Lia🏹

Her eyes don’t flutter open. She doesn’t gently return to consciousness.

When Adelaide wakes up, she is thrown into awareness, as if her mind has finally had enough of the darkness. 

Her first breath feels wrong.

Too shallow. Too tight. Her chest aches as though something vital has been torn away and not yet returned. She sucks in another breath, sharper this time, hand flying instinctiely to her throat. 

When she wakes up, it isn’t surrounded by her closest friends, or family, or enemies. Only a young healer stands by her bedside, frozen in shock. The horror on his face tells her he hadn’t expected her to wake up on his shift.

Before she can speak, before she can ask anything at all, he bolts for the door, shouting for someone down the hall.

The emptiness in her chest deepens.

When Cassian sees Adelaide, awake for the second time since her death, he is too overcome with emotion to speak a word. 

Fortunately, she doesn’t have the same issue. 

“Where is he, Cassian?” she demands, trying, and failing, to sit up. 

Her body protests violently. The feeling of wrongness intensifies, like a taut cord pulled too far. 

Cassian rushes forward, instinctively reaching to help her. She smacks his hand away, letting out a huff of annoyance, but only after he has her upright, earning a watery smile from him. 

Gods, Cassian thought, she is still stubborn. 

The smile vanishes just as quickly. The Illyrian realized he’d forgotten that part of her, too consumed by grief to remember the sharp, unyielding force she’d always been. 

Watching the large Illyrian struggle to hide his sobs dulls some of her anger. Enough that she opens her arms in silent invitation. Cassian doesn’t hesitate, folding her into a crushing embrace, arms locked tight as if she might disappear again if he lets go.  

“Gods, Addie,” he sobs into her shoulder. “I missed you.” 

“Oh Cas…” her voice catches. She pulls back just enough to look at him. “I don;t remember the after, I don;t even know if there was anything to remember. But wherever my soul wass…” she swallows down a sob, “it missed you terribly.”

His grip tightens as his sobs worsen. 

She winces, then tries to lighten the mood, “Even if the last thing we fought about was you stealing my cake.”

A broken laugh escapes him. “That is officially the only time I will ever feel bad about stealing your food.” 

She smirks, “You have to admit dying after you took my last piece was a very effective way of getting back at you.”

Cassian stiffened, the humor in the room quickly fading. 

Slowly, he pulls back, taking a seat in the empty chair beside her bed. Taking a deep breath, he braces himself for a tough conversation. “How much do you remember?” he asks gently. “How much do you know?”

She exhales. “I remember everything before my heart stopped. A few… flashes from the times I woke up after.” Her hands curl in the blankets. “I know Azriel did something he shouldn’t have. And I know…” her voice sharpens, “Rhysand doesn't seem to regret choosing her.”

A tear slips down her cheek. “Why would he do this? Why would Azriel bring me back? How could it…” she stumbled, at a loss for words. “How could it have worked? Is this some cruel punishment?” 

Cassian grabbed her hands, such a tender action for a male nicknamed the Lord of Bloodshed. “Not to anyone who loves you,” he says quietly. “After you died… it wasn’t the same. No one was the same. We were all… drowning.” 

“Your High lord didn’t seem to have the same experience.” She spat.

The general shook his head, “Rhysand was a mess. Feyre helped, eventually… but every time he looked at her, you could see it. The guilt. The regret. His mind replayed how he carelessly left you in your final moments. And every time we looked at them, we saw the same thing.” His jaw tightened. “Azriel even tried to kill him once.” 

Adelaide jerked back, “How do you mean?”

“Azriel… himself. None of us were- but he… fractured. He stopped eating. Stopped speaking. If he trained, it was only alone. Most days, the wisps of shadows we saw were the only indication he was still breathing.” 

She felt her fury dampen for her best friend, just a fraction. 

“He had no right,” she whispers. 

“No,” Cassian agrees. “He didn’t. And he paid for it. He still is.” 

Softly, she asked, “Can I… Does he even want to see me? After what I did?” 

The urgency beneath the question startles her, the desperate pull toward him, strong enough that it makes her chest ache even more.

