#amren

Feyre

Rhysand

Amren

Lucien

Elain

Morrigan

Emerie

Azriel

Gwyn

Cassian

Nesta

If she didn’t have potential, I would‘ve been scrapping her out. I do not like Amren. Not to brag though, I did give her a pretty neat lore and arc!

Chapter 38

Heartwake

 When Vythra left Madja's inn, evening had descended over Velaris with a golden slowness, heavy wool drawn over a frail body, over the narrow streets and the windows beginning to glow one by one. The air smelled of softness, of some old longing for her own wide streets filled with cars and dust. Even the lamplight gathered in soft pools over the cobblestones, too similar to what she had once had, trembling beneath the steps of people returning to homes where someone waited for them.

 No one was waiting for her yet. No one but Icarus, forgotten somewhere in time, and her former love, who made her soul tighten as though caught in a vise.

 Cassian was supposed to arrive in half an hour.

 Madja had reminded her of that twice: not to make any more efforts that would put pressure on her back, not to strain herself, not to climb the stairs alone again and, above all, not to be stubborn. To let her body breathe for at least one day. After all, she was in a mortal body, and mortal bodies could endure only so much before they began protesting in very unpleasant ways. Vythra had nodded, swallowed the bitter tonic, listened to the instructions about her bruises, her thigh, her forearm, the corset that was still not ready, then walked out the door with Misty beside her and the stupid, almost childish determination not to wait for Cassian.

 She was a doctor too, after all, and doctors never listened to other doctors. The golden rule. So she decided to climb the ten thousand stairs back and swallow every ounce of suffering with the ridiculous dignity of someone who had harmed herself and rather enjoyed it.

 Because she was angry with Cassian. Which was unfair, probably.

 He had brought her weapons. He had given her access to training. In his clumsy, warm way, he had given her more than anyone in the House of Wind had offered her so far, apart from Malou and Sorscha. But, as though the world needed to mock every newly formed feeling, her thoughts kept drifting back to the kitchen, to the herbs gathered for Elain, to the soil still caught on Azriel's fingers, to the way he had remained there when that woman called him.

 Vythra clenched her teeth and started down the street without looking back.

 Misty walked beside her in the form of a mountain panther, golden eyes cutting through the evening like two old coins drowned in darkness. A small child dropped his pretzel when Misty passed by, and the panther had the good manners not to eat it with anything but her gaze.

 You should wait for the loud-mouthed one.

 " Cassian? After leaving me waiting like an idiot this morning? No. "

 You already climbed down the stairs and nearly gave up your ghost. The ten thousand going up will have religious value.

 " Thank you for the support, Misty. " Vythra lifted her gaze toward the mountain waiting above the city, then toward the feline beside her. " What you could actually do right now is help us see whether you can carry me on your back. I really have no strength to climb back up. "

 Misty stopped. Do what?

 " You heard me the first time. "

 The panther turned her head toward her with a profound offense. I am not a horse. It's not my fault you have no sense of responsability when it comes to your own body.

 " No. You are far too talkative and probably more dangerous. And I know how to take care of myself, that's why I ask you to carry me. "

 Correct.

 " And you have this form for a reason, don't you? "

 Misty yowled and roared as she tried to hiss at her, betraying an interest her dignity was trying very hard to conceal. I have this form for several reasons. Elegant parading is only one of them.

 " Then test your strength and reflexes. "

 The panther stared at her for a long moment, then lowered herself just slightly, enough for Vythra to understand that the offer existed, but would never be acknowledged as such. If you pull out my fur, I abandon you on the four hundredth step.

 " I promise. "

 The two of them moved without any clear direction, only so they would not stand still. At least that was what Vythra told herself, that she needed to clear her mind, to let the city pass around her until the image of Azriel in the doorway, a wall of temptation and stubborn will, refusing to move aside, began to wear thin around the edges. Until Elain's name no longer settled on her tongue like a small, shameful splinter.

 But her mind did not clear. It returned to the swamp.

 Slowly, through the smell of water in the canals, through the cry of a bird above the rooftops, through the way the orange light of sunset touched the stones and made them look covered in a thin layer of dry blood. Vythra felt her skin tighten over her bones, too thin for everything she was trying to hold inside.

  You have no idea how long I lingered just to witness your arrival. 

 The old man's voice from the Bog did not need memory in order to live. She carried it already buried inside her skull, caught there like a purulent infection. She saw him again as he had stood at the edge of the black water, with his white beard and those eyes that never kept the same color.

 Vythra wrapped her arms around herself, though the evening was not cold. Walk, she ordered herself. Keep walking. You are in Velaris. You are not in the Bog. 

 But the voice continued anyway. One of you left a door open. I merely invited myself in.

 The door. Always the door. The Veil. The fissure. That wound in the world she had widened, even though others had torn it open first. The question was always the same: Who? When? How? Those who had existed before them? The creatures the elf had once mentioned? Who? Every question spun inside her, but none of them bit as deeply as the last phrase, hooking itself into her thoughts like a barb.

 Tell my little creature I still remember her.

 Vythra stopped beside a shop window where ribbons, hairpins and small pieces of colored lace were displayed. In the glass, she saw her pale reflection, her hair badly pinned after a day that had gone on too long, her cheeks still round and bitten by exhaustion, her pupils widening to adjust to the light. Grey. Almost green. Almost blue. Never fixed enough in one color for the world to know what to do with them.

 There is only one creature old enough to know my name. And foolish enough to have once served my purposes.

 At first, she had thought he meant Sorscha. It made sense. Sorscha was old, bound to vows Vythra had not yet understood and no one had explained to her. The nun with the sewn mouth and the eyes that had seen too much. The prayers that barely kept the Butcher away. If anyone could have known the name of a fallen god, it seemed it would be her.

 But something did not fit. The way he had said creature. Not sister. Not priestess. Not guardian. Creature.

 As though he had spoken of something that had never truly been fae, nor human, nor of this world in the ordinary sense. Something buried beneath beautiful skin and betrayals, something that knew how to shape its lie so that the truth would be forgotten.

 Vythra chew on her inner cheek. The little wheels in her head seemed to spin uselessly, her neurons no longer making efficient synapses, her grey matter feeling as though it were leaking away like hours spent in boredom.

 Malou fell completely out of the equation. Malou was a warrior forgotten by the world who, nevertheless, might have fit the pattern. Why else would she have been locked in prison? And yet Malou had offered her the most precious subliminal message: her hatred for Amren. Unrestrained and still hungry, a hatred for which she had lost her wings, her former life, and her magic powers in order to imprison her.

 Correct. Amren had been imprisoned too. But the information she had once read in the books from her own world did not seem to align, nor did it form a coherent path.

 What had Amren truly done, something grave enough to earn the contempt of those two ancient women? Another solution: the three of them must have been of similar age, which meant they had lived through similar times. Another question rose: where had they known one another, and under what circumstances?

 If the old man in the Bog had spoken about Amren, then everything became uglier and more suspicious. Closer to the House of Wind than it should have been. And yet, Amren always had all the answers up her sleeve, the most precarious past, and the most dubious powers. But those were no longer relevant, as long as she had lost them.

 Misty stopped beside her and pressed her massive shoulder into Vythra's waist, hard enough to bring her back into her body. You are breathing as though you found a snake in the bread basket.

 " Maybe I did. "

 You are thinking there is a possibility Amren is connected to that man who stains my mind through yours, aren't you?

 Vythra might have smiled, perhaps, had a familiar voice not called out from the other end of the street.

 " Vythra! "

 Fuck. She mouthed without turning. No.

 " Vythra! If you pretend you did not hear me, I will assume you ran away and make the public scene even worse. "

 Vythra sighed so deeply she felt the healer's tonic return to her tongue. Then she turned on her heeled boots, wearing the falsest smile she could build out of the remnants of her dignity. " There you are, my favorite High Lord... "

 Rhysand was walking toward her through the warm light of sunset, dressed far too casually for a male who usually looked as though the night sky had to ask his permission to exist. He wore a simple dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up and black trousers, no crowns, no cloaks, none of the violet theatre of power. In one hand, he held a small box tied with a pink ribbon, and in the other, a paper bag from which the corner of a scarf emerged, a blue so fine it probably cost as much as a small village from her world.

 He was not alone. Two males followed a few steps behind him, citizens of Velaris judging by their clothes, by the way they spoke to each other, watchful in the way only people who were not supposed to look like guards were watchful. One carried two more packages. The other held a list and appeared to suffer deeply beneath the responsibility of choosing something for Feyre.

 Rhysand looked her up and down, then shifted his attention to her companion, who stood beside her in all the splendor of her mountain-panther form. " I cannot decide whether you went out for a walk or fled the House of Wind. Where is your chaperone? "

 Vythra scratched her temples. " I forgot him at home. "

 Misty huffed and laid down in front of her partner. Even relaxed, she reached Vythra's knee level.

 One of the males behind Rhysand coughed discreetly to hide a laugh.

 He threw him a brief glance, then returned to Vythra with that utterly infuriating smile. " Does Madja know you are walking alone? "

 " Madja knows what she needs to know. " Vythra tilted her head. " You should try that method. It seems healthy. "

 " Your health does not appear to be the most convincing argument in its favor. "

 " I am alive. "

 " An impressively low standard. "

 " And yet difficult for some to achieve. "

 Something in his eyes changed, enough for Vythra to feel the male buying gifts for his wife step aside, and in his place a ruler rose. " Have you still not decided whether you are on our side? "

 Vythra looked at the box in his hand, at the pink ribbon, at the paper bag with the blue scarf, at the males waiting a few steps away as though they heard nothing and yet heard everything. Then she turned her gaze back to Rhysand. " Have you found a way to send me home yet? "

 For several moments, the street continued to live around them. Laughter, footsteps, wheels over stone, the chime of a shop bell, the smell of baked apples and sweet smoke. Velaris went on with its evening, indifferent to the way her question stood between them like a locked door.

 " Are you playing both sides? " 

 Vythra felt a short laugh rise in her chest, but did not allow it out. " Only between this end and the one waiting for me on the mountain. "

 His gaze sharpened. " That sounds almost like a threat. "

 " No. " Vythra stared at his regal nose, unblinking. " A threat would imply you are standing in my way. "

 Rhysand ogled her tiny height, a wondering passing briefly though his mind: Where should all that so called great power fit?  " Then let us hope I have no reason to stand there. "

 " In my experience, men who say that already have one foot on the threshold. "

 " I am High Lord, after all. You are standing in my most sacred place. In the city I paid for with years of my life. In my home. Under my protection. "

 Their glances collided, a purple flame and an unmoving ocean. She felt the weight of his words, had read about it in the books, about Amarantha, about the years in which this city had breathed because he had bled somewhere else.

 " I am very much aware of everything you just said. I have read about your sacrifice and, honestly, I am moved by your perseverance. But even if you are High Lord, you are not my High Lord. " His lids lowered by a fraction. Vythra continued, because stopping would have meant leaving her guard down. " I believe in presidents, monarchs, the Illuminati, and Freemasons controlling the global economy, depending on how late it was when I was reading conspiracy theories. Until recently, you were just a fantasy. "

 One of the men behind Rhysand abruptly lowered his forehead to the list. The other suddenly seemed very interested in the packages in his hands.

 The corner of his mouth twitched. " You are very good with words... You only forget that I could erase your existence from this city with a single thought. "

 Misty shivered as she released a growl, so low the stone seemed to rattle under their feet.

 Vythra swayed her braided tail between her shoulder blades, unfazed. " Erase it, if that brings you peace. " Her voice remained calm, though something vicious coiled low in her abdomen. That power inside her opened one eye at the threat, intrigued. " I would still return from the dead. Your city is strong, Rhysand. Difficult to kill, but something I command runs through their veins... I did not ask to be brought here. "

 The fae looked at her differently then, with something closer to respect than suspicion. Perhaps he simply saw that, no matter how much he tried to place her on a board, Vythra refused to remain a piece. 

 At last, the High Lord took a step back. Small. " I did not ask you to bow. "

 Misty saw it too, judging by the way her long nose nodded once.

 " Then find me a way back home. "

 His gaze dropped for a moment to the hollow place at her throat. " We are working on it. "

 " Not fast enough. "

 " For life, nothing will ever be fast enough. Find a decision just as quickly for my problem, and we will be even. " 

 " And what are you going to do about yesterday's problem? "

 Rhysand maintained the distance between them, about a foot's length. His fingers only shifted around the pink-ribboned box, thumb smoothing once over the edge of the paper as if the question had landed there. The men behind him created more distance without being ordered to. " Which problem? " 

 " You have too many? "

 His violet eyes drifted to the place around him, as if making the point more obvious. " I have an entire court of problems... "

 " The Spring. "

 He glanced toward the busy street, where shopkeepers were lighting lanterns and a woman in a blue cloak was arguing with a baker over the last honey cake. " I have not discussed it with Feyre, yet. "

 Vythra's head slightly bent to see him better over the sunset entering her pupils. " You two cannot possibly not care. "

 " I did not say we do not care. " At the mention of his wife, something in his carefully leashed temper strained hard enough to show. She wondered if he was going to slap her, right then and there.

 " I thought emotional inconveniences had no place in politics. Spring is a weakened border full of villages and people who cannot defend themselves. " She shifted her weight, one hand resting absently on Misty's shoulder. The panther's velvet fur moved beneath her palm. " We are not talking only about Feyre's former lover or his mistakes. We are talking about an unstable territory. If it collapses completely, it does not stay in Spring. It reaches your borders. The people you hide so high you almost believe history cannot touch them. If soldiers are walking through Prythian, this is not just Tamlin's problem. It is yours. "

 Rhysand's jaw worked once, but his face remained smooth. " He's an abuser, a man who did harm, who locked people away and controlled them, then broke them in the name of love and had the audacity to call it protection. "

 Vythra wanted to call him out. To remind him that righteousness looked very clean only when one had enough power to polish the blood from its edges. He was not so different from Tamlin in the first story she had known—flawed, controlling, convinced that love and fear could share the same heart if the intention was noble enough. And Feyre was not untouched by cruelty either, not when they wrote murder under a name she gave too quickly. Clare Beddor, the human girl.

 They all deserved one another. Just as Tamlin had been left to deserve his loneliness. Just as Cyan deserved to die for what she did to that servant back in Hybern. At least two of them got punished.

 Vythra couldn't hide her disgust staining her face now, at her and the world around. " I am aware, but his people are innocent. He is also not the bubonic plague. And even if he were, you do not abandon an entire kingdom because the disease disgusts you. You build barriers, send physicians, isolate the source. But you do not leave healthy people to die just so you can enjoy being right about the sick one. "

 For a moment, the street noise seemed to thin around them. Rhysand looked away first, toward the rooftops glowing orange beneath the evening sun. His fingers tightened once around Feyre's gift, then loosened. " You have an unpleasant way of reducing hatred to logistics. "

 " Hatred does not feed villages. "

 " Neither does pity hold borders. No army marches into Spring because Lucien brought a warning. Not without proof. Not when Tamlin's court is half-collapsed and any visible movement from Night could be interpreted as occupation. "

 " Politics... Lucien came all this way because he knows something is wrong. You know it. I know it. And yet everyone behaves as if Spring Court is an awkward former lover at dinner, not an open gate through which Hybern might enter again. " 

 " I will not send armies into Spring over rumors. I will not provoke Tamlin without proof. If Rask or Hybern's remnants are moving there, we need to know who feeds them, who pays them and how close they are to turning a search into an invasion. "

 " So nothing. "

 " So nothing visible. "

 Vythra huffed as she adjusted her body position. " Is this the distinction that helps you sleep at night? "

 " We do not sleep at night. "

 " That explains a great deal. "

 " I have people looking into Vanssera's information. Mor's reports from the continent already made Rask difficult to ignore. Montessere is not clean either. Autumn may be into something with the Human Queens. But until I know more, any public step can be interpreted as aggression. Spring is weak, that is exactly why it must be touched carefully.  "

 " Or protected. "

 " I thought we already decided protection looks exactly like occupation when it comes from the wrong hand. "

 Vythra had no answer. One of the males behind them coughed into his fist.

 She turned back toward the mountain, where the House of Wind waited high above Velaris, white and distant and judgmental. Her hair slipped loose from its poor braid, a dark wine strand brushing her cheek. She pushed it behind her ear with more force than necessary. " You want me as an ally. That is what this is about, isn't it? Political, magical, strategic, whatever word you prefer. You ask which side I am on because you want to know whether I can be convinced before someone else claims me. "

 Rhysand lowered his eyes to the panther, then back to her. " I do not need you to like me. I do not need you to forget that you were brought here without permission. I do not even need you to call me your High Lord. What I need is for the winning side to be yours. "

 Vythra stilled. The street kept moving around them. Lanterns flickered. Someone dropped a coin. " My side? And that side should be yours, too? "

 " No. " The answer came too quickly to be a prepared lie. " Yours. Only yours. I watched Amarantha hurt this continent slowly, and Hybern try to break what remained. I do not intend to learn what something worse would do with the pieces. "

 " You don't know what I am capable of doing. "

 Rhysand shook his head faintly in disapproval, stripped of theatre, of all that calculated beauty. " I do not yet know what you are. I do not know what you will become. And no, I was not in the Bog. But Azriel's report was enough for me to believe you. I know you brought the others out, alive and well. I know you had no reason to. And if there is a fissure in the world through which worse things may spill into this realm, then I want the winning side to be the one that still chooses to save people who do not belong to her. "

 " You have a horrible talent for making manipulation sound like a compliment. "

 " Thank you. "

 " It was not a compliment. Do something for Spring. "

 " I am. "

 Misty pushed her head beneath Vythra's hand, interrupting the tension with the authority of something large enough to end politics by sitting on it.

