her hands shook and she closed her eyes, picturing him from memory. 

Her lips curved upwards slightly as she pictured him on the couch, his sunball hat turned backwards as he watched the screen, Syrinx purring contentedly in his lap. She saw him shirtless and making food in her kitchen, his hair a mess from her hands. She saw him strong, enveloped in his lightning as fought for what he believed was right. Watched him laugh the first time he had encountered Jelly Jubilee— though it wasn’t right. It didn’t sound right. Was his laughter deeper? Softer? She couldn’t quite remember the way his shoulders shook or how his eyes wrinkled. She could feel him fading from her now, felt him slipping away like sand between her fingers.

No, she thinks pathetically. Can’t I just have him a little while longer? 

Were his eyes more golden brown or soil brown? She couldn’t remember. And maybe she’d never get the chance to find out. 

And alone, in a room that wasn’t her own, in a world she didn’t know, she cried. Cried for the big brother she barely got to know. Cried for The Hellhound who always seemed to have everything taken from him too soon. Cried for her mate who had already suffered so much in his life and now had to go through more for her. She just hoped they would be alive by the time she got to them. 

She cried and she cried as the light in her window shifted and changed, letting the world pass by without her. 

***

When Ithan opened the door, the two fae males already had their guns drawn, safety’s off, while Marc’s claws glinted menacingly from his knuckles. 

The Hind’s lip twitched slightly at their panic, at the fact that the mere presence of her caused them to show such defensive behavior. 

She rolled her eyes. “Hello to you too.”

“What are you doing here?” Flynn demanded.

The Hind raised her hands and for just a moment Ithan swore he could see— was that desperation? 

“I have information that could help save your friends.” 

Flynn laughed sharply without humor as if she had just told a joke. “And we’re supposed to just… believe that?”

The female looked behind herself briefly, scanning the area for anyone who might be listening in to their conversation. “Yes,” she said simply. “I can explain, but you have to let me in.”

Ithan looked around at the others, raising a brow. Marc shrugged and Dec, without asking the others, stepped forward and patted the female down. 

“We’re just gonna let her into the house then?” Flynn asked in dismay, keeping his gun aimed squarely on The Hinds face.

Lidia sniffed and wrinkled her nose in disgust. “If you can even call this monstrosity a house,” she muttered. 

“I don’t exactly see any other leads for us to follow Holstrom,” Dec snapped as he stood, starting to guide her into the kitchen. “And I think if she wanted to, she could have had us ambushed by now.” 

Flynn didn’t move out of the way, coming face to face with the female as he pointed his gun in her face. 

She scoffed at him, pushing the weapon aside. “We don’t have much time .” She continued into the kitchen with Dec and the others. “ Ruhn’s life depends on you listening to me.” 

“What the fuck have you done to Ruhn?” Flynn cut in. 

Ithan could have sworn something like pain flashed across the Hind’s face. “Ruhn lives. As do Athalar and Argos.”

But Declan asked, “Baxian got involved? The Helhound?” 

Before she could finish, Flynn demanded, “Why are you here?” His voice broke. “To arrest us? To rub our failure in our faces?” 

The Hind pivoted to the Fae lord, and—yes, that was pain shining in her eyes. “I’m here to help you rescue Ruhn.” 

Ithan blinked. 

“This is a trap,” Declan said. 

“It’s no trap.” The Hind surveyed them bleakly. “Athalar, Baxian, and Ruhn are being held in the dungeons beneath the Asteri’s palace. The Hammer and the Hawk torture them daily. They …” A muscle ticked in her slim jaw. “Your friends haven’t talked. But I’m not sure how much longer the Asteri will be entertained by their suffering.” 

“I’m sorry,” Declan spat, “but aren’t you their lead interrogator?” 

The Hind turned her unnaturally perfect face toward the Fae warrior. “The world knows me as such, yes. I don’t have time to tell you everything. But I require your help, Declan Emmet. I’m one of a few people on Midgard who can get into those dungeons unchallenged. And I’m the only one who can get them out. But I need you to help hack the cameras in the palace. I know you’ve done so once before.” 

“Yeah,” Dec muttered. “But even with the cameras hacked, our plans haven’t exactly turned out great lately. Ask Cormac how well our last big adventure went.” 

“It only failed because Rigelus knew they were coming,” the Hind said, not unkindly. “Celestina sold them out.” 

Shock rippled through the room. But Marc murmured to Declan, “I told you: Archangels are creeps.” 

Flynn threw up his hands. “Am I the only one who feels like they’re on a bad acid trip?”

A loud thump came from above them. 

The Hind’s eyes shot up to the ceiling. “What was that?” 

“Nothing,” all four males said immediately. 