Cassian huffed out a saddened laugh, “Yes, even after you threw him across the room when he was trying to help you, he still wants to see you again.” He lifts her chin gently, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You could ask him to stab himself in the heart, or to cut off his own wings, and if it meant you’d smile, I don’t doubt that he would do it without a second thought, Adelaide.” 

Yet Rhysand couldn’t even make you Highlady, she thinks bitterly. 

“I need…” She stopped, rubbing her sternum in hopes of lessening the tight feeling, “I need some time before I can see him. I think I need to… figure out how I feel before I can talk to him without risk of him getting thrown out the window this time.” 

Cassian chuckled softly. “Fair.”

Whenever you wish to see him, he will be there, a voice- no voices- whispered. She jolts at the unexpected intrusion.

“What’s wrong?” Cassian asks immediately, looking her over in concern.

“The voice…” she began, “You didn’t hear the…?” Cassian simply met her confused look with one of concern. 

Her gaze drops to her hands. 

Specifically to the shadows curling around her fingers.

“His shadows,” she whispers. “They spoke to me. When I woke up- the last time at least- they were speaking to me. But they never did that before. You didn’t… you didn’t hear them too?” 

Cassian freezes. 

Slowly, he stands, eyes locked on the wisps of darkness wrapping around her hands. 

There was a male holding her. 

Too tight. But familiar. She wasn’t scared. 

She wanted to say something. She wanted to speak. To move. To show she was there.

But just as her mind couldn’t remember, neither could her limbs.

Too loud. Too fast. Too much.

“Please, please, please, please, I’ll give anything.”

Was that him? Was it about her? Who was he praying to?

Too many voices. Too much shouting. All familiar, her gut told her.

How did she know that? How could she when she didn’t even remember…

He tightened his grip. In fear? In desperation? She didn’t know, but she wasn’t scared, 

She tried to fight the pull of the void as it threatened to take her away once more. 

With unknown desperation, she reached out for… something. 

She grabbed his hand. He didn’t hold hers back.

But she recognized the rough texture.

It’s you, was all she could think before she found herself dreaming for the first time in an eternity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Someone was braiding her hair. 

Soft, patient fingers twisted the red curls. 

Were they red? How did she know that?

She didn’t remember his name. She couldn’t. But she knew him. 

A hum. Familiar. A song without words brought comfort without memory. 

A kiss on the forehead. A squeeze of her hand. 

Silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was an energy in the room different from before. 

Angered. Cold. Pained. It should have frightened her, but, once more, she found comfort in it. 

A voice. Female. Harsh. Sad.

“... too good to lose a second chance like this,” the voice whispered. The words were fragmented, her mind drifting in and out. “...show them. Show him you are not a victim of their betrayal…” 

Her mind tried to grasp the meaning. Even if she couldn't, she still felt it. Love. Grief. Protection.

“… terrible company as of lately.” The voice said. “But you stayed for me. Even when I was cruel and mean. You stayed… How could I not do the same?” 

Her fingers twitched. Her body felt alive. Powerful. Raw. Burning.

She remembered. Not names. Not memories. But feeling.  She remembered being angry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was an energy in the room different from before. 

Angered. Cold. Pained. It should have frightened her, but, once more, she found comfort in it. 

A voice. Female. Harsh. Sad.

“... too good to lose a second chance like this,” the voice whispered. The words were fragmented, her mind drifting in and out. “...show them. Show him you are not a victim of their betrayal…” 

Her mind tried to grasp the meaning. Even if she couldn't, she still felt it. Love. Grief. Protection.

“… terrible company as of lately.” The voice said. “But you stayed for me. Even when I was cruel and mean. You stayed… How could I not do the same?” 

Her fingers twitched. Her body felt alive. Powerful. Raw. Burning.

She remembered. Not names. Not memories. But feeling. 

She remembered being angry. 

—

It was different this time.

Adelaide, for the first time in an eternity, remembered. 

Her hands shook. Magic surged. Untamed. Violent. Protective. She couldn’t control it yet. Couldn’t control herself.  

She saw him.

Azriel. 

Her Azriel.

He reached for her hand. She saw him. Felt him. Knew him. Loved him. Hated him.