 " I understand why Azriel looks as though he has constant headaches. "

 Vythra felt her expression freeze for a fraction of a second. " What were you buying? " She asked immediately.

 The change of subject amused him. She saw the corner of his brows move. " Something for Feyre. "

 " Something, or the entire district? "

 The male with the list sighed softly behind him.

 Rhysand looked over his shoulder. " I received vague instructions. That is the cruelest form of marital warfare. "

 For a moment, it could almost have been a normal evening. A High Lord stressed over a gift, a tired woman avoiding questions, an enormous panther judging the quality of the urban population.

 But the old man's phrase from the Bog still lived in her ear. Tell my little creature I still remember her.

 Vythra looked at Rhysand and wondered what he would do if she asked him directly. Tell me about Amren. Tell me what she is. Tell me what she was. Tell me what she knows and does not want to say.

 But it was not the moment. Not here, in the street, with golden Velaris around them and Feyre somewhere at home, perhaps waiting for a blue scarf and a pastry. So Vythra buried the question beneath her tongue and kept smiling.

 " Do you want me to take you back to the House? "

 " No, thank you. "

 " Was Azriel supposed to come after you? "

 Vythra gulped the last remnants of sorrow. " No. Cassian. "

 " Oh. " His lilac gaze did not change, but something within it settled differently. " I thought he was the one assigned to look after you. "

 " Look after is too strong a phrase. " Vythra shifted her gaze toward one of the shop windows, where leather gloves glittered uselessly in the orange light. " I think he is looking after someone else now. He only supervises me. Or supervised me. "

 " How so? " The question was calm, but not innocent; more circumspect, as though he were asking for more information in disguise.

 " If you want to know whether Azriel is in bed with Elain, you can ask directly. "

 Rhysand blinked once. " Is he? "

 " He was when I left. "

 " I understand. Did Elain say something to you? "

 " No, why should she? "

 " Azriel? "

 " Not at all... "

 " Then why do you look as though they both did? "

 Vythra clenched her teeth. She could have lied. Sometimes she was an expert at that; life often lied straight to your face and expected gratitude for the lesson. " Because sometimes a room can tell you things before the people inside it find the courage. "

 Rhysand's fingers stilled around the handle of one of the paper bags. " Elain is not cruel. "

 " I did not say she was. "

 " No. But you thought it. "

 " Stay out of my mind! "

 " I do not have to pry inside your brain. " Something cold passed over his expression, quick and private. " I despise it after the last events. " He shifted the packages from one hand to the other, the gesture almost domestic in contrast with the way his eyes remained attentive. " Elain seems gentle, and she is. But gentleness does not mean a person cannot wound. Sometimes it only means the wound comes from where you expect it least. "

 " I hardly care about Elain's past, present or future. "

 Rhysand sighed softly, his gaze slipping for a moment toward the crowd moving along the street. A child ran past with sugared bread in both hands; one of his men stepped aside to avoid her, then pretended he had not nearly lost the list Feyre had given them. " You should. Elain lost several lives inside one. Her human life, her engagement, the body she knew. Then she was given a bond she never asked for and a male she did not know how to accept, while another became a comfortable silence beside her. "

 " Azriel. "

 " Azriel... " He confirmed.

 His name fell between them with a stupid weight. Vythra brushed at the side of her large skirt, though there was nothing there to fix, nothing to smooth except the sudden tension in her hands. " And what is he to her? "

 There was something behind his eyes she could not name, not evasion exactly, but something worse, like a secret he would not reveal. " I am not sure I have the right to answer for her. "

 " But you have the right to ask whether I am on your side ."

 " That is politics. "

 " No. That is also a person. " She said it while gesturing toward herself, two fingers pressing briefly against her own chest as if to remind him there was a soul beneath.

 For a moment, it seemed her answer had struck him deeper than she intended. The pink ribbon on Feyre's box fluttered faintly in the evening breeze, absurdly bright between them. " Indeed, it is. "

 Vythra had not expected that.

 " Azriel remained near Elain for a long time. Perhaps because wounded people sometimes mistake peace for love, and the desire to protect for the choice to stay. "

 Vythra felt her stomach tighten. She looked away before her face could do something unforgivable. " And now? "

 " Now Azriel no longer seems quiet. "

 The words were not loud. They did not need to be. Vythra stared at the cobblestones, at the long shadow of Misty's body stretching beside her own. " I do not know what you want from me ."

 " At this moment? Nothing. " His voice softened by a fraction. " I only want you to understand that Elain is not your enemy. "

 " I did not say she was. "

 " No, but if you begin to look at her that way, you will lose more than an imaginary rival. "

 " She is not a rival. "

 Rhysand raised a brow. Misty made a low, deeply pleased sound from beside Vythra's leg.

 She realized too late how it had sounded. " Not in that sense. "

 " Of course. I said nothing. "

 " You have a face that says many things. "

 " It is one of the burdens of beauty. " His smile faded again and he glanced toward the mountain above them as if he could see the House from here. " Elain can be hurt. You can be hurt. Azriel has the unfortunate talent of standing in the middle of a room and making both things more likely to hurt without saying a word. "

 Vythra did not want to laugh. Then she remembered the roots in his hand. Elain's gentle voice. Azriel taking a step toward her and stopping when someone else had spoken his name.

 The laugh died before it reached her mouth.

  " Elain must choose for herself what she does with her pain. Azriel must stop hiding inside duty when he does not know what he feels. And you... " His gaze settled on her, steady enough to feel almost physical. " You are Life itself. You should know what to do without listening to a High Lord who is apparently not your High Lord. "

 Vythra smiled falsely, but this time it came out weaker. " How beautiful. Did you buy that line from the same shop where you bought the pink ribbon? "

 " No. That one was free. Which is probably why it sounded bad. "

 Misty slid her massive body between them, ending the conversation with authority. Her flank pressed against Vythra's thighs, warm and immovable.

 Enough, two-legs. You have circled the winged male and the silent woman long enough to make even a corpse dizzy.

 Vythra drew in a breath. " I need to go. "

 Rhysand studied her for a moment longer, as if deciding whether to press or let the bruise remain untouched. " In that case, at least let me send someone to tell Azriel you have decided to turn medical recovery into a suicidal excursion. "

 " It is not suicidal. It is cardio. Do whatever you want with the Spymaster. "

 " The stairs to the House of Wind are not cardio, or whatever you call it. They are a form of self-hatred. " Rhysand looked at the panther, then at her. The amusement thinned from his face. " Take care, Vythra. " There was nothing joking in the way he said her name.

 " You too, Rhysand. " Vythra rolled her eyes because it was easier than answering properly, then turned and left with Misty at her side, leaving the High Lord in the orange light of evening, with his packages.

 Somewhere beneath her skin, the old man's voice laughed without sound. And Vythra, without knowing why, pressed her palm over the hollow place at her throat where the pendant no longer was.

 Misty allowed her exactly twelve steps after Rhysand vanished from sight. After that, the feline stopped in the middle of the lane and turned with all the dignity of a cursed queen condemned to travel beside a remarkably foolish human. She bent her front legs as if offering a bow, though the broad, glossy line of her back pressed lightly against Vythra's calf, marking the true meaning of the gesture perfectly clear.

 Enough, two-legs. Up you go, immortal princess. Let us go home.

 Vythra stopped with her mouth slightly open. " Excuse me? "

 Misty turned her head toward her, golden eyes gleaming in the evening light with a patience so grand it was almost insulting. I am not making you repeat your conversation with the High Lord only for you to discover halfway up the mountain that you possess enough pride to die on the road. Get on!

 " I am not an immortal princess. Quite the opposite. Far too mortal. "

 Mortal, immortal, it matters very little as long as you return to me.

 Vythra would have refused on principle, if only because Misty was right and that alone made obedience unbearable. But her legs still trembled from the descent, her back pulsed beneath the ordinary corset, and the mountain of the House of Wind rose above the city with the arrogance of divine punishment.

 " Are you sure? " She asked, mistrustful. " What if I'm too heavy? "

 Misty looked offended by the question. To me, you are the size of an ant. We live in a world full of surprises, and fifty kilograms on my back is not among the impressive ones.

 Since acquiring proportions far beyond ordinary dignity, Misty had apparently considered many things possible. Vythra had not. Not once had she thought of riding her. She mounted Aeria before, the horse she had saved from Thaibar, now left in the care of Malou and Sorscha. Misty was approaching the size of a horse, though not quite. She remained something else entirely: more compact, more predatory, more impossible to mistake for a beast that accepted reins.

 Vythra gathered her skirt in one hand, placed the other on the panther's broad shoulder, and climbed onto her back with far less grace than she would have preferred history to record.

 Misty rose beneath her.

 The feline was vast, powerful, magical in the sort of way that did not need explanation in order to be understood. Muscle shifted beneath her grey fur like water moving under ice, heavy and elastic, and Vythra had to bury her fingers into the thick ruff at her neck to keep from sliding when the panther began to move. Not toward the main road or the stairs that climbed, carved into the mountain. Misty chose a narrow side path, nearly swallowed by ivy, one that seemed to lead nowhere until, at the first leap, the world opened before them.

 The earth offered itself to them. The grass softened beneath Misty's paws, as though the mountain wished to cushion their ascent. Roots pushing through stone curved aside before they were touched, and the bushes parted in two, leaving a path where none had existed a breath before. When Misty leapt over a low wall of pale rock, Vythra felt the air tear the breath from her chest, then a laugh rose in her throat without permission, incredulous, almost childlike. The panther landed smoothly, so certain of her own body that she seemed personally offended by the existence of gravity.

 Hold on, two-legs. I have not yet tested my speed.

 " Misty— " The panther surged forward.

 Velaris became streaks of light, golden windows and blue rooftops slipping beneath them. Somewhere below the path, a small stream changed course for a few moments, leaving its channel of stone to follow their passage, chattering brightly beside them before disappearing again among the roots. The trees growing along the mountain bent their crowns toward one another to give them shade, their leaves trembling above Vythra like palms that had known her name before she ever spoke it. Bees rose from the late flowers in luminous swarms, not frightened but curious, circling through the air around them.

 Vythra felt all of it. The nature recognizing her all over again.

 Life stepped aside for her and, at the same time, drew nearer. Blades of grass brushed her ankles whenever her dress slipped to one side. Small wildflowers opened hours too early beside the rocks, white, yellow, pale violet, as if the light within her had lied to them and called itself morning. A butterfly struck her shoulder, then continued flying alongside Misty for several seconds, absurdly determined to keep pace with a magical panther climbing a mountain as though she had been born from it.

 Misty flew. There was no better word. She sprang over lips of stone, arched over roots, climbed impossible slopes with a force that made the air tremble behind her. She was not a household creature enlarged by accident. She was something old awakened into a new form, something beautiful and dangerous; and Vythra, clinging to her back, felt for the first time since the Bog that speed did not have to mean escape.

 It could mean freedom.

 See? Misty said, almost pleased. Elegant parading is not my only talent.

 Vythra pressed her cheek into the panther's fur to shield herself from the wind and smiled, truly this time. Then, with a reverence too sincere to be mocked, she kissed the top of Misty's head.

 " No. But I love you entirely. "

 Misty released a deep sound, happy, then leapt again, so high that for one brief moment the House of Wind appeared above them not as an impossible fortress, but as a place they could actually reach.

 And behind them, along the path no one knew, the grass remained greener, the flowers wider open, the water more alive, as though the world remembered Vythra's passing long after she was gone.

 " You need a more terrifying name now. " She said after finally reaching the mannor.

 I already have one.

 " Misty? "

 Exactly. They never expect the Misty.

 The garden had changed by the time Vythra returned to it. The path opened beneath her steps before she asked it to. Somewhere above, hidden in the green tangle, the air buzzed of creatures who had important work and very little interest in High Lords, warrants or women who returned from Death.

 Misty padded beside her. Ferns bent away from her shoulders. Vines lifted themselves like curtains. A cluster of tiny blue-winged insects rose from the grass when her paws passed.

 Finally. Misty licked her mouth at the sight of a mouse trying to hide. A place that understands spatial respect.

 Vythra's skirt still held burrs from Misty's secret path up the mountain, and her hair arranged wildly on her back. The House placed the basket of offerings on the ground near the entrance: a bottle of wine, wrapped meat, sugar, a small pouch of gold, a piece of honeyed bread, two bruised figs, and the folded bundle of Bog-stained clothes.

 The garden elf was exactly where she had expected him to be, crouched beside a knot of roots with a knife smaller than her smallest finger and the grim focus of someone performing an autopsy.

 " Oh... " He mouthed flatly. " You survived.... "

 Vythra stopped at the edge of the path. " Wow. Try not to overwhelm me with joy! "

 The elf blinked once. Then, with visible effort, he straightened his tiny shoulders and tried again. " Oh. You survived. "

 Vythra stared at his crooked hat. " That sounded exactly the same. "

 " Ungrateful creatures get their gifts taken away. "

 Misty lowered her massive head until her golden eyes were level with him.

 The elf leaned forward, squinting his small orbits, as if he wasn't believing what stood in front of him. He looked from Misty's enormous paws to her teeth, then to Vythra with the deeply aggrieved expression. " That... was not in the previous arrangement. "

 Misty's whiskers twitched.Tell the root goblin I have improved.

 " He can probably tell. "

 The elf's eyes narrowed. " Root goblin? "

 Vythra looked down at Misty. " You heard that? "

 " I hear many things. Most of them disappointing. " He sniffed, then leaned sideways to inspect Misty better.

 The feline sat with great care, placing one paw over the other. He may continue admiring me.

 " She says you look opinionated. " Vythra translated.

 Misty turned her head very slowly. That was not what I said.

 The elf climbed onto a flat stone, wiping dirt from his hands onto a leaf. " If your beast eats anything important, I will invoice you. "

 " She does not eat important things. "

 Misty looked toward a cluster of silver mushrooms growing beneath the hedge.

 " Do not! "

 I was appreciating their shape.

 The elf pointed his knife at both of them. " I dislike this. There are now two of you who speak as though sense is an optional discipline. "

 Vythra exhaled, and for a moment the lightness almost held. Then her fingers tightened around the basket handle, and the reason she had come rose again in her chest. " I brought offerings. "

 The elf's expression shifted, made alert by the old language of exchange. He understood those better than pleading. Vythra crouched carefully and set the basket down between them. 

 The elf's gaze moved over each item with greed. He did not touch the clothes at first. His small face, wrinkled as old bark, lost its irritation by degrees, until something almost grave remained beneath it. " That smells like a place that should not have opened its mouth. " His voice had changed enough that Vythra felt the air cool along her arms. He stepped closer, then crouched before the basket. " Fear. A bargain. Blood. Not all yours. A little Death at the seam. " His eyes flicked up to her. " Why did you bring me this? "

 Vythra fiddled with her hands as she kneeled near the creature. " I need help. "

 His suspicion returned immediately. " Everyone needs help. That is how the world became so badly organized. "

 " I need to contact Sorscha. Again. " His knife stilled. " I tried before, but the connection breaks. Velaris distorts it. The shield, the House, the mountain, I don't know. Malou and Sorscha should have been able to find me through the dagger I left behind, but they keep losing the trail. I need you to bend the wards. Just enough for a few seconds. Enough for me to reach her. "

 The elf stared at her for a long moment, then he laughed. A weird shriek clawing out of his thin lips. " You think I sit beneath a leaf all day with a key to the High Lord's shields tucked under my hat? "

 " I think you are connected to the garden. The garden is connected to the House. The House is connected to the mountain. The mountain is under the shield. " Vythra lifted a brow. " Was I wrong? "

 " Not entirely. Which makes the statement more annoying. "

 Misty washed a spot on her right paw. He dislikes when humans use their brain.

 " I cannot open the shield, I cannot command the House, and I certainly cannot make Velaris bare its throat because you miss your stitched nun. "

 Vythra's fingers dug into the basket handle. " But? "

 The elf scowled. " But I might persuade the magic to listen at the wrong angle. A whisper passing beneath roots, if the roots are feeling generous and the House stops hoarding you like a jealous grandmother. "

 Vythra's chest tightened so quickly it hurt. " That is enough. It has to be... "

 The elf glanced toward the offerings. " Food feeds mouths. Gold feeds greed. Cloth feeds roads. " His black eyes returned to her. " But a secret feeds the ground. "

 Vythra felt the goosebumps rise on her skin. " What kind of secret? " Whatever it took, she was determined to give it a try.

 " One that costs you something. " He tapped the wrapped Bog-clothes with one bare foot. " If I am to ask the seeds to carry you toward someone who loves you enough to keep searching, then they must know what in you still reaches back. "

 Vythra looked away. The garden blurred for a moment: green, gold, damp soil, the grey shadow of Misty's body beside her. It would have been easier to give him blood. Easier to give him hair. Easier to give him another object, another lie, another bit of herself already separated from the bone.

