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Crocuses and daffodils lined the path to my family's estate, poking their heads out of the thawed earth. My heart squeezed at the thought of Elain planting them. She must have spent the winter sourcing seeds and bulbs, and I wished circumstances had allowed Illyrian snowdrops to bloom in her garden, too.

Flowers from above the Wall could get my family killed by their neighbors; Nesta had forbid me from speaking to Elain for good reason. Perhaps after this visit with the queens, with the human realm secure, that could change…

The Illyrians and Mor arrived with me—Amren had stayed behind to guard the city—and Nesta pulled the door open before I could knock. "Get inside before you're spotted," she said by way of greeting.

Even under the lofty, vaulted ceiling, the grand entry hall felt cramped with three sets of Illyrian wings, plus Mor as well. They'd all dimmed their power, but no one could mistake the fae for anything but ordinary. I made the necessary introductions as Nesta stood, stiff-backed and eyes narrowed in suspicion.

She didn't grant anything more than icy civility. Not even for me or Cassian.

By the time we all arranged ourselves in the sitting room to wait, tension practically rolled off her narrow shoulders in waves. Rhys leaned casually against the mantel, hands in his pockets, but a near-identical thrum of anxiety pulled our mating bond painfully taut.

We had one last chance to prevent a war today. And it would take sacrificing Velaris to do it.

No one felt much like talking; the ticking of the elaborately carved clock in the corner sounded impossibly loud as it counted down the seconds until the queens were due to arrive.

Azriel's head snapped towards Rhys. In the half-second between heartbeats, I registered the meaningful look he shot my mate, a sure sign they were speaking mind-to-mind.

And then a wave of pure darkness swept me backwards.

It wrapped around me like a shield, herding me behind Rhys. Cassian drew the sword at his hip. Nesta swore.

I attempted to peer around Rhys, but those massive wings had erupted from his back. He stretched them wide, protecting me but obstructing my view in the process. I yanked on the bond, too startled to bother with words.

Azriel's shadows captured an intruder with a knife, he explained.

Mor had leaped to her feet as well, shifting out of her chiffon gown and into fighting leathers. She hadn't brought weapons—we were, after all, trying to convince the queens we came in peace—but she was more than capable of ripping up an enemy with her teeth and bare hands anyway.

The door creaked as it swung open. The darkness and Rhys's aggravatingly broad shoulders continued to block my line of sight, but I caught the sound of uneven, stumbling footsteps, a prisoner being dragged in for questioning.

"She was crouched under one of the exterior windows, attempting to eavesdrop," Azriel said aloud. A threat lurked in his words—the voice of the High Lord's torturer, a male who made himself at home in Hewn City's subterranean interrogation rooms.

The spy's answering sob was…devastatingly human.

My eyes slid to Nesta, who'd found herself in a similar position, shoved behind Cassian. Her face drained of color, and guilt stabbed at my heart. The point of this entire endeavor had been to prevent violence reaching my family's doorstep, but here we were.

I crouched to watch through the gap between Rhys's wing and his hip, not that it helped. The teeming mass of Azriel's shadows made it difficult to see much more than a petite silhouette. The spy struggled against the shadows binding her in place, and the occasional flash of a mauve gown or golden-brown hair cut through the writhing, wriggling ribbons of dark.

Nesta rested a hand on Cassian's elbow, and he allowed her to lower his sword a few inches. Just enough to clear her line of sight.

"You idiots," she hissed. "That's Elain."

Sunlight streamed into the room again, and I blinked while several people began talking at once. Rhys let his wings fade into mist, but my eyes stung too much to watch the scuffle that was unfolding where Nesta had just stood.

"You were supposed to protect the both of us."

"My shadows don't—"

"How many times will we have this conversation, Az?"

"By the fucking Cauldron!"

Shadows continued to hover around Elain, floating close by but no longer touching her. She clutched a garden trowel, and the tremors in her hands sent flecks of dirt falling onto the ornate woven rug.

Cassian had grabbed Nesta, who was glaring at Azriel as she struggled against the corded muscle of Cassian's forearms. Spots of color appeared on her cheeks, and she snarled like a faerie, lips pulled back from her teeth.

I stepped out from behind Rhys. "Everyone leave so I can speak to my sisters alone. I'll sort this out before the queens arrive."

The faeries followed my order without hesitation or complaint—even Azriel's shadows peeled themselves from Elain and followed him to the door. She watched them all with the wide, frightened eyes of a doe, but the shaking in her hands ceased.

Though the situation called for a quick disappearance, I was grateful none of them winnowed. A display of magic might send Elain into hysterics.