And then he was gone. Thrown across the room. Her anger, her power, filled the space between them.

She was screaming. She backed herself into a corner. When had she stood up?

She pulled at her hair. Every braid felt too tight. Every strand felt too heavy. 

It was too loud. Too full. Too bright. 

There were too many voices. Too many expectations. Too many emotions

Her hands clamped over her ears. “Stop. Stop. Stop.” She pleaded.

She felt someone touching her.

Not someone- something. The shadows. His shadows. Whispering words she couldn’t understand. 

She pleaded for them to leave her alone. 

Someone stepped closer to her. She looked up. 

Rhysand.

Her Rhysand.

Everything else blurred around him. 

Love. Confusion. Rage. Fear. Protection. Recognition. 

He looked.. different. Worn down. Unfairly beautiful. 

Her heartbeat quickened when she saw him, the same way it had for most of her life. 

Another body stepped forward.

Feyre.

His Feyre.

Adelaide gasped at the pain that hit her.

She remembered.

She hated them.

A/N: Yes, yes, I know, I always do the same song and dance. Sorry for the hiatus, I promise more is to come. I missed my babies and now that Adelaide is awake? I am so ready to start this journey of angst and healing.

Lyra was mid-sentence in her research paper when Grason barged into the office, seemingly on a mission of distracting her. 

She shouldn’t have been annoyed since it was Grayson’s office located in Grayson’s wing of Hawthorne Manor, which was still a ridiculous concept to Lyra, but she had been in the zone. Completely focused, totally productive. 

That was until her boyfriend decided he had more interesting things in mind than letting her finish her paragraph. 

But with her fingers tangled in Grayson’s hair, his arms wrapped firmly around her waist ensuring she was as close to him as they could possibly be without getting x-rated, and their lips meeting in the middle, it was hard to care about the stupid paper anyway.  

“Grayson! Could you- oh no, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” The faux apology in Libby’s tone would have convinced the couple she was truly sorry for barging in if it hadn’t been accompanied by an amused wiggle of her eyebrows and mischievous grin on her face. 

Grayson exhaled, reluctantly pulling back as he turned to face his older brother’s girlfriend. “No, it’s all right. What can I help you with, Libby?” 

“This vendor I use is being rather… non compliant and backtracking on our agreement. Any chance you could talk to him on the phone? You are far better at negotiation than I am.” Libby asked. 

Before Grayson could answer, Nash appeared in the doorway. 

So much for Grayson’s “private wing”. 

“Darlin’, I can get that done for you,” Nash offered. “You know I ain’t one to let some guy pull a fast one on ya.” He said, immediately settling a hand on Libby’s waist like it was second nature. 

“I am aware, cowboy.” Libby replied. “But your ‘negotiating’ style involves yelling and eventually a full fledged fight, and I need to continue working with this vendor. Apparently, very few companies make cupcake truck equipment to my exact specifications.” She pat Nash on the back apologetically as she turned towards Grayson, “Please?” Libby asked in her softest voice that no one, not even Grayson, could possibly say no to. 

“Any opportunity to show Nash I’m better than him is a welcome one.” Grayson replied smugly, earning a few mumbled curses from Nash. 

He dropped a kiss to Lyra’s hair before heading out, Libby trailing behind him with a victorious grin. 

Lyra turned back to her laptop ready to resume writing, but stopped short when she realized Nash hadn’t followed his brother and girlfriend. 

She looked up.

Nash lingered near the door, then took a few steps in. The silence that settled between the two wasn’t exactly awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable either. She’d never been alone with Nash before. Not really. Usually there were buffers-Grayson, Libby, even Xander.

Not that she minded Nash. He seemed like the kind of older brother she’d have killed for as a kid. 

She shifted awkwardly as he looked at her with something bordering on curiosity.  

“Sooo,” he drawled, “Lyra Kane. Can you keep a secret?” 

He had no idea.

She arched an eyebrow. “Depends, does this secret make me an accessory?” she teased, kind of. 

Nash dramatically clutched his chest and gasped in mock offense, “Who do you think I am?”

“You can never tell when it comes to a Hawthorne,” she shot back with a grin. 