 " I am afraid, " she said quietly, without thinking twice, " that in the end, I will have to live here forever. " The elf stood very still, angling his head from time to time. " I am afraid that some wicked part of my soul will choose to stay here, willingly. That one day I will stop counting the ways back home and start calling this place mine. " Her fingers tightened in the grass. " I am afraid that the people from my world will not recognize me if I return. That they are not searching for me anymore. That I will lose my purpose and borrow someone else's, because borrowed purpose is easier than having nothing left. "

 Misty's eyes clouded, a surge of her master's own unrestrained emotions crushing the animal's soul. Vythra's voice diluted, but it did not break. " I am afraid I will die here, in a world that was never mine, fighting for people who are not mine. And that when the end comes, I will realize I gave everything to a story that only wanted to use me. "

 His long ears twitched. " Good. Ugly enough to be useful. " But the words had barely left his mouth before he stiffened. One hand flew to his chest, not in pain, but in irritation, as though something inside Vythra had reached out and pressed its trembling fingers against a buried part inside him.

 Vythra swallowed. " Thank you? "

 He stepped onto the bundle of Bog-stained cloth, lifted both hands, and spoke. Not in the common tongue. The words sounded like a chant, like worms moving through dark soil. The garden responded in layers. First the moss, then the roots, then the air, vibrating softly around Vythra's knees.

 She felt the ease in her marrow as something cracked. A pressure, distant and immense, like a sleeping creature opening one eye somewhere above them. The wards around Velaris did not fall. They did not even weaken enough for anyone normal to notice. But something in their surface shifted, as if a pane of glass had fogged beneath a careful breath.

 He announced in silence. " Now! "

 Vythra dropped to her knees. Misty moved behind her at once, the panther's body curling around her back without touching. Vythra closed her eyes and reached inward, toward the old place where Sorscha had once taught her to breathe beyond pain, beyond panic, beyond the body's hysterical belief that it was alone.

 At first, there was nothing. Only the smooth, cold curve of Velaris refusing to let her through. Then the things living under the earth pulsed, tracing the direction towards what she was looking for.

 Vythra followed. The world tilted. For one breath, she was not in the garden. She was wind over open land. Mud thrown from hooves. The hard rhythm of a horse pushed too long across old roads. She saw Malou first: fierce and terrible beneath a dark cloak, hair whipping across a face sharpened by rage. Her posture was all command, all violence held in discipline, her eyes fixed on something ahead as though she could cut the horizon open by hatred alone.

 Beside her rode Sorscha. Vythra's breath broke. The nun's mouth was hidden beneath a white cloth. Even in the blur of the connection, even through the distortion of wards and roots and distance, she knew the stillness of her. Her hands were gloved around the reins and the Spymaster's shinny dagger hang at her hip. Her head turned sharply, as if she had heard a sound no one else could.

 Malou reined in. The vision shuddered. Sorscha lifted one hand to stop the other woman in her tracks.

 Vythra tried to speak. Tried to say her name. Tried to push everything through that narrow crack in the shield: I am here. I am alive. I am sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry.

 Only one word escaped. " Sorscha. "

 The nun's head snapped toward her. For half a heartbeat, their eyes met across impossible distance.

 Then Velaris slammed shut. Vythra came back with a gasp so sharp it sent her backwards.

 Misty caught her by the torn back of her shirt and dragged her upright, teeth careful not to break skin even as the fabric ripped in her jaws. Breathe, two-legs.

 The elf staggered backward and sat down hard on a mushroom cap. " Well, " he said after a moment, " they are alive. Irritatingly determined. And very badly tempered. I would be horrified to be their victim. "

 Vythra's hands shook against the grass. " They are looking for me. I thought they forgot about me. I can't believe it. They did not stop. "

 Misty lowered her head until her cheek brushed Vythra's hair. You see? You're not abandoned. Just misplaced.

 Vythra let out something that was not a laugh and not a sob, but an ugly little creature born from both.

 The elf looked away with exaggerated discomfort. " If you leak emotions into my moss, it will grow sentimental. "

 Vythra wiped quickly beneath one eye. " Can you help them find me? "

 " No. "

 Her face fell.

  " Do not look at me like a kicked dog. I said I could make magic listen, not carry two ancient disasters up a mountain in a basket. "

 " Then what can you do? "

 " Do large people believe every small thing knows every other small thing? Do you imagine we gather under mushrooms once a month for the Grand Council of Moss and Fungus? "

 Vythra blinked. " Do you? "

 " No! " The elf sniffed. " There are clans. Not a council. Never a council. Councils produce speeches, and speeches produce wars. There are fungus clans beneath old orchards, moss-wrights in damp stone, rootlings who gossip with trees, little burrow folk who know every road a boot has forgotten, insect-riders, sprites in Spring who still remember when that court smelled of green things instead of rot. "

 Vythra leaned forward. " Wait, you can reach the Spring Court? "

 " I can reach those who reach those who reach those who pretend they cannot be reached. "

 Misty's golden eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He could send word beneath the ground, I can send word above it. We could gather information faster than the prick of the Night Court.

 Vythra turned to her. " Through whom? "

 Animals cross borders more honestly than armies. Wild cats, foxes, crows, mice. Horses, if they are not stupid. Creatures no soldier counts because soldiers are trained to fear flags, not whiskers.

 The elf stared at Misty. For the first time, he seemed almost impressed. " Your beast has a better grasp of espionage than most kings. "

 Misty lifted her chin. Obviously.

 Vythra looked between them, and slowly the shape of it formed. Not Night Court spies. Not shadows. Not Rhysand's reports. Something smaller. A network made of little creatures moving beneath the notice of men who dimmed them inferior.

 " I want them to watch Spring. Not fight or expose themselves. If soldiers move through villages, if they ask about Cyan, Malou or Thaibar, anything strange, I want to know. If Tamlin's people are threatened, I want warnings passed along. I want you to try and protect the innocents. Quietly. "

 The elf crossed his arms. " You ask much for such a tiny human. "

 " I brought much. "

 " You brought dinner and cursed laundry. "

 Vythra pushed the bundle of Bog-clothes closer. " Use these. "

 The elf's face became serious again. " The small pieces go to those who travel. They will carry the smell of you, of the Bog, of what hunts you. That may hide them from some things and attract others, so I will not give them to fools. The seams with blood go to trackers. The hems to the root-speakers. One strip to the orchard sprites, if any of those vain little fruit-haunting aristocrats still have courage. The rest stays with me. "

 " Why? "

 " Because I am not stupid enough to let ambitious insects build religion around your skirt. "

 Vythra opened her mouth, then closed it. " Thank you for preventing that. "

 " You are welcome. "

 Then she remembered the kitchen. Elain's hands in dough. The wine. The roots Azriel had brought her. The House producing its own bottles. Vythra's eyes moved to the pile of roots the elf had been sorting when she arrived. " What are those? "

 The elf followed her gaze too quickly. " Heartwake root. Why ask? Want to see if someone fell in love with you? "

 " Someone used something last night. Or tried to. In the wine. Do you know anything about that? "

 The elf's stillness was answer enough. " I know many things I am not paid to say. "

 She reached into the basket and lifted the pouch of gold. The elf looked at it. Then at her. " The one who smells of spring flowers and unsaid things gathered them without my permission. "

 Vythra's fingers tightened around the pouch. Elain. " What are the properties of this Heartwake? "

 " A root that loosens what is already present. It does not create something out of nothing. It does not command love. It pulls heat toward the surface, and only the ones who drink it can explore it or sense it. " His face wrinkled with distaste. " A foolish root. Dangerous in soft hands. "

 Vythra color dropped from her cheeks. Elain's voice returned to her. Did the wine bother you last night?

 Misty's tail struck the ground once. The silent woman is not as silent as she looks.

 It would have been easy to be furious. She was, somewhere beneath the shock, beneath the sick understanding that whatever had passed between her and Azriel at dinner had not been invented, only dragged into the light by someone else's hand. Not false, then. That was the worst of it. Not manufactured from emptiness, not planted where nothing had lived before. Merely exposed. 

 Vythra rose slowly, her fingers tightening once around the basket handle before she forced them to loosen. " Thank you... " The elf blinked, as though gratitude was an unexpected and mildly suspicious insect. " For everything.  I'll keep in touch. "

 " You will bring proper offerings. And clean sugar. Not the clumped kind the House thinks is acceptable. "

 She couldn't hear much as she already stepped towards the exit. " Take care of yourself. "

 The elf's expression tightened with offense. " I have survived winters, wards, careless High Fae, three floods, two gardeners with pruning ambitions, and a squirrel cult. I do not require your concern. "

 " Then consider it an insult. "

 He sniffed. " Better. "

 Misty lowered her great head toward him.

 The path closed gently behind them, not shutting her out, only concealing what had been opened. For once, Vythra did not stop to watch the beauty of it closing. 

 Elain. The name moved through her skull like something venomous.

 Vythra had wanted to dislike her before, perhaps. In the petty, shameful way one dislikes a beautiful thing standing too close to what one has no right to want. Elain with her soft voice and lowered eyes. Elain with flowers in her hair. Elain, who had already been part of Azriel's silences long before Vythra had ever fallen into this world with water in her lungs.

 But this was different. This was hatred finding a clean shape.

 She hated the question about the wine. Hated the careful innocence of it. Hated that Elain had seen something, sensed something, wanted something enough to reach for a plant that pulled desire to the surface, then stood there in the kitchen with soft eyes as though she had not placed her fingers on someone else's pulse. She hated the old quiet between Elain and Azriel, the almost-kiss she knew had once existed somewhere in the story, the gifts, the stolen glances, the three brothers and three sisters symmetry people had probably whispered about because worlds loved to make cages out of pretty patterns.

 She hated that Azriel had stayed when Elain asked. She hated that he had brought the roots. She hated that some part of her still wanted to know whether his hands had touched Elain's when he gave them over.

 The corridor warmed around her as she climbed. Then cooled. A vase stood on a narrow table near the bend of the hall, arranged with pale flowers Vythra recognized from Elain's hands: soft pinks, little blue blossoms tucked between green stems. 

 Vythra passed it without looking. Behind her, every bloom blackened at once. The petals curled inward as if kissed by frost and flame together, edges crisping, color draining into a bruised brown before falling soundlessly onto the polished wood. The water inside the vase clouded. One stem bent, then another, until the entire arrangement collapsed toward itself like something ashamed to have been seen.

 Vythra did not notice.

 Misty did. The panther paused, her eyes lowering to the dead flowers, then lifting to Vythra's back. This wasn't a good sign.

 When Vythra finally reached her floor, the House of Wind was impossibly quiet. Not in its usual way, but in the way something becomes quiet after being too shocked to speak. The long windows caught the last traces of evening, and the mountains beyond the glass looked darker than they had an hour ago, as though night had already kissed their edges.

 In one hand, she held the basket, almost entirely emptied of offerings. With the other, she gathered the folds of her dress just high enough not to step on the hem. Her thoughts were full of heartwake, of the new horizon the elf had opened before her, of Sorscha and Malou riding through the distance, still searching, still refusing to give her up.

 Then her chest startled. The tangled chain sleeping inside her suddenly woke, alert and violent, striking once against her sternum.

 Azriel was sitting in front of her room.

 And just like that, the ugly, poisoned thing inside her faltered. His presence cut through it before it could grow teeth again. He did not even have to speak. He only had to be there, exhausted and disheveled and waiting before a door he had apparently not dared to touch, for the heat behind Vythra's anger to lose its certainty. 

 He made the world immediate again. Something in her chest loosened and tightened at once. The darkness clouding her judgment retreated. 

 The House had probably dragged the armchair there from some sitting room, placing it opposite her door like a throne for a guard too tired to pretend he was not waiting. His legs were spread, forearms braced on his thighs, his head propped against one bent finger, temple pressed to the knuckle as though the whole weight of the evening had gathered there. His black shirt was slightly rumpled, a few buttons undone at his throat, and his shadows spilled lazily over the floor.

 He was staring at the panel so intensely that Vythra could almost see the wood beginning to hollow beneath his gaze, as if he meant to burn holes through it and look inside.

 Misty stopped first. Ah. I knew it smelled suspicious.

 Vythra might have laughed if her heart had not betrayed her so stupidly.

 He lifted his heavy eyes, lids half-lowered, and simply sat there for a moment, measuring her in silence. " Congratulations on the ten thousand stairs. "

 For a moment, nothing moved. Not the House. Not Vythra. His eyes changed, passing over her with an attention almost too supple to bear. Only then did he rise from the armchair, lazily, like a male determined not to appear as though he had stood up merely because she had arrived.

 " What are you doing here? " Her voice came out harsher than she intended, and suddenly she was not in the hallway anymore, but back in the kitchen, pressed by the hard line of his body.

 Azriel tilted his head slightly, half-hidden by the darkness around him, and his disheveled hair fell over his forehead. " I have been waiting for you for some time. "

 Vythra tightened her fingers around the basket handle. " Well, you found me. You can leave. "

 His shadows shifted, but he did not take a step toward her. There were too many questions inside him and not one of them fit safely in his mouth.

 How had she managed the ten thousand stairs? Had she walked them in that reckless way of hers? How had she returned? Was she hurt? Was the tremor in her wrist exhaustion or something else? Had Madja found new damage beneath the old? Had Vythra eaten? Had she worked with many injured men today?

 He wanted to ask all of it. He wanted to tell her, too.

 That after she left the kitchen today, he had gone to Rhysand not with a request, but with a fight held carefully behind his teeth. That he had spoken for her freedom before his brother could reduce her to a variable. That he had enough of his brother's games. That he had told Rhysand what she had done in the Bog, how she had stood before Death with a spine straighter than most warriors managed and that she had saved them. How she had held him together while his own mind tore itself open. How he had kept the worst of that secret from everyone and replayed her words like a lullaby: You are with me. There you are, she said and smiled. You are untouchable. Untouchable.

 He wanted to tell her that he had not slept.

 That after the bargain in the Bog, after the things he had seen, after Death looked at her as if it knew the taste of her soul, he had spent the night sitting outside her room like a dog, listening through wood and stone for the rhythm of her breathing. Counted her heartbeats for proof that nothing had followed her home and slipped under her bed to harm her. He had calculated every steady inhale until dawn bruised the windows, and only Cassian's steps in the corridor had warned him to leave before he was found there, guarding a door he had no right to guard.

 All of that pressed against his tongue. All of it stayed there. So Azriel did what he knew how to do: " Tomorrow morning, you start training with me. "

 Vythra blinked. That was not the answer she had expected. " What? I don't think— "

 " Because your time is already occupied by training with my brother, Cassian. I assume that is what you were going to say. " He took one small step toward her.

 The House, treacherous little thing, shortened the corridor beneath their feet almost imperceptibly. The distance between them became suffocating, even though a tea table could have still fit between their bodies.

 Vythra looked at him and did not know what to do with the rest of herself. She lifted the basket against her hip, and her mind, traitorous and sharp, carried the thought forward: It does not create something from nothing. " So you knew. "

 " I knew. "

 " Since when? "

 Azriel lowered his gaze for a second, as though measuring precisely how much truth he could give without making the situation more complicated. When he looked at her again, his expression had become strangely tender, almost as though he were dealing with a child. " Since you hid from me behind that tree. Your scent stayed there long after the two of you had already left. "

 Vythra felt her cheeks warm. How long had he lingered that day in the place where she and Cassian had trained, trying to catch her scent after she had hidden it so carefully?

 " And why didn't you say anything? " Vythra stepped closer, and her attention betrayed her, dropping to the exposed line of his chest, to the strong column of his throat left bare by the open buttons. She wet her lips before asking, " Why did you let us continue? "

 Azriel mirrored the gesture without seeming to realize it, his tongue passing over his lower lip before his gaze fell to her hands, to every place where she tried to hide that the day had worn her down almost to the bone. " Because you were doing nothing wrong. " The answer disarmed her more than any reprimand could have. " Cassian was helping you. You were learning. And even if Rhysand would not have agreed at first, I... " He stopped, his throat shifting slightly as he swallowed. " I agreed. "

 Vythra stared at him without blinking.

 Azriel shifted his weight from one foot to the other under her scrutiny, almost imperceptibly. It was a gesture too small for anyone else. To her, that evening, it felt nearly like a confession. " Somewhere inside myself, " he said more quietly, " I wanted to shield you from Rhysand's harsher judgment. From the way he weighs you every time you make a move he cannot anticipate. So I went to him. "

 Something tightened in Vythra's chest. " You spoke to Rhysand? "

 " Yes. " He nodded solemnly, unclasping his palms.

 " For me? "

 The man's expression dulled, his eyebrows knitting together as his hazel eyes caught the moonlight. " Yes. "

 It was a simple word. Too simple for how much it changed the air between them.

 Misty laid her tail over her front paws and looked away with false politeness.

 Azriel continued, as though her silence forced him to fill the space with explanations before she misunderstood them. " You are free to walk through the House without an escort. To go down to Velaris as you please. To go to Madja without informing me, unless you need help getting there. Though I can see you already found a way to manage that, which is good... " His eyes flickered once toward Misty, then back to Vythra. " It is very good to see that. You are free to train. "

 Vythra laughed once, almost without sound, but the ghost of it faded from her face when she saw the seriousness etched across his features. " Free, but with conditions, I assume. "

 " All freedom in this court comes with conditions. Mine included. " A trace of pain crossed his face so quickly she almost missed it. " But as far as I know, for now, you are bound by none. " He was honest. She felt it in the delicate clicking of the chain, in the way it swayed from side to side, as though the thing buried inside her chest had lifted its head, intrigued by whatever lived beneath this man's skin, delighted by the shape of his soul.

 Vythra lowered her gaze to the empty basket, then to her door, then back to him. She was trying to find somewhere to put her gratitude where it would not make her look weak. Trying to accept that while she had judged him for the herbs he had brought to Elain, he had stood before Rhysand and argued for her freedom. Had spoken of what had happened in the Bog. Had pleaded for the small, incomplete, fragile thing that was now, at last, beginning to resemble free will.