"My apologies," Rhys said. "While you ladies talk, I'll find out what possessed my spymaster to mistake a common garden implement for a weapon. An oversight like this won't happen again."

He'd moved to follow the others out the hall when Nesta's hand shot out. Her fingers closed around his wrist like a vise, keeping him put. "Don't try weaseling your way out of this," she said.

"I plan to mete out any necessary discipline myself." Such a diplomatic way to say he planned to kick Azriel's ass; I held back a snort.

"Let Cassian or your Second take care of it. Don't take our name then avoid facing the consequences of your actions. Especially where it concerns Elain. Handle this family matter with me, Rhysand Archeron."

Rhys's throat bobbed. Just like the night I'd summoned him to Nesta's darkened bedroom to hand-deliver stationery, an understanding passed between my mate and my sister. Not courtier bullshit or mind-to-mind communication, but, I suspected, an eldest sibling's heavy mantle of responsibility. My mind drifted back to the memory of that laughing half-Illyrian female I'd never meet.

Nesta released his arm, and Rhys strode back towards my side. Elain tracked his steps across the room, the way he stood so close to me, my natural inclination to lean into him.

"What have you all been keeping from me?" she breathed.

Explaining all that had passed since Tamlin took me would take hours, but with the queens arriving soon, we didn't have time to start at the beginning. But I had no idea how to summarize it all, and the longer my sisters looked at me expectantly, the blanker my mind went.

Rhys flicked his wrist, and I winced at a tang of magic on my tongue. A silver tea service materialized out of thin air, steam curling from the spout of the kettle as it began to pour of its own accord. "I believe you may want to sit down for this," he said.

Ever the gentleman, he remained on his feet until Nesta sank back down on the sofa. Rhys was too well-mannered to sit until the hostess did first, and it was the sort of small act of deference that my mother had trained my sisters to appreciate before she died.

I'd never learned to care about that sort of nicety, but it gave me a few precious moments to collect my thoughts. I pushed a pulse of gratitude across the bond.

Elain didn't take a cup, not even after Nesta had pointedly taken a sip of her own to prove Rhys hadn't poisoned it. I clutched mine in one hand, and Elain wrenched her gaze away from Rhys's pointed ears as I interlaced the fingers of my other hand with his.

"There is no Aunt Ripleigh," I said, "but when you asked if I'd met someone, you came close to the truth. Rhysand is my…er, husband. We met in Prythian."

Beside me, Rhys shifted, as if preparing to bow or offer his hand. Elain turned to Nesta. "You knew about this?"

"When that beast took Feyre away, he cast a spell on you and father. To make you forget. But for whatever reason, it didn't work on me," Nesta said.

Elain blinked, shaking her head as if to clear it. "Those claw marks on the door…"

Tamlin wasn't a daemati; even with the power of a High Lord, all he could do was cast a thin film around memories with a glamour, not rewrite them entirely. One mention of the truth, and his spell had disintegrated like a cobweb in a strong breeze.

"Rhys isn't the faerie who took me away," I said quickly.

Elain finally reached for the teapot and poured herself a cup. I'd never known her to drink it without sugar, but instead of reaching for a spoon, she tightened her grip on the mug. "I see."

"You were safer not knowing Feyre's whereabouts," Nesta said. "If anyone found out, we'd lose every scrap of social standing we have. No one will do business with Fae sympathizers—Father would have lost his business all over again. It would ruin us."

"Does Father know?"

Nesta shook her head. "Just me."

Elain pressed her lips together in a thin line, and another heavy silence fell over the sitting room. She went almost as still as a faerie, save the movement of her hands as she folded them into her lap.

I said, "I can explain more this afternoon, but war may break out above the Wall and spill into the human lands. A slave-holding bitch of a general weakened Prythian, and Rhys and I only managed to get rid of her recently. We haven't had time for social calls."

Elain sniffed. "But there was time for a wedding."

Gods. I needed to find a more succinct way to explain that a magical stag had eased my way to a mate chosen by the Mother herself.

Rhys cut in, smooth as silk. "It was more of an elopement. Circumstances didn't allow for guests, unfortunately."

That was close enough to the truth. I squeezed Rhys's hand, a silent thank you, and felt just a bit less unmoored.

"Well." Elain's voice took on an odd, clipped tone as she smoothed out a nonexistent wrinkle from her skirts. "Then if Rhysand wasn't preventing Feyre from coming home, both of you must have conspired with him to keep this secret."

Nesta let her teacup hit the saucer with a clatter. "To protect you. There was still a chance you'd reveal the truth by accident, and if you hadn't been foolish enough to skulk around—"

"I'm not a child!" Elain cried. "All of you had no right to decide I was too weak to handle anything difficult—no right at all. I'm perfectly capable of keeping a secret when required."