The sound came again, louder. This time it was accompanied by Sigrid’s muted shouts. 

Flynn yawned nonchalantly. “Must be the wind.”

Lidia looked outside into the clear night sky where not a single leaf was blowing. She raised an eyebrow at him. “The wind?”

The shouting came again, very clearly an angry voice. 

“Yes,” Flynn said as if the wind often growled like an angry dog. 

“Does the wind often sound like a female screaming?” 

Flynn shrugged. “I don’t know man. A lot of us live here. It’s honestly hard to keep track of who’s where. Could be the wind, could be someone getting there brains fucked out. Who am I to know?” 

Declan sighed behind him. 

“You know what?” The Hind said in exasperation. “I don’t care. Keep your secrets.” 

Ithan mastered himself, clearing his throat before saying to the Hind, “Allow me to clarify a few things: You are the Asteri’s most skilled interrogator and spy-breaker. You and your dreadwolves tormented us nonstop not so long ago, in this very city. You are, not to put too fine a point on it, pretty much the soul of evil. Yet you’re asking us to help you free our friends. And you expect us not to be suspicious?” 

She surveyed them all for a long moment, and Ithan had the good sense to sit down before she said evenly, “I’m Agent Daybright.” 

“Bullshit,” Flynn spat, angling his gun at her again. 

Daybright, who was high up in the Asteri’s innermost circles. Daybright, who knew of their plans before the Asteri ever acted. Daybright, the most vital link in the rebels’ information chain … 

“She smells like Ruhn,” Ithan murmured. They all blinked at him. The wolf sniffed again. “Just barely. Smell her—it’s there.” 

To Ithan’s shock, a bit of color stained the Hind’s cheeks. “He and I …” 

“Don’t for one fucking second believe this,” Flynn snapped. “She probably rolled around in his blood in the dungeons.” 

Her teeth flashed in a snarl, the first hint of a crack in that cool exterior. “I would never hurt him. Everything I’ve done recently, everything I’m doing now, has been to keep Ruhn alive. Do you know how hard it is to keep Pollux at bay? To convince him to go slow? Do you have any idea what that’s like? ” She screamed the last part at Flynn, who backed away a step. The Hind heaved a breath, shaking. “I need to get him out. If you don’t help me, then his death is on you. And I will destroy you , Tristan Flynn.” 

Flynn slowly shook his head, confusion and disbelief stark on his face. 

The Hind turned to Ithan , and he withstood her blazing look. “I made sure the Depth Charger was there to pick Tharion up after Agent Silverbow sacrificed himself, trying to bring the Asteri down with him; I filled Commander Sendes in about Ruhn and Athalar and Baxian being captured, and Bryce going missing. I’m the one who’s kept Rigelus off your scent, kept the Asteri from killing anyone who has ever meant anything to Ruhn, Bryce, or Athalar.” 

“Or you’re the one,” Flynn said, “who got the information out of the real Agent Daybright and are here to entrap us, too.” 

“Believe what you want,” the Hind said, and true exhaustion slumped her shoulders. For a heartbeat, Ithan pitied her. “But in five days, I am going to free them. And I will fail if I don’t have your help.” 

“Even if we believe you,” Declan said, “we have families who the Asteri would kill without a thought. People we love.” 

“Then use this time to get them into hiding. But the more people who know, the more likely we will be discovered.” 

“You can’t be fucking serious,” Flynn said to Declan. “You’re trusting this monster?” 

Declan met the Hind’s eyes, and Ithan knew he was weighing whatever he found there. “It makes sense, Flynn. Everything Ruhn told us about Daybright … it adds up.” 

“Does Ruhn know what you are?” Flynn spat. 

Lidia ignored him, 

“Does Ruhn know?” Flynn demanded again.

 “Yes,” the Hind said. “He, Athalar, and Bryce know. Baxian doesn’t.” 

Flynn’s throat bobbed. “You lied to Ruhn.” 

“We lied to each other,” she said, some sort of emotion flickering in her golden eyes. “Our identities weren’t supposed to be revealed. We both … went too far.” 

 “Bryce?” Ithan asked hoarsely. 

“She… I’ve spoken to her,” The Hind said slowly as if she herself was uncertain of her next few words. “She’s in another world.” 

“What the fuck does that mean?” Ithan demanded. 

“She somehow managed to use the horn and Athlar’s lightning to blast herself off to… somewhere else. She meant to go to Hel, for reinforcements, but she ended up in a different world instead, the homeworld of the fae.” 

All the breath was punched out of Ithan’s chest, his thoughts spiraling. A different world? He knew from The Prince of The Chasm himself that Hel was ready and prepared to help them take down the Asteri. They had tried to before and knew how to do it now but if Bryce had went somewhere else…

“How did you speak with her?” Ithan asked, voice dry.