 " Thank you... " She managed to say at last.

 Azriel drew in a sharp breath and clasped his hands behind his back, as if he wished to hide from her every weakness she had already seen. " You do not have to thank me. It was your right from the beginning. "

 " Yes. " Vythra lifted her chin to him. " I do. "

 His shadows drifted an inch closer, then stopped, as if even they knew they were not allowed to ask for more. And yet the braver one moved a little farther, brushing the hem of her dress before darting back, almost dancing.

 Azriel gave a single nod before turning on his heel, as though he could no longer bear to stand there beneath the weight of that ocean. Could no longer bear to look her in the face after what he had done the day before. After the mere scent of her had been enough to drag him into sin. " Before you go to Madja's. " He said, returning to a practical tone, though his voice came out hoarse. " Tomorrow. Be ready. "

 Vythra placed her hand on the door handle, but did not enter yet. " Azriel... "

 He turned back. For a moment, she wanted to ask him about Elain. About whatever lay between them that Vythra did not know. About why he had waited for her now, in front of her room, like a male who did not know whether he had the right to knock but refused to leave.

 Instead, she only said: " Next time, if you plan to spend the evening questioning my door, save yourself the trouble and knock. "

 Azriel looked toward her door, a modest smile brightened the sharp lines of his face. " Was it working? "

 Vythra blinked, then bit the inside of her cheek to keep from chuckilng. " Good night... "

 " Good night, Vythra... "

 She entered the room before her face could betray her.

 Misty followed, but paused for a moment on the threshold and looked at the Shadowsinger with narrow, assessing golden eyes. Keep going like that. We may yet turn you from a problem into an investment.

 The door closed slowly between them. And this time, Azriel no longer looked as though he wanted to burn holes through it. He looked only as though, for the first time in many years, he had a reason to wait for morning.

𓆩✴𓆪

Chapter 37

Uncrossable Distance

 The morning after Lucien Vanserra brought Thaibar back from the dead, the House of Wind woke quietly around Vythra, as if even its ancient stones had learned the value of caution.

 No bright sunlight forced its way into her room. No cheerful tray appeared beside her bed with sweet pastries to wash away the stale taste in her mouth. Instead, dawn arrived in diluted pastels, shy and warm against the windows, spilling over the floorboards like water too tired to become a river. The city below had not yet fully stirred, but Velaris breathed in its sleep beneath the mountain, all blue roofs, pale mist and distant bells, beautiful in a cruel way. 

 Vythra had not slept much.

 There had been a few hours, perhaps, fractured ones. They did not feel like rest, only like sinking repeatedly through different layers of the same dark water. Every time she closed her eyes, parchment waited for her in black lines and official stamps. A face that looked like hers and not like hers at all. A name she gave up on, written beneath the portrait of a girl who had died in more ways than one, beside Malou's stolen face, beside a crime neither of them had committed. The presence she felt sleeping under her bed did not help either, or the black palms trying to grab her from underneath.

 At some point before dawn, she had woken with one hand at her own throat and Misty's enormous head resting across her knees.

 The panther had not moved when Vythra startled. She had merely opened one golden eye, blinked with the deep annoyance of someone interrupted during an important act of guarding, and pressed her weight more firmly over Vythra's legs. In her old form, Misty had curled into the hollow of Vythra's stomach and vibrated softly. In this form, she covered half the bed, one heavy paw hanging over the edge.

 " You are crushing me. " She whispered, half-asleep.

 Misty had shut her eye again, no answer offered in return. That might have been the end of the conversation, had a brutal knock not struck the door.

 " Vy. " Cassian's voice came from the hall, far too awake and far too pleased with himself. " Vy, it's time for training. "

 Vythra's eyes flew open. " Shit. I forgot. "

 Misty opened one golden eye. Tragic. I was very comfortable.

 Vythra shoved at the panther's head with both hands, which accomplished absolutely nothing except making Misty exhale through her nose in offended disbelief. " Move. "

 No. Another knock came.

 " Do not make me come in there. " Cassian warned, his tone still hushed.

 " You cannot come in. " Vythra snapped, already fighting her way out from under half a mountain panther and a treacherous tangle of blankets. " I am indecent. "

 There was a pause. " Define indecent. "

 " My tits are out! "

 " Oh... All right, all right. Be quiet about your breasts then! "

 Vythra managed to swing one leg off the bed, then the other, nearly tripping over the hem of yesterday's borrowed nightgown as the House drew the curtains aside inch by inch. On the chair near the wardrobe lay the green dress she had worn to dinner, folded with impossible care. The House must have taken it sometime during the night, cleaned whatever dust or wine or panic had clung to the fabric, then returned it as if nothing in the world had happened.

 She looked at it for half a second too long, then Cassian knocked again. " I can hear you brooding. "

 " You cannot hear brooding. "

 " I live with Nesta. "

 Vythra dragged the first training clothes the House offered from the wardrobe and threw a glare toward the ceiling when it produced something far too neat, far too fitted, and entirely too optimistic for dawn. " Something I can move in... Please. " 

 The House corrected itself with visible offense, replacing the garment with dark trousers, a plain shirt, and a soft belt. Stockings floated after them like an accusation.

 " Thank you. " Vythra said, because she had learned that manners occasionally shortened domestic arguments with architecture.

 Misty finally rose from the bed in one fluid motion, stretched until every muscle in her enormous grey body shifted beneath her fur, then leapt down with enough grace to make Vythra resent her. You are slow.

 " You were on top of me. "

 Excuses weaken the spirit.

 Vythra did not dignify that with an answer. She washed her face with the cold water the House provided, twisted her dark hair into the quickest knot she could manage, then opened the door just enough to thrust her head into the corridor.

 Cassian stood outside with his arms crossed, wings half-loose behind him, already dressed for the ring and looking disgustingly awake. His hair was tied back, his expression smug, and one brow lifted as he took in her flushed face, crooked collar, and the massive panther now looming behind her shoulder.

 " You look terrible. "

 " Good morning to you too. "

 His gaze shifted to Misty as he pointed at her. " Is she coming? "

 " She refuses to be left behind. "

 " Excellent. I've always wanted an audience. "

 He is very loud for someone so early in the morning, Misty observed.

 Vythra sighed. " She says she's delighted. "

 Cassian's grin widened. " I knew she liked me. "

 By the time the sun began to lift properly over Velaris, Vythra was already in the training ring with Cassian, wrapped in the pale breath of morning. Mist still clung to the stone beneath their feet, thin and silver, curling around her boots every time she shifted her weight. Cassian had not asked about the warrant. That was one of the mercies of him. He simply held out a pair of strange, three-pronged blades, looked her over once with those warm, sharp eyes of his, and said, " I found something you might be good with. "

 Vythra stared at the weapons in his hands. For a second, everything else slipped aside. She stepped closer, almost carefully, as though sudden movement might make the blades vanish. " Where did you find a pair of Sai? "

 Cassian's brows lifted. " I promised I'll find a pair for you. " He turned one of the blades in his hand, offering her the hilt first. " They're not perfect. "

 Vythra took it. The weight settled strangely in her palm, familiar enough to wake some old muscle memory, wrong enough that her fingers adjusted twice before she found a grip that did not feel entirely borrowed. The central shaft was dark, polished metal, the side prongs curved outward with enough grace to look ornamental until one imagined them catching a blade and twisting.

 Cassian watched her face. " The shaft is too long for you. "

 She glanced at him.

 He stepped closer and gestured toward her arm. " A proper pair should be measured from the base of your thumb to the tip of your elbow. These were made for someone with a longer reach. Not by much, but enough to change the balance. " He tapped one of the side prongs with his finger. " And these are too narrow. Your wrist should pass through comfortably if you rotate into a defensive catch. If it sticks, even for a heartbeat, an enemy can use the weapon against you. "

 Vythra looked down again, slowly turning the Sai until the pale morning caught along its edges. " You checked that? "

 " Of course I checked that. "

 " Why? "

 Cassian gave her an offended look. " Because I like my students with all their wrists attached. "

 Misty, lying at the edge of the ring in her immense panther form, opened one golden eye. How generous of him.

 Vythra's mouth twitched.

 Cassian noticed. " She commented, didn't she? "

 " She said you're generous. "

 " No, she didn't. "

 " No, indeed. "

 He sighed. " I miss when your cat was small and easier to disrespect. "

 He was never brave enough. Vythra tightened her hand around the Sai to hide the smile that tried to betray her.

 Cassian pointed toward the second weapon. " As I was saying before being insulted by furniture-sized wildlife, these are only temporary. The House found them in one of the old armories. I can't go and make something for you right now as it would destroy our secret meeting. "

 Something in Vythra's chest shifted. " I know, but it's enough for now. " It was a small thing. Ridiculous, perhaps, after everything. A pair of imperfect weapons. 

 Vythra looked at him, then, before she could think better of it, she crossed the distance between them and threw her arms around his middle.

 Cassian went completely still. Stunned in the way only a five-hundred-year-old Illyrian warrior could be stunned by a woman half his size, hugging him in a training ring before breakfast. His hands lifted slightly, uncertain where to go, then hovered uselessly near her shoulders as though he had suddenly forgotten every instinct he had ever possessed.

 Misty raised her head. It's a hug, not a handjob...

 Vythra's face was pressed against Cassian's leathers, so her laugh came out muffled. " Thank you. "

 For a heartbeat, Cassian said nothing, one of his hands settled, very carefully, against the back of her shoulder. " There, there. " He chirped with the grave discomfort of a male attempting tenderness without proper warning. " Please don't curse me. "

 Vythra pulled back just enough to look up at him. " Curse you? "

 " You have the sudden emotional unpredictability of a witch. "

 " I am not entirely a witch. "

 " That sounds exactly like what a witch would say before turning my bones into soup. "

 Misty made a low, approving rumble. I would eat the soup.

 Vythra stepped away. " She says she would eat the soup. "

 Cassian stared at the panther. " Of course she would. " Then he cleared his throat, recovering himself with all the dignity of a general who had just been ambushed by gratitude, and pointed the remaining Sai toward her stance. " Again. This time with the blades. "

 Vythra looked down at the weapons, then back at him. The afterthought of the night before still hurt. The world still waited with teeth. But for the first time since waking, something in her felt less like it was merely enduring.

 So she did it again. Step. Turn. Guard. Strike. Fail. Breathe. Again. Her body still moved like it expected punishment from every wrong angle, like pain had trained it more thoroughly than any instructor ever could, but Cassian corrected without cruelty whenever he remembered he was supposed to be correcting her. His attention, unfortunately, had become divided the moment Misty stretched her enormous grey body across the edge of the ring and looked at him with the grave, golden-eyed boredom of a queen judging a court jester.

 " She knows I am not attacking you. " Cassian muttered after the third warning growl, lowering the practice blade and pointing it at the panther. " You know that, right? "

 Misty blinked once.

 " Good. " He praised, as though they had reached an agreement. " Now sit. "

 Vythra stopped mid-guard. " What are you doing? "

 " Training her. "

 " You cannot train Misty. "

 " I have trained Illyrian warriors for centuries. An overweight cat should be far simpler than that. "

 " That explains your confidence. Illyrians respond to simple commands because anything more complicated would overstrain the species. However, this is an elite predator. She knows more than two words commands. "

 Cassian gave her a wounded look. " That is offensive to the Illyrian warriors. "

 Overweight?

 Vythra's smile vanished. " You should run. "

 Cassian blinked. Then Misty rose. The motion was slow, elegant, and full of terrible promise.

 " Ah, " Cassian said, already taking one careful step back. " so she understood that part. "

 Misty's golden eyes narrowed. Cassian turned and ran.

 And somehow, that became the morning's lesson: Cassian testing whether five centuries of battlefield training could outrun an offended mountain panther, while Vythra, half-laughing and half-horrified, was forced to keep pace, call Misty back, and still complete her laps without collapsing. By the end, she had beaten her last time by ten seconds, Cassian had acquired a new respect for feline dignity, and Misty looked deeply satisfied with the moral education she had provided.

 Her arms trembled, her breath came unevenly, and sweat had gathered beneath her collar, but the cold had burned out of her bones. For a little while, the world felt less like parchment and accusation, and more like stone, muscle, ridiculous panthers, and the simple demand to remain standing.

 They did not return through the main corridors.

 That had been Cassian's rule from the beginning: if one intended to do something secretly, one should not then parade through the House smelling of sweat. So he took the longer way around, wings flaring once before he launched toward another terrace, leaving Vythra with a pointed order to wash, breathe, and not look like she had just spent dawn being chased by a panther she allegedly owned.

 Misty, who considered herself slandered by the word owned, stalked beside Vythra with the solemn dignity of a monarch returning from a successful military campaign. He runs well for something so large.

 " You almost bit his foot. "

 I was testing his reflexes.

 " You were punishing him for calling you overweight. "

 Both can be true.

 Vythra slipped inside through one of the quieter side doors, the House opening it before she touched the handle. The corridor beyond was empty, washed in pale morning and the faint smell of polished wood, as though the House had decided to aid the crime by pretending not to notice her. Even so, she moved carefully, keeping close to the wall, breathing through the soreness in her ribs and the lingering tremble in her thighs. It was ridiculous, perhaps, to hide training in a place where half the walls had opinions and the staircases rearranged themselves according to mood, but secrecy had become a habit her body understood better than trust.

 By the time she reached her room, the sweat had cooled against her skin and the brief lightness from the ring had begun to thin. The silence inside waited for her with too much patience. It smelled faintly of candle smoke and clean linen. The House had already drawn the curtains wider, letting dawn spill over the floorboards, and on the chair near the wardrobe lay the green dress she had worn to dinner.

 Vythra looked at it for too long.

 The dress had not been guilty of anything. Neither had the table. Neither had the wineglasses, the candles, the polished plates or the silver forks that had gleamed beneath Lucien's hands while he spoke of soldiers moving through Spring. Yet everything from the previous evening seemed stained now, marked by the moment the warrant unfolded and Thaibar crawled out of the parchment like something that had only been pretending to sleep.

 Misty rose in a silent motion from where she had thrown herself across the rug, apparently exhausted by the burden of victory. She padded toward the chair and sniffed the folded dress with grave suspicion. If you continue staring at that dress like it has personally insulted your bloodline, I will eat it.

 Vythra rubbed both hands over her face. " Please don't. I think it's expensive. "

 Even better.

 Despite herself, a tired breath escaped her. Not quite a laugh, but close enough that Misty looked satisfied and stretched luxuriously, arching her powerful back until the bones cracked beneath her fur. The panther had not once returned to her smaller body since the transformation. Not during the dinner, not in the corridors, not while climbing onto Vythra's bed with the audacity of a creature half the size of a wardrobe. She seemed to have discovered majesty and decided it suited her moral character.

 The House opened the wardrobe. A simple dark dress appeared first, then vanished. A pair of trousers followed, hesitated in midair, then slipped back into the shadows of the wardrobe as if the House had changed its mind. At last, it offered her a plain deep-blue gown with long sleeves and a neckline modest enough for her mending study with Madja. It floated toward her with the faintest rustle.

 " I'm not going to breakfast dressed like a widow. " Vythra objected.

 The gown drifted higher.

 Misty sat beside the bed and yawned, exposing a row of teeth that made the entire room feel less domestic. The house believes mourning suits you.

 " The House can believe quietly. "

 A drawer opened. Stockings appeared. Vythra stared at them. " I am being bullied by architecture. "

 You started losing the battle when you thanked a staircase.

 She dressed slowly. Every movement reminded her of the Bog, not as pain exactly, but as residue: a tightness in the muscles, a faint pull beneath her ribs, a soreness at the places where fear had lived too long and taken up tenancy. The scratches had healed. The bruises had faded. Even the wound in her thigh had become more memory than injury under Madja's care. But beneath the skin, something had not returned properly to its place. Her body felt like a room after strangers had searched it, everything intact at a glance and yet subtly disturbed, drawers closed wrong, dust shifted, one beloved object missing.

 The pendant. Her hand went automatically to her throat and found only skin.

 The spider-realm pendant, old and strange and powerful enough to hum against her sternum, had gone into Death's hands because Death had asked and because Vythra had understood, in that terrible moment, that escape always had a price. She had not thought beyond survival. She had given away the thing that might have anchored her, shielded her. Now the hollow at her throat felt less like absence and more like an open door.

 Misty's tail swept once across the rug. You are doing the face again.

 Vythra crossed the room and opened the door before the panther could throw any more witty remarks. The corridor beyond was quiet, lit lamps that had dimmed themselves respectfully. Somewhere below, the House moved with soft domestic purpose: pans settling, kettles filling, doors opening for people who did not always thank them. Voices drifted faintly from another level, too low to distinguish, but familiar enough to tighten something in her chest before she had reason to name it.

  Madja would expect her later. Rhysand would have reports. Lucien would have slept little, if at all, and Feyre would be pretending not to think of Spring while thinking of nothing else. Azriel...

 She stopped the thought before it finished. Misty brushed past her, vast and silent, forcing Vythra to be shouldered into the wall. Walk. Thinking is making you slow.

 She followed panther down the corridor.

 The House had widened the passage for Misty. Or perhaps it had always been wide enough and Vythra had never noticed because she had not been escorted by a mountain panther before. Either way, doors seemed to shift away from them as they passed, rugs smoothing themselves beneath massive paws, small decorative tables edging discreetly toward the walls as if they valued their carved legs. Misty noticed, of course. Her steps became slower, more regal, tail lifting with unbearable satisfaction.