"I was taking care of it so you didn't have to."

Elain turned to me, and I'd never seen her brown eyes flash with such anger. "And you didn't fight her, Feyre? All those years squabbling with Nesta over nothing, but you couldn't stand up to her when it matted?"

"You don't understand the half of it," I hissed.

"After leaving for Prythian and finding a faerie husband, you want nothing to do with your human family below the Wall. There's nothing complicated about that," Elain said.

A roaring filled my ears, so loud it drowned out Nesta's response. I leaped to my feet before I knew what I was doing, and I felt like I was small again, a scrawny thing in a mud-stained dress, ready to yank out hair, throw elbows, and bite—

Cooling darkness pushed through the crack in my shields, and Rhys calmed my temper before I said anything I might regret.

"Ladies," he said gently. "The queens will be here any minute. We'll have to continue this conversation later."

One sweep of his arm, and the tea service faded away. Elain dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her sleeve, then smoothed out her skirt and straightened her spine. By the time the rest of the Inner Circle filed back into the room, my sisters had schooled both of their faces into calm neutrality, as if our argument had never happened.

Talons brushed my shields, seeking reassurance—Rhys was nervous. Amid all the business with my sisters, I'd nearly forgotten that we planned to reveal the existence of Velaris today.

We'll be alright, I said. No matter what.

Only the eldest and the golden-haired queens came this time. They were escorted by just as many guards; prudent, considering we'd brought more warriors in our entourage today.

The eldest queen slid her cunning eyes over us, our hands, our crowns, and merely sat without our bidding, adjusting the skirts of her emerald gown around her. The golden queen remained standing for a moment longer, her shining, curly head angling slightly. Her red lips twitched upward as she claimed the seat beside her companion.

Rhys did not so much as lower his head to them as he said, "We appreciate you taking the time to see us again."

The younger queen merely gave a little nod, her amber gaze leaping over to our friends behind us: Cassian and Azriel each an imposing presence in the far corners of the room, and Mor on Rhys's other side, this time in blue-green that reminded me of the Sidra's calm waters, the onyx box containing the Veritas in her tan hands.

The ancient queen, threw a simmering glare at Nesta, who leveled a look of pure, unyielding flame right back at her. The old woman clicked her tongue. "After being so gravely insulted last time, we debated whether we should return. As you can see, three of us found the insult to be unforgivable."

Elain's head whipped towards me, realization sparking her eyes. She must have suspected Nesta was hiding something when she'd cleared out the manor for the queens' last visit, and this had just confirmed it.

But now wasn't the time. To the queens, I said, "If that is the worst insult any of you have ever received in your lives, I'd say you're all in for quite a shock when war comes."

The younger one's lips twitched again, amber eyes alight—a lion incarnate. "Bold words from a girl who's lived her entire life in peacetime."

I tamped down my irritation; she couldn't have been much older than me. Mor and I slid into our chairs on either side of Rhys, taking our places as his high-ranking officials. "So has every other human alive, which is due in part to the allyship of the Night Court. I'm grateful the Cauldron has put me in a position to build bridges between our two peoples on the eve of war returning."

"The Cauldron? And two peoples?" The golden one toyed with a ruby ring on her finger. "Our people do not invoke a Cauldron; our people do not have magic. The way I see it, there is your people—and ours. You are little better than those Children of the Blessed."

If the queen's words hadn't echoed Elain's from just a few minutes ago, I might have shrugged the comment off. Instead, I flinched.

Undeterred, the golden queen lifted a groomed brow. "What does happen to them when they cross the Wall?" She angled her head at Rhys, at Cassian and Azriel. "Does your kind find sport in hunting them like prey? Or does your Lord Rhysand control their minds so they can be more easily used, then discarded when they grow old and infirm?"

A soft gasp escaped Elain. Her lips parted, but before she could speak, Rhys said evenly, "Is there a point to your questions, other than to hear yourself talk?"

The golden queen gave low chuckle, and she turned to the ancient queen, her yellow dress rustling with the movement. The old woman simply extended a wrinkled hand to the box in Mor's slender fingers. "Is that the proof we asked for?"

Dread washed over me. We had precious seconds left, a final chance to get the book without risking Velaris.

I pulled the chain that held my mating band out from under my bodice. "Rhysand and I are wed—is our love not proof enough of our good intentions?" A lie, technically, but it seemed wiser to use a more human term than mate. "Does my sisters' presence here not speak to you? We're kin, human and faerie alike."