“Ruhn, he slipped a com crystal into her pocket before she jumped through the portal.” 

“Can I— can we—”

“No,” The Hind said strongly but not meanly. “You can’t speak to her. I can’t keep the crystal on my person or someone might find it. It stays safe where only I have access to it.” 

“So you want us to just take you for your word?” Flynn raised a brow. 

“Yes, if there’s any hope of getting the three of them out, then yes you have to trust me. I can get them out of the dungeons through the catacombs but that is as far as I can go. I need you all to meet them there and transport them to The Autumn King’s Villa. There’s an ancient pool there that will transform into a portal to the world where Bryce is for only a few moments at exactly midnight on the full moon. That other world is the only place where the Asteri won’t be able to track them down. It is the only place where they will be safe. Ruhn should know where it is.” 

“Why bother to save them?” Declan asked. “ Even if this is all true and Bryce really can save them by opening a portal to another world, why would you help? Ruhn, Argos and Hunt have no value to you at all.” 

“Hunt Athalar is valuable to Bryce Quinlan, and to activating her power. Baxian Argos is a powerful warrior and skilled spy. If we have any hope at all of winning this war in the future, we may need their help again and therefore they are valuable to all of us.” 

“And Ruhn?” Ithan asked, brows high. 

“Ruhn is valuable to me,” the Hind said without an ounce of doubt. “At sunrise in five days’ time, I will be at the entrance of the catacombs and if you want to save them, then you will be there as well to get them out .” She chucked a small white stone to Ithan . A com crystal. “I’ll be in contact about exactly when I need you to be there. You all…you can go with them, through the portal if you like. But there won’t be much time, no more than a few moments at most.” 

In the furious silence, the Hind walked to the door. She halted before opening it, and didn’t turn around as she said to them all, “I know you don’t trust me. I don’t blame you. That you don’t tells me I’ve done my job very well. But …” 

She looked over a shoulder, and Ithan saw her throat bob. “Ruhn and Athalar are in danger. As we speak, Rigelus is debating which one of them will die. It all boils down to how it might impact Quinlan. But once he decides, there will be nothing I can do to stop it. So I am …” Her voice caught. “I am begging you. Before it’s too late. Help me pull this off— a nod to Declan—“be ready at a moment’s notice from me to hack into the cameras at the Eternal Palace”—and finally a look toward the rest of them—“and for Luna’s sake, be at the catacombs in five days’ time.”

With that, she left. For a long moment, none of them could speak.

***

Late one night, five days before the full moon, Cassian went to the River House to speak with Rhysand. His brother had been oddly quiet since finding out the news of his sister. His sister who was alive. As if he was trying to keep all of his hope inside himself, holding his breath in case it didn’t work out. 

Feyre and Elain had joined Nesta and the girls in The House of Wind for some kind of spa night. Okay… so yes he was essentially kicked out of his own home by his mate—-but it was with love! Besides, he truly did need to visit his brother anyways… and Nesta had even promised him that later, if he was good, then she’d reward him. 

His reward was all Cassian could think about as he stepped into Rhysand’s home. It was warm here. Not only because of the fire that was roaring in the grand hall but just the general feel of this house was warm. Cassian loved it. 

A bark of laughter from the kitchen along with some clattering caught his attention. 

He walked into Rhysand laying on the kitchen floor, his wings splayed around him. His normally perfect hair was a mess of loose black curls and his pristine black suit that he had been wearing earlier that day was thrown half-hazardously on the floor beside him, leaving him with his bare tattooed torso on display, left in only his dark trousers and socks. A huge grin spread across his face, stars sparkling in his eyes as he swigged from a crystal bottle of dark liquor in his hand, watching the performance in front of him. 

Azriel, Spymaster and Shadowsinger of The Night Court, was perched on the counter, also shirtless, but covered in— was that Feyre’s paint???

The Spymaster had tan fur-like face paint covering his skin and what appeared to be yellow cooked pasta all over his head to represent yellow hair and two long wooden spoons came out from behind his ears like horns. He had also put kitchen knives between each of his scared fingers as if to mimic claws. 

“It is I, Tampon,” Azriel hiccuped and shook his head putting on his best Tamlin impression as he straightened his spoons—horns behind his ears. “I mean Tamlin.” Azriel placed one hand on his heart and the other pointed out to some imaginary crowd in the living room. “Feared ruler of… no one anymore I suppose but still I um…I still…” he scratched his head and looked down towards Rhys, breaking character. “What’s he do now?” He slurred. 

Rhys looked up to the ceiling, rubbing his chin. “I guess just cry and act like a little bitch… or perhaps a cold bowl of soup?” Rhysand suggested. 