 " You're enjoying this too much. "

 I am receiving the respect I have always deserved.

 " You used to fit in a laundry basket. "

 And yet I was still superior.

 They descended toward the lower levels, not toward the dining room yet, but toward the quieter side of the House where corridors ran near storage rooms, service passages and the kitchen. Vythra had a purpose before breakfast, before Madjar: she needed to collect what she could for the garden elf: a little wine, whatever meat remained from dinner, sugar if the House allowed theft from its pantry, perhaps a few coins from the small purse Feyre had insisted she keep for Velaris, and something more valuable than all of them.

 The clothes from the Bog.

 She did not know why she had kept them. Perhaps because throwing them away felt too much like pretending the Bog had ended when they left it. Perhaps because the fabric still carried proof that it had happened: mud ground into seams no washing could fully cleanse, faint dark stains where blood had dried, the memory of a shared secret between her and the Shadowsinger.

 The House had hidden them from sight, but not from her.

 Vythra found the bundle in a narrow storage room behind stacked linens and jars of preserved fruit. The door opened before she touched the handle, though it did so grudgingly, and the small room exhaled the smell of cedar, dust and dried lavender. The clothes sat wrapped in plain cloth on the highest shelf.

 Misty ducked her head through the doorway and sniffed. That smells awful.

 " It was an awful place. "

 No. It smells like something had followed you home.

 Vythra went still with one hand on the bundle. She took the clothes down anyway.

 By the time she reached the kitchen, the bundle tucked beneath one arm and Misty walking close enough that her flank brushed Vythra's skirt with every step, the House had already begun preparing for the morning. Copper pans gleamed above the hearth. A kettle sang softly. Bowls of fruit appeared on the counter in obedient rows, and a small jar of sugar had been placed very conspicuously near the edge, as if the House had decided to aid and judge her theft at the same time.

 Vythra looked at the jar. " Thank you. "

 A cabinet door shut with prim satisfaction. She was reaching for the sugar when she noticed Elain.

 The woman stood near the far table, arranging sprigs of rosemary beside a bowl of pale dough. Morning light softened everything around her, gilding the loose waves of her hair, the curve of her cheek. There was flour on one of her wrists and a smudge near her thumb, small once human imperfections. For one strange second, Vythra felt as though she had stepped into a life she was not meant to disturb.

 Elain looked up. " Oh... " She recovered smoothly. " Good morning. "

 Vythra adjusted the bundle under her arm. " Good morning. "

 Misty sat down between them with the gravitas of a judge presiding over a trial.

 Elain's eyes dropped to the panther. Her face did not show fear, but something cautious moved behind her expression. " She really intends to stay like that, huh? "

 " Yes. "

 Tell the flower girl I can do better.

 Elain's gaze returned to her, lingering briefly on the bundle tucked under Vythra's arm, then on the jar of sugar in her hand. " Are you going somewhere? "

 " Huh? " Vythra mumbled, caught off guard.

 " The clothes. " Elain said softly. Her eyes dipped again to the jar. " And the sugar. "

 " Oh. No, no ." Vythra lifted the jar a fraction too quickly, then immediately regretted it. " I heard sugar helps with foul smells. "

 Elain looked at her. Vythra smiled. It was not her best work. The corners of her mouth turned the wrong way, as though her face had been given an instruction it did not believe in.

 Something almost like amusement touched Elain's mouth, but it did not stay. " With clothes? "

 " With certain materials. "

 " I see. " She clearly did not.

 Misty's tail swept once across the kitchen floor. Embarrassing. I have seen dying insects lie with more dignity, two-legs.

 Vythra adjusted the bundle against her ribs and pretended not to hear her.

 Elain did not press further, but her gaze remained too gentle to be harmless. She looked tired this morning. Not visibly ruined, but worn around the edges, as if sleep had not been enough to untangle whatever thoughts had kept her company after dinner. There was rosemary beneath her fingers and something watchful behind her eyes that made Vythra suddenly aware of every object she was trying to steal from the kitchen like a very badly trained criminal.

 For a moment they existed in a small, uncomfortable quiet, broken only by the kettle and the soft crackle of the stove.

 Then Elain asked, too gently, " Did you sleep? Well? "

 Vythra closed the sugar jar and encouraged an honest answer to balance the lie before. " No. "

 Elain's hands stilled over some bottles. " Because of the warrant? "

 Because of Thaibar. Because of Niven's voice. Because of hands beneath the bed. Because the name Cyan had looked less like a name and more like a corpse dragged into candlelight. Because every time she closed her eyes, someone dead wanted something from her.

 " Yes. "

 Elain nodded, but the motion felt incomplete. Her eyes lowered, then lifted again, and something hesitant entered her voice. " Did the wine bother you last night? "

 Vythra looked at her and frowned, surprised by the strange question. " The wine? Why? "

 Elain's fingers pressed lightly into the dough. " You seemed... flushed, at one point. I thought perhaps the House had chosen something too strong. "

 The kitchen seemed suddenly quieter.

 Misty's head turned. Vythra felt the panther's attention sharpen beside her.

 Then the cabinet above the counter opened by itself. A bottle of wine slid forward.

 Not the dark bottle from dinner, with its foreign label and deep red wax seal, but one of the House's own: pale glass, silver stopper, the kind it usually offered with dinner when it wished to appear elegant. It placed the bottle on the counter with an offended click. Then another appeared beside it. Then a third.

 Vythra looked at them. The House shut the cabinet.

 Elain's hands stilled.

 The message was not spoken, but it hardly needed to be. Not mine.

 Elain's expression did not change quickly enough. No, the problem was: it did change, just not to be dismissed.

 " I don't know. " Vythra said, careful now. " I had other things to think about. "

 Elain's voice thinned into an echo. " Of course. "

 Something about the question remained between them. Vythra stayed near the doorway, her clothes and jar gone from her hands. Somewhere above, in her room, the rest of the offerings were probably being arranged, as though the House wished to make it perfectly clear that while it did not approve of theft, it approved even less of Vythra being caught doing it badly.

 Before either of them could speak again, footsteps sounded beyond the kitchen, almost soundless until the last few paces. 

 Azriel appeared in the opposite doorway, dressed in black, casual attire as though morning had merely interrupted another duty. In one hand he held a small bundle of pale roots, tied together with a strip of brown thread, still damp with soil, their thin tendrils curling around his fingers.

 He stopped when he saw them: Elain at the table, Vythra near the counter and a wild panther sitting in the middle.

 Elain's hands withdrew from the dough.

 Azriel's gaze moved first to Elain, then to the roots in his own hand, then to Vythra. Something passed over his face too quickly to keep hidden. His shadows shifted toward Vythra before he did, thinning across the kitchen floor like spilled night, then stopped as if some silent command had cut them short.

 " I found them. " He managed to say after a while.

 Elain looked at the roots and something in her shoulders softened by a fraction. " Thank you. "

 So that was where he had been. In the garden. For her.

 The thought should not have mattered. It was nothing. A handful of roots. A morning errand between people who had known each other far longer than Vythra had known either of them. And yet something small and ugly twisted behind her ribs, not quite jealousy at first, but close enough to wear its face. 

 She remembered the Bog with sudden cruelty: Azriel shaking beneath her hands, his breath broken against her palms, his hair damp where she had touched it, the terrible intimacy of telling him he was with her now, untouchable, as though the world had narrowed to death and the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers. 

 Now he stood in a kitchen doorway with roots for Elain. And Vythra, who had survived prisons and men with torches, felt absurdly, humiliatingly in the way.

 Elain reached for the bundle, but Azriel did not immediately give it to her. His eyes had moved back to Vythra, and this time they remained there. " You're awake early. " 

 " I had somewhere to be. "

 " With Cassian? " The question was calm, as if he already knew the answer and was only offering her the courtesy of speaking it herself. " Or... ? "

 Vythra felt Elain's attention sharpen, though the female did not lift her eyes from the herbs.

 " Yes, with him. "

 Azriel nodded once. " Did he take you to Madja already? "

 " No, but he will. I am waiting for him. "

 " He should take you now. "

 " I am capable of keeping track of my time. "

 " I did not say you weren't. " The words were quiet, but the space between them tightened. Concern forced into the shape of practicality because neither of them seemed to know what to do with each other when other people were present.

 Elain chopped the vegetables at last. " Will you stay for breakfast? " She asked, and her voice was soft enough that anyone else might have missed the way it slipped between them like a hand closing over a door.

 Vythra looked at her. For a second, the question seemed harmless. Courteous, even. A beautiful female in a bright kitchen, asking another guest if she would eat. But Elain's fingers curled around the knife and her face held that careful, fragile composure Vythra was beginning to distrust. Not because it was false. Because it was too controlled.

 " No. " Vythra said. " I need to see Madja. "

 Azriel's attention snapped back to her. " Cassian is taking you? "

 " I thought we already established that. "

 " Where is he, then? " There it was again: that quiet, immovable refusal to accept an answer. It should not have angered her as much as it did, but the morning had already given her Azriel standing in the doorway with roots gathered for another woman.

 So Vythra smiled. " Probably somewhere recovering from Nesta and whatever fancy circus tricks they tried last night. "

 Elain's hands stilled over the roots. The blush that touched her cheeks came quickly, mortified, and Vythra hated how satisfying it felt to see it. She had meant to make Elain feel, for one sharp second, the awkwardness she herself had been swallowing since Azriel stepped into the room carrying proof that he still belonged to old, quiet intimacies.

  It was cruel and also the first weapon within reach.

 Azriel did not look amused. He looked at Vythra as though she had just thrown a knife onto the table. " Perfect, it means he's really sucked out of any energy. Who would accompany you then? " 

 Vythra's teeth sank into her lip as her smile went wider. " He's the General for a reason, I believe his stamina could endure some more practice. With me. "

 The space between them tightened hard enough that even Misty lifted her head. Azriel's shadows shifted along the floor, gathering near his boots as if waiting for a command he refused to give. 

 Azriel's eyes lowered to her mouth for the briefest, most damning second. " Your definition of practice is not what concerns me. "

 Vythra's smile faltered by half an inch. " Then what does? Cassian's so-called stamina? "

 His gaze lifted back to hers, hypnotic and dark. " No, the possibility that you might mistake it for enough. "

 The words went straight to Vythra's guts. Her breath caught, but only for a second. " And yours would be? "

 The Spymaster did not blink as he confessed: " Most definitely. "

 Elain's fingers went still over the roots. For one terrible second, Vythra had no answer. The anger in her chest did not vanish, but it changed shape, becoming something more dangerous because it was no longer clean.

 Instead, she adjusted the empty space where the House had already stolen her bundle away. " I'll wait in the hall. "

 She stepped toward the doorway. Azriel moved. Not enough to be called obstruction, not enough for anyone to accuse him of anything, but enough that the broad line of his shoulders filled the space before she reached it. He was too tall in that doorway, almost reaching arch of it, all black shirt and pants and boots.

 Vythra stopped before she could walk into his chest. For one terrible second, she looked up.

 His scent of cold night and cedar cut through rosemary and warm bread. She could see the faint crease between his brows, the faint stubble on his jaw and cheekbones, the gold dots on his hazel eyes.

 " Move. " she ordered under her breath.

 Azriel did not. His gaze lowered once to her throat, to the place where the memory of his knife still lived on her skin, where the bruised ghosts of his fingerprints had not fully vanished. Something in his face broke by a fraction before he lowered his head, the tip of his nose sending sparks across her earlobe. " Forgive me... "

 Vythra's spine tightened as she adjusted the distance between their faces, now fully staring into the ceiling to accomodate the distance. " You are repentant of all your sins. Now move. " She shifted to pass on his left.

 " No. "

 The word angered her. But beneath it, something else curled, hot and humiliating, because he looked almost pathetic in his refusal, and suddenly a secret fetish of hers surfaced with this moment. His bodily heat became too much to resist and she pushed at his flexed abdomen, keeping her palm flat on the silky cotton of his shirt. A row of muscles spasmed under her touch.

 " Why not? " She fisted his clothes as he came close again to her face. 

 " Because I do not wish to. " Azriel moved again when she tried to slip past him. He was not touching her, not trapping her in any way that could be named. There was another exit, the one closer to Elain, if Vythra truly wanted to take it. He was simply there: a wall of wings, shadows and stubbornness, his body molding with hers as though some instinct inside him refused to let her leave upset.

 Misty's tail swept once over the floor. I will rip him apart.

  "Don't. " Vythra said through her teeth.

 Azriel's eyes sharpened. " Was that for me or the panther? " A shadow slid across his boot, amused.

 Behind them, Elain's hands had gone still over the roots.

 The awareness of her struck Vythra like cold water. Elain was there, watching, flushed and too carefully composed, holding the thing Azriel had gone into the garden to bring her. And yet the man stood in front of Vythra as though the room had narrowed to the distance between his lips and hers.

 It made everything worse. It made everything hurt.

 Then she tried to pass on his right. This time, Azriel stepped aside before she reached him. Only partly, enough for her to slip through if she turned her body. Enough for her shoulder to brush his bicep. Enough for the air between them to become a mix of their ragged breaths. He had given her the exit and somehow made it feel like another form of refusal.

 As Vythra passed, his hand shifted at his side. For half a heartbeat, she thought he would stop her, that his wide palm would close around her hip bone. 

 Instead, Elain spoke. " Azriel? "

 He stilled. Vythra did too, though she hated herself for it.

 The woman's voice remained mild. " Could you help me with the mortar? The roots need to be crushed before the dough rises too much. "

 Your girlfriend is calling for you, she mouthed, only for him to see. 

 Azriel's gaze remained on Vythra's profile for one more second, and something inside her twisted with the stupid, wounded hope that he might refuse. That he might say he had other duties: her. That he might follow her into the corridor and ask why her eyes looked like she had not truly returned from Thaibar. To finish what he promised.

 But then he looked back at Elain. " Of course. "

 Vythra left before her face could betray her.

 Misty followed, but paused at the threshold long enough to look back at both of them. Her golden eyes moved from Elain to Azriel, then to the herbs on the table, and her tail struck the floor once with unmistakable judgment.

 Vythra did not turn around. " Come on, Misty. " She made it three steps down the corridor before she remembered how to breathe properly.

 The air went in wrong, catching somewhere beneath her ribs, tangled with cedar smoke and whatever unbearable thing Azriel had left behind in the narrow space between his body and hers. Her skin still felt too awake from standing that close to him. Her throat still carried the ghost of his apology. Her pride, unfortunately, had not survived the kitchen uninjured.

 Misty glanced up at her. You look deranged.

 " I feel perfectly composed. "

 You walked into the doorframe.

 " I brushed it. "

 With your entire shoulder.

 Vythra was about to offer a deeply dignified answer when Lucien appeared at the top of the stairs, one hand resting lightly on the banister, his auburn hair half loose around his shoulders. His good eye took in Vythra first. Then the feline next to her. 

 " Good morning. " 

 Vythra stopped abruptly. Misty did not, and nearly shoved her forward with one massive shoulder. " Good morning. "

 Lucien's gaze flicked over her face: the flushed cheeks, the slightly uneven breath, the hair that had loosened from its braided style and then suffered whatever had happened in the kitchen. 

 " Are you all right? You seem... distracted. "

 " Yes. " she said too quickly. " I have a lot on my mind. "

 Lucien waited, with one leg hoovering over the final step.

 Vythra tried again, with all the dignity available to a woman who had just been blocked in a kitchen doorway by a male built like a divine punishment. " I am very hot. "

 Lucien blinked.

 Misty's ears perked. Oh, splendid.

 Vythra felt her soul leave her body. " I meant— " She closed her eyes for half a second. " Warm. I am warm. From running around all day. "

 " Of course, I understand. " Lucien said carefully.

 " I was looking for Cassian. " She repeated, as though the explanation became less humiliating if given twice. " He was supposed to fly me to Madja for her lessons. "

 " Ah. So you are a novice. " Lucien's mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but close enough to be criminal. " Do you need someone to escort you to your duties? "

 “ No. I will walk. ”

 Lucien’s expression changed. Only a narrowing of his good eye, the faintest hitch in the movement of his metal one as it swept over her: the narrow line of her shoulders, the bruised pallor beneath her skin, the way one of her hands rested unconsciously near her ribs.

 “ The ten thousand stairs? ”

 “ All of the ten thousand. ” Vythra said, more confident in her decisions. “ It shouldn’t be that hard. ” She was trained under two warriors and a mean nun, she could take the stairs. 

 Lucien stared at her. Then, very slowly, he lifted two fingers to the center of his chest and touched them briefly to his brow, a gesture Vythra did not recognize but understood well enough: some old Prythian equivalent of asking the Mother to witness the stupidity unfolding before him.

 Misty’s ears perked. Did he just bless your poor decision?

 Vythra mentally slapped herself.

 Lucien’s hand flexed once around the wooden railing. “ Alright... ” His gaze dropped once more to Vythra’s very mortal, very recently injured body. “ You'll go alone? ”

 “ I can walk alone. It will clear my mind. ”

 “ Or empty it permanently. ”

 “ Very funny. ”

 “ I was not joking. ” His gaze lowered briefly to Misty, who stared back at him with the expression of a creature deciding whether diplomacy tasted better with salt. Lucien inclined his head toward the panther. “ At least you are not totally on your own. ”

 “ No. ” Vythra admitted. “ But she is not escorting me. She is supervising the collapse of my dignity. ”

  “ A noble occupation. Though perhaps she might also supervise the preservation of your spine. ”

 Vythra adjusted the sleeves of her dress as if that might restore some order to the universe. " Did you need something? "

 " Yes, actually. " The humor faded, but not completely, as he took the last step down and came level with her. " When you come back, I would like a word with you. In private. "

 Vythra looked at him. There was nothing careless in his face now. Whatever he wished to say had weight, and after last night, Vythra had learned to distrust the weight men carried quietly across rooms. " About Spring? "

 " Partly. "

 " About the warrant? "

 " Not entirely. "

 She waited for the rest. Lucien did not give it. His metal eye shifted once, very softly, and for a moment his gaze seemed not to rest on her, but slightly behind her shoulder, where no one stood.