That finally seemed to melt all the ice between the two. 

“Touché” Nash chuckled, stepping forward and reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a small velvet box.  

“Wanna see Libby’s engagement ring?”

Lyra blinked. That she hadn’t expected. She wasn’t sure she was close enough to either of them to be privy to such a personal secret. But curiosity won out and she nodded, stepping closer. 

Lyra’s breath caught at the sight of it. 

To say the ring was stunning would have been an understatement. The garnet ring nestled inside gleamed a deep, dark red- so rich it was nearly black in the low light. It was dramatic, it was elegant, it was intense. It was, Lyra realized, perfect for Libby. 

The eldest Kane child hadn’t known Libby all that long, not that it mattered since the second Lyra was introduced as Grayson’s girlfriend; she had become family as far as Libby was concerned. Still, no one could deny that the ring, in all its romantically gothic beauty, was made for Libby.

“Oh, Nash,” Lyra whispered. “You must really love her.” 

Nash’s smile turned soft. “You have no idea, Ms. Kane.”

She glanced up, the corners of her mouth tugging into a teasing grin, “Is this the part where you make some comment about how ‘Hawthorne men love differently compared to other mortals’?”

“I believe you’ve already got a Hawthorne man showing you exactly how we love.” Nash shot back, chuckling when he saw her look away in embarrassment, blush appearing on her cheeks. 

“I guess I do, don’t I.” Lyra laughed softly, looking down at the delicate bracelet on her wrist. Grayson had given it to her for their six-month anniversary, an acrostic piece that’s letters spelt gibberish, though he’d promised it would make sense once he gave her her present for their 1 year anniversary. 

The simple fact that Grayson had confidently planned for a one-year present, confirmation that he had no doubts that they would make it to a year still made her emotional if she thought about it too long.

Nash didn’t miss the way her face softened, full of pure adoration as she played with the bracelet. He remembered the night Grayson had come to him, frustrated after hours of fruitless shopping. 

‘How can I ever find something that could possibly convey to her how much she means to me?’ Grayson had asked his older brother. 

That was when Nash had known his brother had found the one, had found his Libby. 

Watching Lyra now, Nash had no doubt he had been right. 

He closed the box and tucked it away. “Now I just have to tell Nan that I won’t be using the ring she gave me. That’ll be a fun conversation.”

“She’ll understand,” Lyra said gently. “Once she sees the ring you picked, she’ll get it.” 

Nash studied her for a beat. Then, as casually as he could manage, he said, “You know… I was thinkin’ that one of my brothers might possibly be able to use it.”

Lyra’s eyes widened. She tried, and failed, not to show how much the comment affected her.  Though she eventually managed to control her face, Nash hadn’t missed a thing. 

“Well I am sure Jameson would like it. It’s probably no easy feat finding an engagement ring when your girlfriend is a billionaire,” she joked. 

Nash didn’t take the bait. Most would have seen the suggestion as a sign that Lyra wasn’t ready to have such a conversation about her future with Grayson, but Nash saw it for what was, modesty. 

“I was actually thinkin’... You know when it comes to family, Gray is far more sentimental than Jameson. He’d value it more. And the ring? It'd look real good on his future bride.” 

Their eyes met. Nash refused to look away in hopes that Lyra would pick up exactly what he was putting down. 

She did.

“You think?” she asked quietly, overcome with emotion as she realized exactly what Nash was doing, what his words really meant. 

Acknowledgement

Acceptance

Encouragement

He nodded. “Lyra, I’ve seen Grayson go through hell many times. That boy carries more than he should and feels everything while trying to pretend he doesn’t. He doesn’t let himself want things and he sacrifices his happiness before it even gets the chance to exist. But with you, he let himself want, let himself fall.” Nash’s voice was low, sincere, and soft. 

“I’ve tried to convince him for years that he deserves happiness. Never worked. But you? You didn’t even have to try.” 

Tears welled in Lyra’s eyes as he continued.