Azriel nodded seriously, clearing his throat to start again as Rhys took another drink. 

“Am I…interrupting something?” Cassian asked slowly from the hallway behind them. 

At the sound of his voice Azriel, normally so graceful, swung his head so fast in Cassian’s direction that he fell right off the counter and onto the floor beside Rhys with a thud, his knives and spoons scattering all over the ground.

Rhysand laughed so hard that he snorted into his drink causing the liquid to squirt out of the bottle and all over his face. He choked, rolling to the side as he coughed out the liquid laughing all the while. 

Azriel groaned from his place on the floor as he opened one eye to look over at Cassian.

“What poetry you’re able to spew from those lips Az,” Cassian teased, nudging his brother with the toe of his boot, “it must have all the ladies running. Especially with your…” Cassian looked upon his outfit, the one spoon still crookedly behind his ear. Cassian suppressed a laugh. “Commitment to the role.” 

Azriel smirked up at him. “It sure does have Nesta running,” he singsonged smugly. 

Cassian barked a laugh sitting down with them. “Yeah running away I’m sure.” He took the almost empty bottle of dark liquor from Rhysand, taking a long drink. 

“Now why wasn’t I invited to the Tamlin bashing party?” Cassian pouted.

Rhysand snatched the bottle from Cassian’s hands. “It wasn't a party or at least it wasn’t supposed to be anyway. Azriel was just coming over to cheer me up and cheering me up happened to involve bringing over a bottle of Rita’s finest.” Rhysand said, going to take another drink. “Mother’s tits Cas,” Rhys gasped, looking at him as if he had killed his first born. He held up the bottle. “It’s empty?” 

Cassian shrugged. “I had to catch up somehow.”

“Not to fear,” Azriel said in the voice of a valiant knight from a children’s story. He sat up and twirled his hand, shadows wrapping around it before another full bottle of liquor appeared. “They don’t call me a Shadowsinger for nothing.” 

He tossed the bottle to Rhysand who smirked as he drank before passing it to Cassian. 

“You gonna wipe all that off or…” Cassian asked, waving a hand at Azirel’s paint and pasta covered face. 

“Absolutely not,” Rhysand hiccuped, “we were literally in the middle of his performance.” 

“You heard The High Lord,” Azriel said, straightening his pasta hair and readjusting his spoon-horns. “The show must go on. Where were we?” 

***

The Hind had been having a dreadfully long day and at the rate it was going it seemed to be doomed to only get longer. It had taken her two full days since Bryce had contacted her with a plan to get the boys out of the dungeon for her to find an excuse to leave The Crystal Palace. 

Rigelus had been seeking her presence often in order to see if she had gained anything from her…time with the prisoners. Since she had obtained no information from them over the weeks they had been in the dungeons, the Asteri were requiring her to spend more and more time torturing them. 

This had caused Pollux to get more… creative with his methods. He seemed to be going for mental torture now, seeing as the physical didn’t seem to have much of an effect. He’d call Polaris down and ask her if she’d be willing to spend some time with Baxian which she always eagerly agreed. 

This morning he’d shaved Ruhn’s head and carved off the rest of his tattoos from his arms so that when they healed the ink wouldn’t return and he’d be left bare. 

It was cruel. All of it. 

She was afraid to leave him alone with them. Pollux often talked in bed about how he’d imagine forcing the dark being inside Hunt to kill Ruhn. He’d make sure that Hunt was conscious in his body, make sure that he was watching as he killed his lover's brother with his bare hands. 

It was an act Pollux was so sure that she would never forgive, that Hunt would never forgive himself either. Then, only after Ruhn had died slowly and begging before the end, would he allow Hunt to have full control of his mind and body once more so he could fully see what he’d done. Feel the blood on his skin and the blade in his hands. Hunt would fall to his knees and plead for a death that Pollux would never grant him.  

Early this evening, once she had coaxed Pollux to sleep with a bit of a sleeping draft that she had concocted, she took her chance and bolted for Lunathion. Her first stop had been to that disgusting house which the fae males had called home. 

She had thrown away her pride and practically begged them for help. She was used to the way they looked at her—like she was a monster—- but it still hurt. Always would, she thought. 

The only thing that she could do now was pray to the mother that they met her at the entrance of the catacombs in five days' time. If they didn’t… she couldn’t think about that. They would. They had too. 

Now as she walked up the steps of Ruhn’s mothers home she felt suddenly nervous. It wasn’t like Ruhn and her were… well she didn’t know what they were now. But they hadn’t been nothing. They were something. To her he was everything. 

She knocked on the hard oak door. 