 Vythra's skin prickled. " Is someone behind me? "

 Lucien blinked, and whatever he had seen, or thought he had seen, disappeared behind a discreet expression. " No. Just a shadow. I cannot see clearly with my metal eye from this angle. Excuse me. "

 She did not ask anything else. Not because she was not curious, but because she was already late for Madja, already raw from Azriel, already irritated with Cassian for being absent precisely when she needed him, and already too aware of the kitchen behind her, where shadows and flowers had been left alone together.

 " Fine. When I return, I'll look for you. "

 Lucien inclined his head. " Thank you. I am on the second floor. Oh, and, good luck! "

 Vythra stepped aside to let him pass. " Good luck to you, too! "

 Lucien moved toward the kitchen, and as he reached the doorway, he paused for the briefest second, as though he felt the tension waiting inside before he saw it.

 Vythra did not look back. She did not want to see Azriel still there. She did not want to see Elain touching roots that already bore the memory of his fingers. She did not want to know whether he had turned when she left, whether he had watched the doorway after her, whether Lucien's arrival would break whatever she had abandoned in that kitchen or merely make it worse.

 " Come on. " She murmured, though Misty was already beside her.

 The stairs waited. At first, Vythra took them out of spite.

 That seemed reasonable for the first thirty. Perhaps even for the first hundred, while anger still burned hot enough to keep her spine straight and her steps sharp. She told herself every descending turn was distance from Azriel’s body in the doorway, from Elain’s soft voice asking him to stay, from the mortifying warmth still trapped beneath her skin, from his breath that had carried mint and coffee when he stood too close and refused to move. She told herself the ache in her thighs came from training and not from the memory of his abdomen tightening beneath her palm. She told herself walking would wash away the prickling sensation still settling somewhere low and humiliating inside her body.

 By the third landing, her mind had cleared enough to inform her that she was an idiot. By the seventh, her legs began to tremble. By the tenth, she stopped pretending this was a choice made by a rational woman.

 The House of Wind was beautiful in a cruel, vertical way, all carved stone, impossible drops, and windows that opened toward Velaris as though the city below were a dream one had to earn by suffering. Ten thousand stairs curled along the mountain in elegant, merciless stretches, each step pale beneath the morning light, each railing cold beneath her palm when pride finally allowed her to use it. Mist drifted against the open archways and touched her cheeks with wet fingers. Far below, Velaris glittered in soft gold and blue, roofs shining with dew, the Sidra catching the sun like a blade laid gently through the heart of the city.

 Vythra hated all of it before she had even reached a number worth respecting.

 Misty, naturally, suffered no such difficulty. The panther descended beside her with unbearable grace, massive paws silent on the stone, tail swaying as though this were a pleasant morning stroll and not an act of prolonged self-destruction. Every so often, she looked back with golden eyes bright with judgment.

 You could still return and ask the winged mountain to carry you.

 “ I would rather fall. ”

 That can be arranged.

 Vythra gripped the railing harder and kept going. A few hundred steps later, Misty sighed with theatrical disgust and slowed until her shoulder brushed Vythra’s hip. Get on.

 Vythra looked at her. “ No. ”

 Do not make me repeat myself. I am being generous and it is unpleasant.

 “ I said no. ”

 Misty’s ears flattened. You are sweating through your clothes, your leg is shaking, and you look like one of those tragic saints humans paint right before they die beautifully.

 “ I need to do this. ”

 You need water, a chair, and a healer.

 “ I need to know I can get down on my own. ”

 That made Misty fall silent.

 Vythra regretted saying it the moment the words left her mouth, because they were too honest. Too human. It was not really about the stairs. Not entirely. It was about the House above her, the court that watched her, the males who carried her when danger became too large, the healers who told her where her limits were, the shadows that parted for her and the hands that almost touched. It was about a body that had been taken, injured, healed, inspected, protected, and moved from place to place until even walking down a mountain began to feel like proof that something still belonged to her.

 Misty’s tail swept once over the stone. Fine. But if you collapse, I will drag you by the back of your dress and tell everyone it was your preferred method of travel.

 “ Fair. ”

 The lower they descended, the warmer the air became. The cold of the House gave way to the living breath of the city. By then, the sweat from training had returned with vengeance, gathering between her breasts, dampening the hair at her temples, sliding between her shoulder blades in slow trails. Her bruises, which had seemed manageable in the kitchen because Azriel had been there and her body had clearly chosen insanity over survival, now announced themselves one by one: ribs, thigh, shoulder, wrist, the pulsing ache in her lower back, all of them waking like a cruel little choir.

 She tried not to think about him. Naturally, she thought only about him.

 Azriel in the doorway, tall and still, refusing to move because he did not wish to. His gaze lingering on her mouth, then her throat, then back to her eyes with the precision of a male who noticed every place she was wounded and every place she wanted to hide. His voice, quiet and lethal, answering her challenge as if it had not cost him anything: Most definitely.

 Vythra’s foot missed the edge of the next step. Misty’s shoulder slammed into her hip before she could fall, steadying her with enough force to bruise whatever dignity remained.

 Graceful. Hopefully you will fall more elegantly for him.

 “ Mind your business. ”

 You are thinking about him.

 “ I am thinking about how much I hate stairs. ”

 You are thinking about his hands crushing spices for the flower girl. Or your windpipe. Your thoughts are very untidy.

 Vythra stopped on a landing, breathing hard. The city spread below them, bright and indifferent. “ I said mind your own thoughts. ”

 You are my thought. Unfortunately.

 She did not answer. She only kept descending.

 After a while, the stairs stopped being architecture and became punishment. Numbers lost meaning. Landings blurred together. Her legs no longer felt like limbs. Her lungs burned. Her throat tasted bitter. The tonic Madja had given her for pain seemed like a distant memory from a more civilized life. At some point, pride became indistinguishable from stupidity, and stupidity became the only thing keeping her upright.

 Misty stayed close. Too close to be casual. Not touching unless Vythra swayed. Not offering again, because she had understood the refusal for what it was. But every time Vythra’s balance failed, the panther was there, grey and silent, a living wall between her and the long, excruciating fall.

 She was not a coward.

 That was what she told herself on the next landing, when her lungs began to burn and the muscles in her thighs tightened hard enough to feel the joints under. She had endured worse than stairs. She had died, for the Mother’s sake. She had trained under Malou until pain became more of a language her body was expected to speak fluently: broken bones, skin scraped raw to the white gleam beneath, noses split open, wrists bent at angles that made even memory turn away in disgust. Compared to Malou’s idea of improvement, ten thousand stairs should have been a blessing.

 And Cassian, for all his warmth, was no gentle instructor either. Between him and Malou, Vythra had been shaped by two great warriors, one worse than the other, though Malou had certainly won that contest with frightening ease. Then there had been Sorscha, who had never taught her how to strike harder, but how to remain when everything in her wanted to scatter. How to breathe past pain. How to step outside the screaming body without abandoning it. How to become a still point inside a storm that wanted ownership of her mind.

 So Vythra did what Sorscha had once taught her. She stopped letting her pain win. She let it exist.

 The burn in her legs, the pull in her ribs, the tremor in her feet, the damp slide of sweat down her spine, all of it became information instead of command. Her body hurt. Her body complained. Her body was not the ruler of her. Step by step, breath by breath, she loosened her grip on the panic of flesh and let her mind rise somewhere just above it, not numb, only distant enough that suffering could no longer grab her by the throat.

 After that, she kept descending. Until the stairs blurred beneath her. Until the city grew larger and louder. Until she could no longer feel the soles of her feet inside her boots, only the rhythm of going down, down, down, as if the mountain were trying to strip her of pride one step at a time and she, out of spite, refused to let it have the satisfaction.

 By the time Vythra reached the final stretch, she was no longer angry enough to enjoy her suffering.

 She emerged from the last archway into Velaris not triumphantly, but damp, breathless, flushed, and carrying the expression of a woman who had chosen dignity over convenience and discovered dignity to be a vicious little fraud.

 Velaris was already awake. Shopkeepers lifted shutters. Someone laughed near a bakery. A child ran past with a ribbon in her hand, chased by another child and a dog that seemed invested in neither victory nor law. The ordinary noise of it struck Vythra strangely after the House, after the dinner, after the warrant. People crossed streets without knowing that soldiers moved through Spring asking for a dead girl's name.

 Misty drew every eye they passed.

 No one screamed, which either said a great deal about Velaris or very little about its collective sense of self-preservation. A few people stepped back. One elderly male dropped an apple. A young woman whispered something about a mountain cat. Misty lifted her head higher, accepting the attention as tribute.

 Finally. A civilized population.

 " For once, I agree with you. "

 Madja's inn stood near a quieter street off the main road, its pale stone warmed by morning light, blue shutters open, herbs hanging in bundles near the entrance. The smell reached Vythra before the door did: boiled water and sharp alcohol. By the time she stepped inside, she was drenched enough that Madja's assistant took one look at her and wisely said nothing.

 Madja was less impressed. " You are bruising faster. " The healer said minutes later, lifting Vythra's dress with a displeased calmness and pressed a new binging to her thigh. " Training before treatment is not an act of discipline. It is an act of arrogance. "

 " Cassian called it progress. "

 " Cassian has been calling injuries progress for five hundred years. "

 Misty, stretched across half the floor like a royal carpet and gave a deep sound that might have been agreement.

 Vythra sat still while Madja examined the fading marks at her arm and the wound in her thigh. 

 On a stand near the far wall waited a strange corset. Vythra noticed it before Madja mentioned it. Dark, structured, beautiful in a severe way, with fine boning hidden beneath layers of reinforced fabric and small silver clasps designed to sit flat beneath clothing. It did not look like armor at first glance, which was probably the point.

 " It isn't ready. " Madja commented before Vythra could ask.

 " I didn't say anything. "

 " You were about to. "

 " I was admiring it. "

 " You were hoping to take it. "

 Vythra closed her mouth.

 Madja gave her a dry look and crossed to the stand, turning the corset slightly to reveal a flaw near the side seam, almost invisible unless one knew what to search for. " The pressure does not distribute evenly yet. If you wore it now and took a hard enough blow, it might protect your ribs while damaging the tissue beneath them. And also, I still found no solution for you lower back. It will need some magic screws that I could insert inside your bone for more structure and support. "

 Vythra's gaze lingered on the dark fabric. " It was made for me? "

 " I thought it was obvious. " Madja adjusted the seam with careful fingers. " And because it was made for you, it will not be given to you until it does what it must. "

𓆩✴𓆪

Chapter 36

The One Eyed Fox and The Mountain Panther

 Dinner began beneath the kind of silence that settles between people who had survived something too strange to explain and people who no longer knew how to rebuild relationships that had once broken apart.

 Vythra still carried her shock openly, despite her best efforts. It had followed her from the moment she stepped through the doors of the House of Wind. It remained while she washed the Bog from her skin. It remained while she changed clothes into a splendid woven emerald dress. And it remained now, sitting stubbornly somewhere behind her eyes as she occupied the chair directly beside the person responsible for half of it.

 She had never particularly cared for long-haired males or blond ones or redheads, for that matter. The male sitting to her left was making her reconsider several opinions.

 Lucien Vanserra looked as though someone had taken every charming feature available in Prythian and assembled them with offensive skillfullness. He was less intimidating than Eris, less sharp around the edges, carrying himself with an ease that felt almost human despite everything about him being distinctly not. There was a gentleness in his expression she couldn't quite place or perhaps it was sadness. The longer she studied him, the less certain she became.

 Unfortunately, staring at him also caused her brain to malfunction. Vythra forgot how swallowing worked, so she solved the problem by downing nearly half her glass of wine in one go.

 The wine had been brought specifically from the human lands for her. She barely tasted it. Because she was too busy wondering how someone could look simultaneously exhausted, noble, dangerous, and oddly approachable while possessing a mechanical eye.

 Across the table, Lucien found himself equally distracted. When Elain had arranged the seating, the only available places had happened to be side by side: stranger beside stranger.

 Lucien's metal eye saw her differently. That, in itself, was not unusual. The eye had always been crueler than sight, less interested in faces than in the hidden seams of things. It caught spells where there should have been skin, old magic clinging to bone, wounds no ordinary gaze had any right to touch.

 But Vythra was not merely distorted through it. She was not alone.

 Behind the human female seated beside him stood another version of her, dressed in the same darkness, bearing the same face, and yet entirely wrong. Older. Prouder. Vicious in the quiet way of queens who did not need crowns to be obeyed. Her hands rested patiently upon Vythra's shoulders, not gripping, not threatening, merely claiming her with the calm certainty of something that had waited a very long time to be seen.

 Lucien's natural eye told him there was only one woman beside him. His metal one disagreed. And for the first time in years, Lucien Vanserra wondered whether the eye had shown him something it was never meant to survive seeing.

 His natural one struggled more from that angle. Still, while reaching for salad and pretending to focus on his food, he stole several subtle glances toward the female seated beside him. it was clearly just one woman, not two. But who was the other one eyeing everyone with superiority?

 She wore green. The only person at the table who did. Not Night Court black. Not Winter's blue, not Helion's white and gold or Tamlin's vibrant green.

 A green so deep it stole the light from the room. Her hair was darker than autumn leaves and her face still carried traces of exhaustion she had not managed to hide. There was dried tension around her eyes and a faint tremor in her fingers.

 Lucien had spent enough time around cursed queens, exiled lords, death-gods, and ancient monsters to recognize that expression immediately.

 The question settled in his mind before he even realized it. Who in the Cauldron's name was this woman?

 " More wine? " Lucien leaned slightly toward her exposed shoulder, revealed by the teal-emerald dress she had somehow allowed the House to talk her into wearing. He made a visible effort not to stare. Which, unfortunately, only made Vythra more aware that there was something worth staring at in the first place.

 " No, I think I've had enough for one night. " The words came out somewhat tangled as she tightened her grip around the stem of her glass. The hand had only recently recovered from being shredded by monsters, and apparently her dignity was recovering at roughly the same pace. She paused, looked around the table: at Lucien, at Azriel, at Elain, then at Lucien again. " Actually, pour me some more. I feel like this is going to be a very long dinner. "

 Lucien froze for half a second. The corners of his mouth rose faintly before settling into a polite line. He gave a small nod and reached for the bottle without comment. " A wise decision. "

 " I've been told I make those occasionally. "

 " Once every few years? "

 " On special occasions. "

 That earned the ghost of a smile from him.

 He selected the same bottle she had chosen earlier and poured carefully, slow enough not to spill a single drop. Vythra watched the pale pink liquid swirl into her glass and found herself strangely surprised by the attention he had been paying.

 Because it wasn't the first time. Ever since dinner had started, Lucien had somehow remembered exactly which wine she preferred, the sweet one. He had reached for it before she asked. Chosen it over the darker fae wines sitting closer to him.

 Which was ridiculous, he had known her for approximately twelve minutes.

 His elegant fingers flexed around the decanter as he straightened. Vythra swallowed and his perfume of cinnamon intoxicated her even more. Then immediately hated herself for noticing his hands.

 Two-Legs. Misty's voice echoed lazily through her mind, more rough now, considering her size. You're staring. A harsh paw, full of strong, spike-like claws, closed over her heeled sandals.

 I am not.

 You absolutely are. She groaned from beneath the table, causing it to shake subtly.

 Eat your lamb. You're clawing at my skin.

 I already did. A pause. I'm adjusting to my new form. She yawned, rows of sharp teeth exposed, then licked her master's ankle. The winged one is staring too.

 Vythra nearly choked on her wine. Slowly, very slowly, she lifted her gray eyes above the rim of the glass.

 And found Azriel, directly across from her, sitting beside Elain, looking exactly in their direction. Not glaring, not frowning. Which somehow felt worse.

 Oh, fuck me...

 Oh, muffin. It's so hard being you.

 Vythra angled her heel toward the cat's, no, the panther's side and jabbed it slowly.

 Misty opened one golden eye. Assaulting a majestic predator. Shameful.

 Help me.

 I am helping. I'm laughing.

 " So, " Lucien said, turning slightly toward her, completely unaware that three separate disasters were unfolding around him, " the gigantic feline under the table is yours? "

 Across the table, Rhysand swallowed his wine, then another sip, then tightened his grip on Feyre's hand. Feyre immediately looked interested, which was never a good sign.

 " Uh... " Vythra cleared her throat again, then straightened her back. She reached for the loose strand that had escaped her messy bun somewhere between her bedroom and whatever fresh hell this dinner had become. " Yes. She was once a cat. "

 Silence. Why did I say that?

 This is painful to watch. The panther rose slightly and pressed closer against her legs beneath the table, radiating enough heat to warm the entire side of her body. So good I'm under the table.

 Don't.

 He has nice hair.

 Don't.

 The red one smells expensive.

 Please, stop.