“It doesn’t have to be now,” Nash added, smiling gently. “Selfishly, I’d like the spotlight on Libby and me for a bit. And lord knows Grayson probably has his five-year plan mapped out already. But there isn’t a single doubt in my mind. It’s you, Lyra Kane. You’re it for him, and I think you already know he’s it for you, too.” Nash finished, a comforting hand on Lyra’s shoulder as he watched a tear fall down her cheek. 

She didn’t speak, couldn’t even begin to form the words to convey all she felt in that moment.

Instead, she crossed the space between them and launched herself into Nash’s arms. He stumbled but caught her, laughing a little as he wrapped her in a tight hug. She clung to him like a lifeline, her tears dampening his shoulder. 

And Nash, the gruff, prone to bar-fighting, overly protective older brother, felt his own eyes sting. 

He held her close and let himself picture it:

Grayson, in love with a girl who made him believe in wanting.

Libby in a white dress with cupcake frosting smudged on her cheek. 

A future neither thought they’d get, but one he could see so clearly. 

To say she was shocked when she walked into work that morning and found a scone on her desk with a folded note attached to it was an understatement. When she saw who had sent the note (and the scone), she was sure she’d taken the wrong medication that morning and was now experiencing hallucinatory side effects. 

She had known the Shadowsinger for many years now, having worked alongside his family more than a few times. As a Historical Consultant for the Night Court, she had been brought into the occasional meeting about court business with the High Lord and Lady, or had been summoned when they needed additional expertise on various topics ranging from ancient customs, to old laws and treaties, to obscure traditions long buried in the Night Court’s history. 

She wasn’t a trained warrior. She didn’t wield rare or powerful magic. What she did have was her ability to remember everything she’d studied verbatim, a skill even Amren had begrudgingly praised.  

Though they’d never really spoken outside official business, something had changed between the Spymaster and the consultant about three months before when Azriel began appearing in her office, often. Always with some request or excuse- a question about an obscure and seemingly irrelevant topic, a history he claimed he needed proper context for, a ritual he’d “forgotten the details of”, et cetera. At first, she’d thought he was just thorough, that he was just like her with an insatiable need to envelope all information he could on something that interested him even the smallest amount. 

Now though, looking down at the neatly folded note next to the still-warm scone, she wasn’t so sure.

The note was brief and to the point, just like its sender. At the top, her name was written in flowery script that would have taken the average fae quite a lot of time to master, but the rest of the note didn’t seem to have been given the same thought with only a few sentences written in what was closer to the average fae’s penmanship. 

It’s to my understanding that the middle of every week for you starts out with a scone from the nearest bakery in Velaris, I hope I was able to save you the trip. I have an extra ticket to the newest exhibition at The Royal Archives of Velaris for tonight at 7, should you wish to join me, it's a date. Should you not… well I hope I know you well enough to know you would. 

Sincerely,

Azriel

Work went by at a painfully slow pace. Maybe if she had actually gotten work done instead of starting multiple tasks, getting distracted re-reading the note or envisioning the night she was to have, then abandoning said task and starting a new one only to repeat the cycle, then maybe she wouldn’t have made a fool of herself in front of her colleague when she realized it was 6 and she was officially done for the day, running out the door without so much as a goodbye. 

Getting ready wasn’t an issue, she had mentally gone through her entire closet multiple times that day and come up with the most appropriate outfit for her… date. The word felt foreign in her mouth every time she repeated it to herself like a madwoman. 

A date… a date with her and the Shadowsinger… her date with Azriel that he had asked her on.

She ended up at the museum 15 minutes early after sitting and staring at the clock in her apartment debating what time would be most appropriate to show up early at for 10 minutes. She knew that having to stand there and wait alone all dressed up for her date to show up would have been most embarrassing, but the thought of something wrong happening on the way there and her ending up late was worse. 

Fortunately, like in most circumstances, she found her fears weren’t founded as Azriel stood at the bottom of the grand steps, a smile on his face when he realized he had in fact been correct about her need to arrive early.

“I hope I didn’t make you wait long-” She began, twisting the pendant around her neck as a soothing gesture. 

“I only just arrived, don’t worry. I’d assumed you’d show up early and didn’t want to keep you waiting.” Gods his smile made her knees weak. 