Nesta stepped closer, resting her hands on the back of Rhys's chair. She might as well have been posing for family portrait, and when this was all over, I'd paint one to hang in the House of Wind, alongside the rest of the official portraits of Night Court royalty.

In a hundred years, it would be all I'd have left of Nesta and Elain.

Before I distracted myself entirely with thoughts of color and brushstrokes, Nesta's voice pulled me back to the present. "It's true that Rhysand is an arrogant, vain bastard, but he's honorable. He's proved himself to be a fair, just ruler, and I'm fortunate to call him a brother."

The golden queen sneered. "Pretty words, though unconvincing while the other sister stands trembling and pale-faced in the corner."

Elain, indeed, looked ill, though she stood tall as the queens surveyed her. I wondered if the fae in the room could smell her fear.

"Do not," Nesta hissed with quiet venom, "judge what you know nothing about."

The golden one folded her hands in her lap. "The viper speaks again." She raised her brows at me. "Surely the wise move would have been to have her sit this meeting out."

"She offers up her house and risks her social standing for us to have these meetings," I said. "She has the right to hear what is spoken in them. To stand as a representative of the people of these lands. They both do."

The crone interrupted the younger before she could reply, and again waved that wrinkled hand at Mor. "Show us, then. Prove us wrong."

Rhys gave Mor a subtle nod. No—no, it wasn't right. Not to show them, not to reveal the treasure that was Velaris, that was my home…

War is sacrifice, Rhys said into my mind. If we do not gamble Velaris, we risk losing Prythian—and more.

He'd said it before, both alone with me and in meetings with the Inner Circle, and I'd always agreed. But that didn't stop me from wishing for a better option or my heart from crying out as Mor opened the lid of the black box.

The bond reverberated with Rhys's anguish, even as he kept a controlled countenance in front of the queens. I hardly listened as Mor removed the orb and Rhys explained it all to them, just reached across the bridge between our souls and twined my thoughts around his.

If Rhys would be the first High Lord of Night to speak of Velaris to an outsider, I wouldn't allow him to break that centuries-old edict alone.

Several excruciating minutes passed before the orb's illusion finally faded. It left the queens gaping at the carpet for another long moment. By the end of it, I wasn't sure I was breathing.

The crone raised her eyes to us. "Your trust is…appreciated."

We waited.

Both of their faces turned grave, unmoved. And I was glad I was sitting as the eldest added at last, "We will consider."

"There is no time to consider," Mor countered. "Every day lost is another day that Hybern gets closer to shattering the Wall."

"We will discuss amongst our companions, and inform you at our leisure."

"Do you not understand the risks you take in doing so?" Rhys said, no hint of condescension. Only—only perhaps shock. "You need this alliance as much as we do."

The ancient one said, "Who is to say that this is not all some grand manipulation?"

"What?" Mor blurted.

The golden queen nodded her agreement and dared say to Mor, "A great many things have changed since the War. Since your so-called friendships with our ancestors. Perhaps you are not who you say you are. Perhaps the High Lord has crept into our minds to make us believe you are the Morrigan."

Rhys was silent—we all were. Until Elain said, half to herself, "Surely that isn't possible?"

"It's the talk of madwomen. Of fools," Nesta snapped. She stalked forward a step, face white with rage. "Give them the Book."

And the eldest queen hissed, "No."

The word clanged through me, a bell that didn't stop pealing until the two women rose and their guards closed in around them. I hardly processed any of our last-ditch pleas or the rest of the refusals.

Suddenly, queens were just…gone. Winnowed away, back their palace across the sea.

I wheeled on Rhys, about to demand why he hadn't tried harder, but his eyes were on the chair where the golden queen had been seated.

And where a lead box remained.

Before I could ask how, the second piece of the Book sang to me, Hello stars eternal, night triumphant. Hello sweet-tongued liar and death incarnate, little wolf and mighty huntress…

A strangled sob interrupted the Book's stream of pure madness, and my head snapped towards the sound. With the queens gone, a dam had finally broken within Elain. Her shoulders shook as Nesta darted across the room to help her into a chair.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out, though the words meant little at this point.

"What they said about manipulating minds…" Elain breathed. "That's what you did to Greysen, isn't it?"

Rhys's shoulders slumped as if every last one of his five hundred years weighed on him. If his wings had been visible, I had no doubt they would have been drooping on the floor. "Yes, it is."

"He did it at my behest. If Greysen found out your sister was living among the fae…" Nesta said, sinking down onto the sofa next to Elain. A handkerchief appeared in her hand, but when she reached over to pass it to our sister, Elain cringed away from her.

Nesta went still. Elain buried her face in her hands, crying in earnest.