A few moments later a gorgeous female with blue-black hair and striking violet eyes opened the door. She wore a dark gown as if she had been anticipating The Hind’s arrival. She had the same gentle features that Ruhn had, the same softness. Even the same freckles upon her nose. 

She knew she was at the right house even before she asked. “Are you Lorin?”

Lorin looked at her curiously, tilting her head as she studied her. She was not unkind in her stare, merely curious as if she could see something in Lidia. “Yes, that’s me.” 

“Is it alright if I speak with you for a few moments inside?” The Hind asked, trying to hide how desperate she was. 

Lorin continued to watch her cautiously until eyes widened as she breathed in, seeming to recognize something about The Hind. 

“Yes, yes, how rude of me,” Lorin said, opening the door. “Please come in.” 

The house was bare, lacking any personality beyond the few bookshelves and plants. A beautiful painting of the night sky hung above the kitchen table. 

“Please take a seat,” Lorin said. “Can I get you something to drink?” 

“Water would be fine.” Lidia sat at the table nervously tapping her fingers against the dark wood. 

Lorin placed the glass in front of her and Lidia smiled, nodded her thanks. It appeared that Ruhn’s mother didn’t know that she was The Hind. Lidia wondered if this female even knew what was going on in the world outside of this villa. All the appliances in her home seemed to be modern, yet outdated and Lidia had yet to see a television or even a phone, only books. It seemed as though Lorin preferred living similarly to those in Avallen. 

“There’s something you’d like to discuss?” Lorin prompted kindly, taking a seat across from her. 

Lidia nodded. “I have something to share with you. A few things actually. Some of them might be hard to hear but I need your help… Ruhn needs your help.”

Her eyes widened slightly, a panicked look that only another mother could spot covered her face. “What’s happened? Is he alright?” 

“No,” Lidia said simply, taking a sip from her water. “He’s not. He’s been captured and I need your help to get him out.” 

“Anything,” Lorin breathed. “I’ll do anything.” 

“There’s something else…” The Hind bit her lip knowing that this part would be the hardest for her to believe. “It’s about your brother.” 

Lorin went pale, falling back into her seat as all her air rushed out of her. She glanced at the painting on the wall above them. “My…my brother?” 

“Yes,” Lidia said softly. “I don’t have much time to explain but Bryce—Ruhn’s sister— was sent through a portal and to—”

“Prythian,” Lorin gasped, tears starting to flow from her eyes. Her eyes weren't sad though, in fact it looked like they glinted. As if some long forgotten starlight had finally come back to life. 

“Yes, to Prythian to your brother. He wants you to come home. In five days time, on the night of the full moon, they are going to open a portal— the same one that you came from in the Autumn King’s Villa. You can go home.” 

Lorin was sobbing now, head in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she breathed, “I just— I never thought I’d get the chance to go back. I’ve tried for so long to find a way home but nothing worked. Thank you—” she sniffed and then went still. “But Ruhn—”

“He can go through the portal with you,” Lidia assured, reaching out to take one of Lorin’s hands in hers. “I am going to break him out of the dungeon that he is trapped in along with his friends. But, the only way to get Ruhn out is to ensure that the Autumn King is distracted and even then we can only have the portal open for a few moments before it is lost.”

“Bone salt,” Lorin gaped, squeezing Lidia’s hand. “You’ll need bone salt. I’ve researched it for years in case the portal ever opened again, bone salt will extend the life of the gate. The more bone salt you put in once the portal opens the longer it’ll stay.”

“Bone salt,” Lidia muttered to herself, “I can get that. I’ll give it to Ruhn.” 

“And I’ll distract Einar.” Lorin nodded. 

Lidia pulled out a white stone with her free hand, pushing it across the table to Lorin. “This is a com crystal. I’ll be able to speak to you through this to let you know when to be ready.” 

Lorin pocketed the crystal. 

“Your brother,” Lidia said softly, “he told me to tell you, so that you knew this was real, he wanted me to tell you that the stars listen and dreams are answered.” 

Lorin let out a choked noise but smiled nodding her head. 

“But you already believed me.” Lidia said curiously, not a question. “Why?”

Lorin laughed lightly, the sound dancing through the room. “You smell like him.” She squeezed her hand looking gently at Lidia, like a mother might. “You smell like Ruhn.” 

Chapter Text

Nesta had been having an absolute ball. Mor had had the idea that it was time for a night out and she couldn’t have been more right. The tension in the air and between each other had started to grow thick the past few days and the stress of it all had been getting to everyone. They needed a reminder of how lucky they were to have one another. A night where they put everything aside for a just a while and lived in the moment.