 Lucien blinked. " Once a cat? "

 " Long story. "

 " Magical accident? "

 " Something like that. "

 " Can she turn back? "

 Can YOU turn back? Vythra closed her eyes briefly and nodded.

 Across from her, the Shadowsinger merely watched the interaction with the expression of a male assessing a potential threat or a battlefield or perhaps both.

 Honestly, Vythra couldn't tell anymore. Azriel wasn't even pretending to eat now. He simply sat there with one hand tapping against his plate, hazel eyes occasionally drifting toward Lucien whenever the male spoke. Not hostile, nor friendly. Evaluating. Which somehow felt significantly more dangerous.

 Vythra immediately shoved two fingers against the bridge of her nose and cleared her throat.

 Elain chose that exact moment to ask for the potatoes. " Can you please pass me the mashed- "

 Lucien reached for the bowl. Azriel reached for the bowl.

 The entire table stopped breathing.

 Cassian lowered his fork and rose a brow up to his forehead.

 Feyre looked at Rhys. Rhys looked at the ceiling.

 Misty stopped chewing the bone someone thrown her.

 Even Nesta looked up.

 For one terrible second, both males had a hand on the same bowl. Nobody moved. Nobody blinked.

 Vythra considered throwing herself off the balcony.

 Do it. The panther laughed in her mind, I'll come with you.

 Not helping.

 I can become two panthers if that would improve the situation.

 It would not.

 Lucien released the bowl first. Azriel pushed it toward Elain.

 " Thank you. " Elain said softly, and the pale blue bow woven into her chestnut hair shifted with the movement of her head. The ribbon matched the delicate embroidery climbing the sleeves of her cream-colored dress, flowers stitched so carefully they almost looked real beneath the candlelight.

 Nobody knew who she was thanking.

 Lucien withdrew his hand. Azriel withdrew his.

 Across from them, the Shadowsinger leaned back slightly in his chair, one scarred hand returning to the stem of his wine glass. He had exchanged his leathers for a fitted black tunic embroidered subtly at the collar and cuffs with silver thread, though the dark color did little to soften the sharp lines of him. The candlelight caught briefly on the cobalt siphons resting atop his hands before he lowered his gaze to his plate with careful neutrality.

 " You're welcome. " Lucien and Azriel said at exactly the same time.

 Cassian lowered his fork. Rhys closed his eyes. Feyre took a very long sip of wine.

 Under the table, Misty stopped chewing. Nesta gulped the third cup of wine.

 Rhysand immediately pointed at the panther. " So."

 Everybody looked at him.

 The High Lord lounged comfortably in his chair, dressed in a dark charcoal jacket left partially unbuttoned at the throat. Unlike the rest of them, who looked as though they had recently escaped a battlefield, the High Lord somehow appeared infuriatingly composed. Even with his dark hair slightly disheveled and a wine glass permanently occupying one hand, he looked every bit the ruler of the Night Court.

 " Back to the mountain predator. "

 The entire table stopped breathing. Again.

 Misty groaned telepathically. These people are exhausting.

 You're a cat. You shouldn't get tired.

 I'm a panther.

 Same thing.

 Specist.

 Vythra lowered her face into her vinegar scented salad. This was going to be a horrible night.

 The House of Wind had tried its hardest to make the atmosphere less oppressive. Candles floated above the long dark-wood table, their golden light reflecting softly against crystal glasses and silver cutlery. Plates of still-steaming food appeared from the kitchen on their own every few minutes. Someone - probably the House itself, or perhaps Elain - had placed white flowers in a vase at the center of the table like an offering of peace.

 Nothing worked.

 Beneath the table, a mountain panther nearly two meters long slept stretched across the floor at Vythra's feet. Two so-called mates glanced at each other above the steaming meat, while the third wheel brooded in silence next to what they both desired. Rhysand nearly exploded with the ache of finding out what the hell happened in the Bog, eyeing Azriel and Elain like a father disapproving, while Nesta stared anemic at every single dish, feeling an endless pit inside her stomach.

 " I like it. " Cassian muttered around a mouthful of food. He was the only totally composed man, finally filling his belly with something else than stale water.

 The General looked significantly more alive now that he was no longer trapped inside a death-swamp. His dark hair was still slightly damp from washing, his sleeves rolled carelessly to his forearms, exposing old scars earned across centuries of battles. Despite the fresh cuts lingering beneath his eyes, he seemed determined to make up for three days of missed meals in a single sitting.

 " We should keep it. " Without looking, he tore off another piece of roasted meat and casually tossed it beneath the table.

 A large furry head immediately emerged from the darkness. Misty swallowed the offering whole. The panther's tail thumped once against the floor, satisftied.

 " Stop feeding the monster. " Nesta's whispered beside him, afraid she'll make the beast angry with her.

 Cassian turned toward her with exaggerated innocence. " What monster? It's a larger cat. "

 Misty chose that exact moment to yawn. Rows of teeth the size of small knives gleamed beneath the table.

 Nesta pointed. " That one? " Nesta stared at him for several seconds, then, to everyone's surprise, the corner of her mouth twitched.

 " She's adorable. "

 " She could eat you. "

 " She likes me. "

 Under the table, Misty lifted her head. I absolutely could eat him.

 Vythra pinched the bridge of her nose. Please don't.

 I said could, not would.

 " You're both strays. That's probably why. " Vythra commented while tearing off another piece of chicken, allowing the coriander and roasted garlic to settle warmly across her tongue. She licked her fingers clean without a trace of shame, earning herself an entirely too attentive glance from Azriel across the table.

 Or perhaps she imagined it. At this point, she wasn't willing to rule out hallucinations.

 Cassian looked absurdly pleased by the comparison.

 Rhysand watched the animal for what had to be the tenth time that evening. " So, you intend on keeping it in that form? "

 " Of course we're keeping the panther. She's mine. "

 " She lives in my city. "

 " She lives with me. "

 " Technicalities. " Then he looked back at the panther. The panther stared back. An entire silent conversation seemed to occur between them, while neither side blinked.

 Feyre threw her curled hair over her shoulder. " Rhys. "

 " Yes? "

 " Stop trying to politically negotiate with the panther. "

 " I'm establishing diplomatic relations. How exactly did your cat become... that? "

 The animal opened one eye. I don't like his tone.

 Vythra rubbed her temple. You cannot eat him.

 Yet.

 " The official explanation? " Vythra asked.

 " There is one? "

 " One that I don't know yet. "

 Rhysand dropped his head back against his chair. " Wonderful. "

 Misty yawned widely, exposing enough teeth that Lucien discreetly shifted his chair a few inches farther away. I could swallow him in one bite.

 Misty.

 What? He has red hair. He probably tastes expensive.

 Vythra nearly choked one what she was chewing. The sound escaped anyway, small and strangled, forcing her to hide it behind a forced smile before anyone could ask questions she did not wish to answer. Beneath the table, the panther stretched luxuriously against her legs, entirely too pleased with herself. Across from them, Lucien was busy reaching for another serving spoon, blissfully unaware that his continued existence had just been evaluated as a dietary choice.

 Feyre finally intervened, dropping more sauce over her lamb. " Can she return to her original form? "

 The High Lady had changed out of her usual attire of pants and whatever shirt she could find to something more formal. Tonight, she wore a soft midnight-blue dress adorned with silver star diamonds along the sleeves, the fabric simple, but elegant enough to remind everyone exactly who sat at the head of the table. Every so often, her shoulder brushed Rhysand's, and neither of them seemed aware they were doing it anymore.

 " Yes. "

 " Then why doesn't she? "

 Misty lifted her massive head from her paws. Because I'm magnificent now, false human.

 Vythra curled her mouth in a disapproving sign. " She prefers it like this at the moment. "

 Feyre stooped with her mouth slightly opened. " Prefers? The cat has a personality? And she can clarify it to you? "

 " Yes. You'd be surprised at how fussy she can get. "

 " You're having an actual conversation with the panther? " Her blue eyes shifted under the table, lifting the clothed, white material covering the wood.

 " Yes. We can talk in each other's minds, sometimes. "

 " Sometimes? Why only sometimes? "

 " Me and the House fight for the cat's attention, so the manor's magic can interrupt our mental connection when she... Uh, it, doesn't get enough spotlight from Misty. "

 " And that doesn't strike you as strange? "

 Vythra tried to pull her chair closer to the table, but the thick carpet beneath it resisted every attempt. The legs caught stubbornly in the fabric, forcing her to awkwardly shuffle forward instead of simply sliding into place. " After the day we've had? Not at all. " Before she could try again, Lucien hooked one long leg beneath the chair and nudged it forward effortlessly.

 The movement was so smooth it barely looked intentional. His boot disappeared beneath the table again a second later as if nothing had happened.

 " Thank you. "

 " You're welcome. "

 The exchange lasted no more than a second, yet Azriel found himself staring at the chair, at how naturally Vythra accepted the help.

 A ridiculous thing to notice. A more ridiculous thing to care about.

 The heir to Autumn inclined his head slightly before returning to his meal. Tonight he wore dark russet and black instead of the brighter colors often associated with his Court, the fitted jacket was inlaid along the cuffs and collar with rectangular, copper pieces that gleamed whenever he moved. The warm tones suited him almost unfairly, accentuating his tanned skintone and his orange strands of hair falling loosely around his face.

 He looked so much like Eris. Vythra shielded her gaze away from him. Thinking about his brother was not really what good girls did, but Eris's promise still remained with her: I will find you again.

 He never actually did. Eris probably thought she was dead.

 An awkward silence followed. The House began ruffling some cutlery in the kitchen, then prepared another bowl of hot milk for her favorite being in the manor: Misty.

 Across from them, Azriel emptied another glass of wine. The movement was casual enough that nobody seemed to notice his fourth serving disappearing down his throat. Nobody except Vythra.

 Unfortunately.

 Her attention snagged on the motion before she could stop it. On the slow bob of his throat as he swallowed. On the sharp line of his underneath jaw, caught between firelight and shadow. On the way the amber glow from the hearth carved deeper angles on his cheekbones, softening nothing and somehow making him look even more handsome.

 The Shadowsinger lowered the glass afterward and ran his thumb absently along his lower lip. Then he licked a drop of wine from the corner of his mouth, his hazel gaze slightly unfocused from the ethanol.

 Vythra immediately regretted possessing eyes or a pulse or functioning thoughts. Heat crawled unpleasantly down her neck, her lower back, coming from behind to settle right between her thighs.

 Gods. The House of Wind had become entirely too warm. " Can we open a window? " The request escaped strangled.

 A nearby window swung open instantly. Cool air rushed inside from the Sidra, carrying the scent of river water. The breeze brushed across Vythra's overheated skin, lifting loose strands from her messy bun and offering a mercy she desperately needed.

 Across the table, Azriel's gaze flickered toward her. Just briefly. As if wondering why she suddenly looked ready to throw herself directly into the river.

 Vythra focused very intently on her plate.

 " Oh, please, yes. " Elain ferveshly responded, fawning her opal skin with a napkin.

 Cassian covered his eyes with a broad palm, smiling knowingly towards Nesta, who was hiding her lower face with a cotton towel.

 The Shadowsinger's expression never changed as he set the glass down afterward. He neither frowned, nor glared, nor interrupted the conversation. He merely redirected his attention toward the flames dancing inside the hearth behind Vythra. The orange light flickered across the round lines of her bare shoulders, making her skin sparkle like she was made out of sunlight and starshine.

 Yet one of his shadows appeared from their slumber. The bold one, drifted lazily across the back of his chair before disappearing beneath the table.

 Toward Vythra and Lucien. Toward the exact place where they sat side by side.

 The villain detached itself from his master and slipped soundlessly across the carpet, avoiding the giant sleeping in the middle of it. Nobody noticed except Vythra. At first she assumed it was merely wandering, then the little traitor curled around her ankle.

 Vythra jolted. The sensation wasn't cold the way shadows should have been. It felt more like a cool ribbon of silk gliding against overheated skin, brushing against a sensitive spot on the inside of her ankle before retreating and returning again.

 Her fork clinked against the plate.

 Lucien glanced toward her. " Everything alright? "

 " Perfect. "

 Across the table, Azriel lifted his gaze. For one heartbeat, their eyes met. Hazel and gray.

 The shadow immediately withdrew, as though it had been caught doing something it shouldn't.

 Vythra narrowed her eyes. Azriel raised one eyebrow. A completely innocent expression. Which, coming from the Shadowsinger, was probably the most suspicious thing she had witnessed all evening.

 Misty lifted her head from beneath the table. The winged one is marking territory.

 He's doing no such thing.

 Then why is his shadow having sex with your leg?

 Vythra had absolutely no answer for that. Neither, apparently, did Azriel. Because when she risked another glance across the table, the Shadowsinger had turned his attention very firmly toward the fireplace.

 Unfortunately, the faint tightening near the corner of his mouth suggested he was fully aware of exactly what his shadows had been doing. Whether he had ordered it or not remained an entirely different question.

 Elain's line of sight shifted from the fire to Azriel for only a heartbeat, long enough to observe the discreet neutrality in his expression. Most people have missed the subtle spasm in his jaw or the way his fingers paused briefly against the apex of his thight before relaxing again.

 Something unreadable crossed her features. A private realization she kept entirely to herself. She lowered her head back to her plate and continued eating disgusted, scattering the remains all over the ceramic, as though nothing had happened at all.

 The corner of Feyre's long mouth lifted despite herself. She reached for her wine and, without even looking, Rhys shifted the bottle closer to her before she could ask.

 The Spymaster had been unusually quiet all evening. Dressed entirely in black, he blended into the shadows cast by the dimmed faelights almost as naturally as he did his own. To anyone else, he appeared focused on the conversation unfolding around them.

 He wasn't. His attention followed the bold shadow as it retreated from his whereabouts and slipped guiltily back toward his side of the room.

 Traitor. The shadow coiled around his wrist as if nothing had happened.

 Azriel's eyes narrowed slightly, before they drifted toward Vythra. She looked different tonight, just enough to be distracting.

 The emerald dress stood out amongst the darker colors surrounding the table, the deep green making her pale skin appear delicate. Loose strands had escaped the messy knot at the top of her head long ago, dark wine-red hair spilling over one shoulder in soft waves. Some pieces still held traces of moisture from her bath, curling against her neck and collarbone whenever the breeze from the open window found them.

 Her cheeks were flushed, not from embarrassment alone. The wine had settled beneath her skin, smoothing the edges of her expression.

 Apparently, breaking deals with Death had some repercussions on her.

 The marine-gray of her eyes looked brighter somehow, reflecting the fire-hearth whenever she turned her head. Every now and then she tucked her hair behind her ear, only for it to escape again, moments later.

 And there was something else. A scent. Subtle enough that nobody else at the table would have noticed: Warm skin, wine, peeled oranges, something sweeter beneath it, something she had clearly been attempting to conceal all evening.

 Azriel filled his lungs with it, and drool started gathering along his tongue. He listened to her heartbeat, the precise rhythm of it. Enough to notice that it quickened every time attention landed on her unexpectedly, enough to notice that it had done so again a moment ago.

 His gaze lingered a fraction longer than intended. Then Vythra looked up, directly at him.

 Azriel immediately reached for his empty cup. Across his wrist, the shadow trembled, laughing.

 The little bastard.

 His view changed towards their uninvited guest, trying to determine whether Lucien represented a problem, a nuisance, or merely another variable at an already overfilled table.

 Unfortunately for him, Lucien chose that exact moment to smile at something Vythra said.

 To Azriel's right, Elain remained mostly quiet. Her pale blue dress blended almost perfectly with the ribbon woven through her hair, and the soft candlelight made her look more like a painting than a person. Yet every now and then she would glance toward Azriel, usually when nobody else was paying attention, and he would notice every single time despite appearing entirely focused elsewhere.

 Neither of them spoke much. They rarely needed to. There was something careful between them now. Not awkward exactly, not comfortable either. More like two people standing on opposite sides of a bridge neither knew how to cross anymore.

 Azriel finally broke the silence. " I preferred Misty when she could fit on furniture. "

 An offended growl immediately emerged from beneath the table. I preferred you drowned in sleep paralysis.

 Beside her, Cassian tore another piece from a roasted leg of lamb. " Honestly, I've seen witches do stranger things. " He tossed the whole meat without even looking. " See? She likes me. "

 " She's associating you with food. " Azriel said dryly from across the table.

 " That's how most healthy relationships begin. "

 " That's how pets are trained. "

 " Same thing. "

 " Stop encouraging her. " Nesta said, though there wasn't an ounce of sharpness in her voice. The former edge she usually carried seemed dulled tonight. Her silver eyes lingered briefly on Misty's large paws before returning to her plate. " She's already large enough to swallow someone. "

  Not someone. Several someones.

 The brief moment of levity loosened something around the table. Shoulders relaxed. Glasses lifted. For the first time all evening, the House itself seemed to settle around them. The floating candles drifted lower. The crackling fire softened. Somewhere in the kitchen, dishes quietly rearranged themselves.

 Across from Vythra, Azriel finally looked away from her. Or tried to. The effort lasted approximately three seconds.

 The scent lingering around her had become increasingly difficult to ignore throughout the evening. Her human arousal was denser than fae's scent, so much that it left the man almost breathless and intoxicated, mixed with wine was even grotesque, in a delightful way.

 Cassian noticed none of it. " So... " the General continued, helping himself to another serving. " Can she become anything else? "

 " Anything she wants, but for now, just this. " Vythra answered.