As she opened her mouth, then closed it, debating what would be proper of her to say next, Azriel took a single flower out of seemingly nowhere and put it behind her ear. “I got a whole bouquet for you, but thought you wouldn’t want to carry it around so it will be waiting in your office tomorrow morning.”

“A-are you sure you aren’t a mind reader?” She asked, astonished that anyone, especially the male in front of her, would go to such trouble for her.

Azriel chuckled awkwardly, looking up at the doors to the museum and… Mother above he was blushing. “I am simply perceptive, and maybe I wanted to impress you a little.” 

The exhibition he had invited her to wasn’t officially opened for another two months, and historians/scholars couldn’t get early invitations for another month, so to say she was excited would have been an understatement. 

What she wasn’t expecting was for the entire place to be empty, sans the two of them. As Azriel had rather bashfully explained, he had used his court influence (and some of his charm) to get the museum curators to let him in early. 

It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her, she thought. 

Though there were no tour guides or museum personnel to give information, the historical consultant was more than well equipped to take their place, having read up on the topic before in the past.

“The Curiosity Cabinets used to be places of learning long ago. Fae who travelled around Prythian would collect pieces from everywhere and set up these cabinets to display artifacts they gathered and invite fae to look at them, getting a sense for pieces of the world they wouldn’t have otherwise. It’s especially fascinating because…” She trailed off at the end, realizing she had gotten caught up in her own interests and knowledge that she had probably been rudely ignoring Azriel who probably wanted to just look around quietly. 

He turned from the taxidermied pufferfish from the Summer Court when she stopped speaking, raising his eyebrow at her silence. 

“Sorry, got carried away it seems.” She laughed, but the embarrassment in her chest almost brought tears to her eyes. 

“No, I enjoyed the history.” He smiled, but when she didn’t continue, looking away and biting her lip, he decided to go another route. “I was curious though, as fascinating as this exhibition is, I didn't understand why they chose to do it at The Royal Archives of Velaris when it centered around all of Prythian and certainly not just royalty. Do you have any ideas?” 

A small weight lifted off her chest at the opportunity to explain, “I am not the curator so don’t take my word as law, but I saw it as a way to pay homage to the ‘first museums’. Most of these things aren’t from the Night Court, you are correct. Most of the collectors weren’t royalty and didn’t get these items from royalty, but it was a way of connecting to the larger world and with how isolated Velaris can seem at times, even though it is for good reasons, this is an important part of our history.” 

The rest of the date went off without a hitch, the two of them settling into a good rhythm of Azriel asking questions or giving antidotes of things he knew from his travels and her answering any questions he had and even asking him about the rest of Prythian, having never left the Night Court in all her years. 

By the time the date ended, they had been at the museum for hours. After finishing the exhibit they moved on to look at the rest of the permanent collection, though most of that time was spent talking about themselves rather than the artifacts. 

“... that was the last time I ever trusted Cassian as a wingman.” Azriel finished his story as they arrived at her apartment door. 

“Well, I guess that turned out to be a good decision.” She teased, hoping he caught her meaning. 

He did.

“I had a wonderful time tonight, I think I’ve learned more in one single night than I have in my entire life. While I couldn’t really reciprocate on the extensive knowledge part, I hope you enjoyed my company the same.” He said, taking her chin in his hand and lifting her head up when she tried to look away bashfully. 

“I- I also, um- I too had a…” She trailed off, unable to take her eyes off the Shadowsinger and unable to come up with words as she stared at his face. 

Smiling softly, he didn’t give her the chance to find the words as he kissed her gently, pulling back after a few seconds to gauge her reaction. Though this time he was cut off from making his own assessment as she crashed her lips back onto his in a far messier fashion.

The two continued like that for only a little longer before she heard the sound of her neighbor unlocking their door and pulled away before she could embarrass herself any more.

“Thank you, Azriel. I hope this isn’t the last time we get to do this.” She finally managed to say. 

With a final kiss to her lips, he walked away without a word, though he slowed his pace until he heard her close her door and lock it. 

Happy

Giggling

Beautiful. The Shadows reported, putting a smile on his face. 

But as he walked away, something ate at the Spymaster. He was forgetting… something that he needed to remember.