They walked down the street out of Rita’s bar with their hands in the air as they sang whatever tune they could still hear in the faint distance. Emerie’s hands wrapped around Gwyn's and dragged her into a dance through the street in sync with Nesta, Feyre, and Mor’s voices. Amren shook her head beside them but continued to clap along to the beat all the same. 

Nesta didn’t drink much anymore but she still thoroughly enjoyed the fun that a bar atmosphere held. It was different from anywhere else and allowed people to loosen up. 

They danced and spun through the streets until they finally arrived at The House Of Wind where they each made their way up to the top either through winnowing, flying, or hitching a ride. The night was far from over and there were plenty of hours left till dawn that Nesta planned to fill with the company of some of her favorite people.

Nesta had requested earlier in the day that the house set up games and a comfy area for their girls night and it did not disappoint.

“Oh my Gods!” Gwyn laughed as she looked around at the living room which had transformed into a fort of sorts surrounded by soft pillows and fairy lights. 

Emerie sighed and fell face first into one of the mounds of pillows, instantly being swallowed whole.

“Have I told you recently how much I adore what you’ve done with the place,” Mor said as she settled into the pillows beside Emerie. “It was so dull before you fixed it up Nesta.” 

“She's right, girl,” Amren said, somehow already producing a goblet and drinking from it. “You’ve added so much… soul to the house.” 

“Let’s get this party started!” Feyre said excitedly as she produced two bottles of wine and began pouring glasses. 

Nesta smiled at her sister’s enthusiasm. Things between them had gotten so much better but things with Rhysand on the other hand… well that was a problem for another day. He was just so stubborn. 

Elain though, things were strange with her. She had been distant and only had been growing more so by the day. They had invited her out with them but she simply said she had other things to do and that was that. Nothing was wrong exactly but Elain just needed time and space or at least that’s what Nesta thought and so she would give her those things within reason. And a bar scene didn’t exactly sound like a place Elain would really like anyway. 

The others settled in and Nesta got up to grab some snacks from the kitchen when her fae hearing picked up a sound from down the hall. It was soft and she could have easily dismissed it as the wind but— there it was again. 

Nesta placed what was in her hands down onto the counter and walked quietly down the hallway. Once she was away from the others voices and laughter she heard the sound again, sharper now. A quick intake of breath followed by shaky exhales came from Bryce’s room. 

They had moved Bryce and Cormac to The House Wind in two of the guest rooms for security reasons. Rhysand said it was to prevent them from escaping and blah blah blah but Nesta had agreed to it simply to keep a closer eye on the two guests and also to prevent others outside of the inner circle from seeing them. Cauldron only knows the kind of panic the news of people from other worlds would bring.

The two of them could come and go from their rooms as they pleased along with going into the main rooms of the house but they had had to make bargains with Rhysand saying that they would not leave the main floor unless they were told they could and that they couldn’t enter rooms that were not their own without consent. All of which were understandable rules given that they were complete strangers that they were letting into their home but it still pissed Nesta off simply because Rhysand pissed her off. 

Muffled sobs came from Bryce’s room the closer Nesta got. The poor girl had had everything taken from her and cauldron did Nesta know exactly what that felt like. 

She knocked hesitantly.

There was a pause and then, “come in.”

Nesta waited another moment before cautiously opening the door and stepping inside. 

Bryce was sat on her bed with a blanket pulled across her shoulders. Her eyes were blood shot and much of the bravado she had worn had diminished. Her phone was held tightly to her chest as she looked at Nesta with questioning eyes. 

“Are you alright Bryce?” Nesta asked softly.

“I—” she looked down at her phone and took a breath. “I—” her voice cracked and her head fell into her arms, muffling a sob in her hand. 

Nesta walked quickly over to the bed and sat beside her. “I’m so sorry Bryce.” She placed a gentle, comforting hand on the female's back. “About everything.” 

Bryce went unnaturally still under Nesta's palm for only a moment before falling into her completely. Nesta wrapped the female in her arms not saying anything at all, simply holding her the way Nesta had wanted someone to hug her not so long ago. 

Bryce shook and she shook and she shook. Silent broken breaths escaped her when she couldn’t hold them in any longer. It was like she had been holding all of her fear back and something had finally broken, something had made this all feel real and completely and utterly inescapable. 

“We’re going to get them back,” Nesta said, “I know you haven’t known us very long but our court is the best and most stubborn that there is and once your friends are here they will be safe. That I can promise.”

Bryce nodded against her. Nesta couldn't imagine what it would be like to not only be away from everyone you loved but also have absolutely no clue what was happening to them. The thought alone of Cassian being taken from her and tortured and possibly killed without her even being in the same world as him, breathing the same air, made her throat close. She wouldn’t survive it. 