Rhys silently passed the Book to Mor. His Second gripped Azriel's elbow, murmuring something to him before they both disappeared into shadow. Back to Velaris, so Amren could begin her translation without delay.

Cassian, however, remained.

I hadn't noticed when he'd let his hand drift to the pommel of his sword, but his wings practically twitched from his need to draw it. He'd pulled them in towards his body, as if preparing for a fight, and the muscles of his jaw had gone tight.

His attention remained entirely focused on Nesta.

On protecting his mate.

"We can evacuate and continue this conversation in the House of Wind," he said, the High Lord's general issuing an order.

Nesta tore her gaze from Elain and leveled Cassian with a look of pure fury. Her lip curled, the beginning of a snarl, and—

Rhys said, "It's their choice, whether they remain here or come with us. Should they choose to remain, a unit of our soldiers will be here within the hour to guard this place. Should they wish to come live with us in that city we just showed them, they'll need to pack immediately."

"The fuck they won't," Cassian said. "This location is difficult to secure, even for the best soldiers, and the Wall makes for too much of a delay getting here in an emergency. The House is a fortress."

I cringed at the thought of my sisters cooped up there, among strangers and unable to take the ten thousand steps to the street. "They can take on the risk if that's what they prefer, but if not, the townhouse in Velaris is open to them, too." To Elain, I added, "It's the home where Rhys and I live."

Elain sat up, wiping at her red-rimmed eyes with the heels of her hands. Her lovely cheeks had gone splotchy, covered with the tracks of half-dried tears. "Go to Prythian? Have all of you gone mad?"

"Elain…" Nesta pleaded.

"How can I trust anything you've said, knowing what that man did to Greysen? Leave and take your chances if you'd like, but I'm not."

I bristled, even as Rhys placed a gentle hand on my lower back in warning. My own protective instincts had activated, and I hissed, "Rhys isn't just some man. He's my mate."

"I trust that he'll look after us," Nesta added. "He has so far—he's been good for Feyre. I meant what I said when I called him honorable."

Even as Nesta's tone gentled, Elain's posture went rigid. The garden trowel appeared in Elain's hand—by the Cauldron, had she hidden it behind her back this entire time?—as she rose to her feet, giving us all a tight smile.

Dull as the blade was, the sight of it had me stepping in front of Rhys on instinct.

"I will be staying here," Elain said simply.

Nesta pressed her eyes shut as if uttering a silent prayer, then nodded. "Then I'll stay, too."

A shudder went through Cassian, rustling his wings as he said, "Nesta, please. Don't put yourself at risk."

"My place is with Elain," she said simply, and I could almost hear her add, and not with you.

Cassian crossed to Nesta and lowered himself to his knees before her. His wings bent forward, arcing towards her, so close she could reach out and touch the sensitive membranes if she wished. Their eyes met, and for a long moment, they studied each other with such intensity, I couldn't bear to watch them.

"Five hundred years ago," he said, voice rough, "I fought on battlefields not far from this house. I fought beside human and faerie alike, bled beside them. If this is where you must stay, I will stand on that battlefield again, Nesta Archeron, to protect this house—your people. I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it most."

A tear slid down Nesta's cheek. Cassian reached up to wipe it away, and she did not flinch from his touch.

I pray to the Mother that Cassian didn't just make a promise that will be impossible to keep, Rhys said through the bond.

I replied, What are you worried about?

A war will stretch us thin. I dread the day we force our general to choose between his duty at the frontlines and keeping close to his mate.

With both halves of the Book, that day may never come to pass, I said, though in my mind, Rhys felt my doubt seep into every word.

"The sentries will be here, and remain unseen and unfelt. They will look after themselves. Should you change your minds, one will be waiting in this room every day at noon and at midnight for you to speak. As Feyre said, our home is your home, and our doors are always open to you," he said aloud.

"Just leave," Elain whispered. "I don't want any more faeries here. Please."

Cassian got to his feet, drifting back towards Rhys in anticipation of winnowing back to the Night Court. Rhys stretched his other hand towards me, but I didn't take it.

"I should stay for dinner at least. There's still so much I need to discuss with Nesta and Elain," I said. Perhaps if we shared a meal together, just the three of us, we could begin repairing this new rift.

We'd squabbled in the cabin before, over chores or new shoes or the lack of elbow room in the bed we'd all shared. But never like this, over such…betrayal.

Elain glared at me from the sofa, and with more venom than I ever thought she could muster, she hissed, "You might as well be a faerie, too, Feyre. Get out."

Rhys pulled me close, bundling me against him for a heartbeat before we winnowed back to the city we'd just risked to save everything.