After a long while there was another knock at the door before the head of her sister peaked in the room. Feyre’s cheeks were flushed with laughter and wine but she sobered up once she read the room. “Is everything alright in here?” 

Bryce pulled away from Nesta and let out a heavy sigh, wiping at her face with the back of her hand. “Yes— yes. Everything’s okay. Just you know—” she waved her hand in the air and let out a short breathy laugh. “Slightly panicked, slightly afraid, and just a bit terrified is all.” 

“Oh.” Feyre leaned her head against the door. “I’m sorry Bryce. I wish we could do more, truly.”

Even tipsy, her sister was still one of the most empathetic people she knew. 

Bryce rubbed the back of her neck. “No, no you guys are really doing so much for me, for my family. I should be thanking you.” 

“Well…” Feyre drawled out, “you could come and hang out with us for a bit? If you want?”

“Don’t you… you know…” Bryce glanced at them both. “Have to ask Rhysand?” 

Nesta snorted. 

“No,” Feyre laughed, “I do what I please, Rhysand knows that quite well by now.” 

“Well,” Bryce sighed again, “I don’t suppose wallowing in my own sorrows is doing me any good so sure, fuck it.” She stood up. “Why not? You guys got beer pong in this world or what?”

***

If there was anything that Feyre loved the same way that she loved her mate, her son, or any of her friends it was Nesta’s house. The House Of Wind, made by her sister, was incredible. 

Long ago The House Of Wind had been carved into the largest peak on the northern side of Velaris using ancient magic. But once Nesta arrived, the house had changed— morphed into more than a house. It was a friend— a companion as Nesta called it. Now, anything she told the house she wanted arrived within moments of her asking for it. 

Feyre had once asked Nesta how she made the house into what it is now and she had simply shrugged and said she was in need of a friend and she made one. 

And now, as Feyre lounged back on a couch surrounded by her sister and their closest friends she smiled. Nesta had come a long way since the cauldron had turned her into a fae. She was easily one of the bravest and strongest people she knew. 

There were still tensions within their court, but for tonight they would forget. Put them aside for just a few hours and appreciate the time that they had together. 

Spa nights, as they called them, happened every so often when the girls had the opportunity to spend time together. It mainly involved kicking their men out and quite a bit of wine. 

This time however the eg had a special guest in Bryce who had shown them plenty of games that they played back her world all of which had been great fun even though the group of them had been terrible at them. Feyre had asks if Cormac muggy want to come out as well but Bryce had just waved her off saying that first he was already dead to the world for the night and second they definitely needed to polish up on their beer ping skills before they invited him to play or he’d be mopping the floor with the lot of them.

“Fuck!” Mor shouted and banging the table with her fist as their tower of wood all came crashing down when she pulled the wrong piece during her turn. 

“I told you,” Gwyn sing-songed and the others laughed as they helped her start to rebuild the tower. This was one of Feyre’s favorite games that they played and it only became more entertaining the more wine they consumed. 

A snap sounded through the room and a weight dropped into Feyre’s lap. She gasped slightly but it turned into a laugh as she beheld the little being now on her lap. 

Nyx, as it turned out, was quite powerful. Barely a toddler and yet he was able to winnow wherever he pleased. He cooed and reached towards his mother as his star flecked eyes locked on her face. 

She pulled him against her chest, kissing the top of his messy dark curls. “My little star,” she murmured, “are you being bad again?” 

The little boy giggled, the sound ringing through the room as he snuggled further into Feyre. “No,” he said mischievously. 

Another snap and Nuala, one of the shadow wraith twins, appeared looking slightly frazzled until she saw Nyx safe in his mother’s arms. She bowed. “I apologize for the interruption, High Lady.”

Feyre waved her off. “No need,” she kissed her son on the head again, rubbing soothing circles on the skin between his wings. “Nyx, mommy will be home soon to tuck you in, okay?”

The little boy hummed as he was scooped up by the shadow wraith how promptly winnowed them back home.

Feyreee darlingggg. 

Feyre smiled at the sound of her mates voice filling her mind. 

Yes my love?

Oh Feyre, Rhysand slurred slightly, how I’ve missed you so. 

Her laugh rang through her mind. Rhys always got clingy when he was away from her but especially when he was drunk. We’ve been parted for only a few hours, Rhys.

And those hours will remain some of the longest of my life, He swore.

Are you having fun over there? She asked with a smirk. Who was she kidding, she loved when he was clingy.

Cauldron we’ve had a hel of a time. Az is putting on the show of his life right now. Perhaps I’ll have him perfect it so he can perform it for all of the court to enjoy. An image of Azriel dressed as Tamlin using whatever he had been able to find in the kitchen shot into her mind. 

She laughed out loud at that and all the girls turned to her. 

“Sorry,” she laughed again, “Rhysand’s informed me that, well, that he’s very very drunk at the current moment.” 

Nesta groaned. “Cassian’s doing I bet.”

“Azriel’s actually.” 

Bryce gawked at Feyre. “You can speak to your mates in your mind!? Why’s my world missing out on all this cool mate stuff?” 

“Actually that’s just those two,” Amren drawled, taking a sip from her goblet. “Shadow powers and all that jazz.” She waved a hand dismissively while the rest of the group chuckled. 

“Oop Rhys says they need help… someone’s…” she laughed at the blurry image that was sent into her mind of a winged male jammed halfway in the sofa. “Stuck…?“

“Ah, now that’ll be Cassian,” Nesta snorted, getting up from her chair.

“He’s somehow got himself trapped in… the couch?” 

Mor cackled, falling into Amren who just shook her head as if she had expected nothing less of The Lord of Bloodshed. 

Bryce raised a brow. “How does someone get trapped in a couch?” 

“Believe me,” Nesta said looping her arm through  Feyre’s. “If anyone can find a way, it’s Cassian.” 

Feyre stood with her sister with a slight sigh knowing they were in for quite the long night trying to get all three of the boys tucked safely into bed. They were so cute when they were drunk but mother above were grown Illyrians heavy. 

But as laughter sung through her mind from her mate she was thankful to the two males who had cheered him up. The news of his sister’s imminent arrival had set him on edge and he needed to let out some steam and what better way to do that than with his brothers. 

***

Mor shoved open the door, laughing at herself as she stumbled inside her dark estate, obviously a little drunker than she’d let on to the others when she’d left. 

It had been such a fun night and one that they had all needed desperately. The past few days had been heavy and she didn’t expect that future would be any better until they got Lorin and Bryce’s friends back from Lunathion. And even then they were faced with the possibility that they may receive retaliation from that other world for the people they took.

It was a lot to deal with and she was so glad to have had a night off from thinking and strategizing. A night where they could just have fun and enjoy one another’s company. Gods only know they next time an opportunity like that might happen. 

She clumsily kicked her shoes and threw her jacket on the hook by the door. By the Gods it was almost dawn, they had been out all night!

“Hello, love,” a voice, deep as The Pit itself, purred from the shadows in the hallway before her. 

Mor’s head jerked upward towards the sound and It was not fright that covered her expression but joy as a towering figure took shape from the darkness to lean against the wall. Tilting his head, he looked on amusingly at her drunken state. He smiled. 

She grinned goofily as she swayed towards him. “Hey, you.” 

His black eyes blazed with something close to starlight at her approach. His features softened and he opened his arms, an offer, an invitation. One she could never refuse. 

She all but fell into him, laying her head against his chest, breathing him in. He was always so much warmer than she expected him to be. “How long can you stay?” 

Familiar arms wrapped gently around her back, pulling her slowly into the curve of his body. He kissed the top of her head, resting his chin there as he held her. “Not long.” 

She pulled back, pouting dramatically up at him. 

He chuckled lightly, brushing a golden strand of hair behind her ear, holding her face. 

“If I could stay here with you,” he ran a thumb down her cheek, "I would.” He traced her bottom lip. “You know that.” 

She nodded sadly, cupping his hand, leaning into his touch. Turning her head, she kissed his palm. 

“Do you require anything?” He asked her, his other hand running soothingly up and down her side. 

“Just you,” Mor said softly. “Can we lay down? My head’s spinning a bit.” When his eyes grew concerned and he went to step away and examine her, she pulled him back in. “I’m fine,“ she assured, “stop fretting, it’s just the alcohol.” 

He didn’t look convinced but trusted her all the same. He kissed her temple. “I’ve thought of you often.”

The way he was, it almost frightened her. She had never been cared for like this. Never been wanted like this. 

She pushed up onto her tiptoes, hands falling against his chest, pushing him back against the wall. 

He smiled, something soft, something secret, something just for them. He dropped his head, using his hold on her face to bring her forward until their lips met in a deliriously slow kiss. 

He always touched her like this, like they had all the time in the world and he couldn’t bother to rush. Wanting to savor every moment, every touch, every sound. No amount of time was ever enough for him and yet he seemed completely satisfied with everything she gave him. 

His hand fell to the small of her back, pulling her body against his. They shared each other's breaths, hands running smoothly under clothes and lightly against skin. 

When she finally pulled back, she whispered against his ear, words just for him, “I missed you too.” 

She reached up, ruffling Apollion’s short hair, making him laugh and bat her away. “Come on, then.” She intertwined their hands, dragging him up to her bedchambers as she spoke animatedly about her evening and he followed along contentedly behind her, as if there were no other world he’d rather be in.