 " A dragon? A wyvern? I only read about those in old texts, so I don't think it's even possible. "

 " Everything is possible. " Azriel responded for her, his nostrils flaring subtly as he shielded his nose with his hand. A bodily reaction pressed solid in his pants, barely restricted by the laces. The Shadowsinger shifted roughly on his chair, the wood groaning under his weight.

 " There was never evidence such creatures existed. " Cassian interjected, frowning at his brother's unnatural composure.

 " That's a terrible argument. " Vythra mouthed, briefly touching her waist, adjusting the tight corset around her small bust. The friction made her nipples hard enough that her thin bra barely shielded them from Azriel's scrutiny.

 His eyes rolled in his head and he puffed. " Is it? "

 " Yes. " She almost moaned when her nails found her neck and scratched an itch that wasn't there.

 " Enlighten me. " His voice turned creamy, carried over the table by the wind, making Vythra's eardrums tickle.

 Vythra leaned back slightly in her chair, folding one arm across her middle. " You have wings and command shadows, your High Lord holds night powers under a twitch of his fingers, your High Lady can grow wings. You want me to continue? "

 Rhysand raised his glass, unaware that he was finally siding with his imposed enemy. " Finally. Someone appreciates my talents. "

 " And, " Vythra continued, completely ignoring him, " I watched a mountain cat become a panther the size of a carriage. Yet dragons are where your imagination gives up?"

 Cassian pointed his fork at her. " That's exactly what I said. "

 " No. " Azriel replied, unable to looking away from Vythra's exposed collarbones " You said it much less intelligently. "

 " That was hurtful. "

 " Truth often is. "

 The corner of Vythra's mouth lifted. The expression transformed her entire face. It softened her plump lips, rosy tint huging her cheeks. The faelight reflected inside her irises, turning them more blue whenever she tilted her head. " Careful. Keep agreeing with me like that and people will start talking. "

 " They already are. "

 " You're not helping. "

 " I wasn't aware I was supposed to. " The response came too quickly. A dangerous gleam appeared in his eyes immediately afterward.

 Cassian looked between them. Then between them again and slowly lowered his fork from his mouth. " Are we interrupting something? "

 " No. " Both of them answered.

 Lucien covered his mouth. Rhysand physically turned away. Feyre's shoulders began shaking.

 Elain only blinked. " Should I bring more refreshments? "

 Up to four people agreed in unison, " Yes! '

 Only Nesta looked entirely unsurprised. Tonight she wore charcoal silk instead of black, the dark fabric flowing elegantly around her frame. Her pale hair had been braided loosely over one shoulder, emphasizing the sharpness of her cheekbones and the subtle intelligence in her eyes. She observed the exchange over the rim of her glass for several seconds before setting it down with deliberate care.

 " At least not in front of my salad. " Nesta's gaze moved from Azriel to Vythra, then back to Azriel. The female had long since mastered the art of reading a room. Amusement flickered beneath that cool expression. She knew exactly what was happening or at least, she thought she did.

 " I would never degrade a salad like that. " The words should have eased the tension. Instead, they made it worse, because Azriel caught the dirty glance Vythra sent him from the other side of the table before she lowered it, the slight curve threatening the corner of her mouth, the challenge hidden there. The invitation: Degrade me, instead.

 Azriel shut his lids harshly. The moment darkness swallowed the room, his imagination became infinitely less cooperative. He saw wine-red hair falling loose from that ridiculous knot she insisted on wearing, all over his pillow. Saw gray eyes bright with pleasure that he would offer her willingly, the homage he would most tenderly pay to her thick thighs.

 He almost heard her sounds of bliss as a flash of white, ruffled sheets flashed at the back of his mind. A catastrophe waiting to happen. Both disheveled and sweaty, rumpled, his hands everywhere they shouldn't be. He felt the soft skin being squished between his strong fingers and suddenly, blood flourished inside his mouth from how hard he bit on his inner cheek.

 The image vanished as quickly as it came, but the damage had already been done. His cock became incredibly hard to hide and to manage, every friction aching between his legs. His abdomen contracted as he tried to imagine anything else. It didn't help that Elain was right next to him, staring.

 Mother above. He swore, catching Elain biting her lower lip. What was in this wine?

 Across the table, Rhysand's grin widened. " Interesting. " The grin of a High Lord who had just noticed a piece on the board moving exactly where he wanted it.

 Azriel's spine stiffened. " Don't. " Azriel warned as his temper suddenly cooled. He was playing Rhysand's game. Somewhere along the way the mission had stopped feeling like a mission. Somewhere between Thaibar and Velaris. Between a seducing scheme and finally understanding the woman on his hands the line gor blurry and Rhysand had noticed before he had.

 The bastard. Azriel immediately reached for his wine and found it empty. Instead, he unbuttoned his collar, feeling asphixiated. His hand was clenched, far too tightly.

 The glass groaned. He released it immediately.

 Across from him, Vythra tilted her head. " Are you alright? " The question nearly finished him, because she had absolutely no idea what she was doing to him.

 No. The answer almost escaped, instead he nodded once. " Very much. " An outright lie. " I need air. "

 Cassian poured himself another cup of wine. " We're indoors. "

 " Astute observation. " The response came far too quickly, far too dry.

 Azriel was already on his feet before anyone could stop him. The movement was controlled, yet not nearly as calm as he wished it to appear. His shadows immediately surged around him, thick ribbons of darkness spilling from everywhere to hide his most private parts, the enormous reason why he needed to leave right away.

 " Where are you going? " Cassian asked, raising a brow as he brushed a few crumbs from his trousers.

 The Spymaster grabbed his goblet, then thought better of it and put it back down. " I just said I need air. "

 Vythra looked up, still entirely unaware of the havoc she had unleashed upon him over the course of a single dinner.

 He left before she could say another word, before he did something monumentally stupid.

 The cool corridors swallowed him whole. The House, merciful for once, opened a nearby window without being asked, brisk air flooded the corridor in waves.

 He stepped through in the empty balcony without being invited twice. The night greeted him with sharp winds rolling down from the mountains surrounding Velaris. The moonlight licked him from head to toe, bathing him in an ethereal light, drowning in his tipsy state.

 The man stalked toward the stone railing in a daze, blinded by whatever erotic state unfocused his sight, and planted both hands against it. The granite bit into his large palms. The mountain winds tore through his dark hair. Silence greeted him promptly, yet, somehow, she remained everywhere: her heated stare, her orgasmic amber perfume mixed with what he believed where her juices spilling all over her panties, her nipples getting hard as she stared at him.

 Azriel released a slow breath, then another. Neither helped. His pulse continued hammering relentlessly beneath his sizzling skin, shaking vigorously his whole body. The first button at the collar of his black shirt came flying undone, landing somewhere on the marble floor. Then the second, then the third, until his abdomen was exposed, traces of sweat flowing down, underneath his trousers.

 His hand dragged across his mouth, across his jaw, remembering how her gray eyes traced the exact same features while he gulped at the wine. The phantom of her stare made goosebumps appear on his forearms and thighs.

 Cauldron boil him. He could still see the challenge in her pretty eyes, could still form the outline of her full mouth. He could remember with painful exactness what color her tongue was as he imagined it tracing the vein imploding on the side of his throat.

 He needed winter. Needed snow. Needed an ice-fed river pouring down from the Illyrian mountains. Needed freezing water capable of shocking sense back into his body. Needed something strong enough to extinguish the inferno currently raging beneath his skin.

 He couldn't tell exactly when he went from finding her not ugly, but not quite on his liking, to having a close reaction to a stroke just by seeing her slightly aroused. He couldn't tell when her hips began to seem welcoming to his stare, round and burdened with an arched ass that she kept swaying under his nose anytime she had the chance. He couldn't tell when her hands or chin or collarbones started to make him hungry. He couldn't tell when her thighs or breast made his mouth water. He couldn't even tell when her eyes began making him want to bend the knee. And her perfume. He felt his eyes roll deep inside his skull.

 Amber. Haunting and insistent, warm enough to linger beneath his skin long after she had gone. It was a scent that did not ask to be remembered; it demanded it. Maddeningly intimate, painfully alive, threaded with something so passionate it unsettled him.

 It made him want her suffocated inside his ribs. No. Crave. Crave the brush of her presence, the warmth of her face, the impossible mercy of breathing next to her, for one stolen moment. He could have committed murder in that very moment: patricide, fratricide, name the sin, name the bloodline, name the godsforsaken crime, and he would have been halfway to committing it before reason had the mercy to catch up.

 Because whatever restraint still lived in him had thinned to a thread, and she had become the fire burning underneath it.

 He welcomed the chill. He lusted for it. Yet even that wasn't enough. The ache in his pants grew impossibly strong, too concentrated to resist. His balls swelled further, his pelvis contracted as he tried to keep the iminent reaction to happen. His body remained stubbornly warm, every nerve felt overstimulated. His wings shifted restlessly behind him. His wings. He froze.

 Vythra's ghost breath outlined the arch of his wing. A strangled sound came deep from his chest, shocking him through. The chain swinged violently inside, singing and dancing and relinquishing control. He felt his cock pulse without being touched. Her tiny fingers appeared in his imagination, both hands wrapped like a vise around his shaft, stroking him madly. Up and down, fondling the head of his penis.

 The shadows around him writhed in agitation, settling over his raw bitten lips. Azriel lowered his head and squeezed his eyes shut. He felt it again, how she mistakenly touched his sensitive wings while he was carrying her over his shoulder. How she brushed, inexperienced and hurried, the receptive membrane. The man bend by the middle over the railing, his knuckles turned white from the force of squeezing.

 The warm specter of her breath flew again and this time he couldn't stop it, he spasmed as his cock throbbed in his pants, leaving a dark spot in front of his trousers. He fell to his knees by the force of his orgasm, his shadows gathered around his mouth to prevent the sounds from reaching further, where the other still ate. He trembled from every joint, his thoughts barely recovered traces of reality as he watched the city underneath.

 This couldn't have happened to him. It was impossible. He swore he heard the bold shadow laughing at him, putting in his mind what it saw as it caressed the skin of her ankle. He shoved it away with a sudden movement.

 This event didn't take place, this was a dream. A nightmare. Never in his hundreds of years of experience did something so shameful happen to him. The Shadowsinger couldn't have fallen for the woman he had killed, hunted and now desired.

 But now, standing beneath the freezing Velaris wind, Azriel discovered a terrifying truth. The cold could finally reach his skin. It could reach his scars. It could reach his bones. But it could not reach the place where Vythra had somehow made a home.

 He didn't realize when he went for a swim in the Sydra, fully clothed, when he went back and changed. This was only a first and a last. Anything between him and Vythra was forbidden by law and human nature and years of war. And he didn't want that. This was the last time he could allow this to happen.

𓆩✴𓆪

 Several minutes passed before Azriel returned to the dining room. The cold air had done little to improve his mood, but it had at least restored a measure of control. The sharp edge of the wind still clung to him as he crossed the threshold, droplets of water darkening the ends of his hair and the collar of his black shirt. He deliberately avoided looking toward Vythra as he reclaimed his seat, choosing instead to focus on the far safer subject sitting beside her.

 Lucien. A political problem.

 " Why are you wet? " Cassian asked suddenly. The question arrived so abruptly that several people looked up at once.

 Azriel paused halfway through reaching for his seat near Elain. " I went to get some air. " Elain, right, a good distraction.

 " In the damned Sidra? " Cassian's brows climbed toward his hairline.

 Azriel slowly turned his head. " It was nearby. "

 " And you accidentally fell into it? "

 " No. "

 " Then why are you soaked? " A dangerous silence followed.

 Rhys immediately lowered his glass as Feyre covered her mouth.

 Azriel stared at Cassian for several long seconds. " What's so fascinating about this? "

 " The fact that normal people don't go swimming in mountain rivers at night."

 " I wasn't swimming. " It should have helped. It did not.

 Because now he was forced to confront a different problem. The female sitting across from him was no longer a distraction. She was becoming a habit: a thought he reached for without meaning to. An awareness that lingered at the edge of every conversation.

 Azriel lowered his hand from his face and forced himself to focus on the room instead of her. On anything except the loose strands of dark red hair or the way the emerald dress stood apart. It was just a fucking dress.

 " You were bathing? "

 " Cassian. "

 " I'm asking questions. Were you drunk? "

 " No. " Across from him, Vythra chose that exact moment to look up. Their eyes met only for a second, then both looked away.

 " Were you trying to become drunk? " Cassian huffed, coming closer to Nesta's shoulder.

 " No. "

 " Were you avoiding someone? "

 Nesta took a very slow sip of wine. Lucien glanced toward Vythra.

 Azriel looked moments away from committing murder. " You're digging your own grave. "

 Cassian frowned. " What does that even mean? "

 " Eat your food. "

 " Why is everyone acting weird? "

 " We're not. " They answered in unison.

 Beneath the table, Misty lifted her head. The loud one is finally noticing things, three days late, as usual.

 Vythra nearly inhaled her wine. Across from her, Azriel pinched the bridge of his nose. The gesture looked remarkably similar to hers.

 Somewhere during the minutes he had spent away from the dining room, she had reclaimed her composure as well. The flush still lingered faintly beneath her skin, softened by candlelight and wine, but the arousal from earlier had vanished. Her shoulders sat straighter now and her expression had settled into something composed. She looked as though she had rebuilt every wall he had spent the evening watching crumble.

 Then Vanserra looked at Vythra. He had been doing it for several minutes now whenever he thought nobody was paying attention. Eventually, curiosity won. " I don't think we've met. "

 Vythra nearly sighed. Of course this conversation had finally arrived. " No. I believe not. "

 Lucien inclined his head slightly. The movement sent several strands of copper-red hair sliding across the collar of his dark jacket. " Lucien Vanserra. Emissary of the Spring Court. "

 " I'm just Vythra. " The understatement nearly made her laugh. She refrained from mentioning that she already knew who he was. Even who his father actually was. That and approximately three hundred other things she absolutely should not know.

 Lucien studied her for another moment. " Are you human? "

 The question landed so directly that Elain gulped audibly. What was wrong with this woman?

 She lowered her gaze immediately afterward, a faint flush touching her cheeks as she reached for another napkin. Beside her, Azriel's fingers paused for the briefest fraction of a second against the ridge of his upper lip.

 " That's your first question? " Vythra smiled, taken by surprise.

 " Yes. "

 " Then the answer is complicated."

 Lucien leaned back slightly. " Meaning? "

 " Meaning I'm human. I'm not immortal either. I can die, but I can't remain dead. " She threw Azriel a wicked glance.

 He threw one right back.

 Lucien considered the statement for several seconds. His mechanical eye whirred softly as it adjusted focus. " Alright. "

 The simplicity of the response caught Vythra completely off guard. " That's it? "

 " Should there be more? "

 " Usually there is. "

 " I've spent the last few years traveling with an immortal queen cursed by an ancient death-god while negotiating with creatures older than recorded history. " Lucien reached for the salad Azriel tried not to degrade earlier. " Compared to that, you're having a remarkably normal evening. "

 Very slowly, the Spymaster grimaced. He could already see where this conversation was heading.

 " Fair point. "

 " Thank you. "

 " You're welcome. " 

 A small smile appeared on Lucien's face. The sort of smile worn by a male who had spent too many years carrying other people's burdens and had forgotten what it felt like to enjoy simple conversation. His posture had relaxed throughout dinner without him realizing it, shoulders less rigid than when he had first arrived, one arm resting loosely along the back of his chair.

 Vythra smiled back automatically. That was the problem. She didn't seem to realize she was doing it.

 The High Lord leaned back in his chair and exchanged a glance with Feyre. A silent conversation passed between them in the span of a heartbeat. Rhys had spent the last half hour watching Azriel and Vythra circle each other like two idiots standing in the middle of a forest fire pretending not to notice the smoke. It had been mildly entertaining.

 Then Lucien entered the equation and suddenly the evening became far more interesting.

 Azriel saw it happening and immediately killed it. " What exactly are you doing in Velaris, Lucien? " 

 The House seemed to react. The floating candles stopped their lazy drifting. The dishes ceased rearranging themselves in the kitchen. Even the crackling fire in the hearth felt quieter somehow, as though the ancient magic woven into the House understood that the mood had shifted.

 The change was so abrupt that Vythra felt it physically. One moment they had been discussing panthers, the next they were discussing war.

 The High Lord's expression smoothed into something entirely different. " That's actually an excellent question. " His posture straightened almost imperceptibly, but the effect transformed him completely. The male lounging comfortably at dinner vanished, in his place sat the ruler of the Night Court, centuries of power hidden behind calm violet eyes.

 For the first time that evening, Feyre reacted viscerally. Not visibly enough for everyone to notice, but enough for the ones who knew her. " We were wondering the same thing. " 

 The mention of Lucien's purpose pulled her thoughts somewhere else entirely. To ruined manors, to broken lands, to empty villages. To a Spring Court still bleeding from wounds that had never properly healed. Feyre's fingers tightened around her chair before she caught herself. The memory of Tamlin lingered there whether she liked it or not.

 Beside her, Rhysand's hand quietly found hers beneath the table.

 Lucien's smile disappeared. He leaned forward slightly, forearms resting against the edge of the table. The casual traveler vanished, while the emissary remained. The messenger carrying unpleasant truths, the male who had crossed courts to deliver news nobody wanted to hear.

 And despite himself, Azriel found the sight irritating.

 Lucien had gradually moved closer to Vythra throughout the evening without realizing it. Every conversation had shortened the distance another inch. Every exchange had invited familiarity.

 Azriel hated that he noticed. Hated that part of him tracked every shift of Lucien's posture. Hated that he could have told anyone in the room exactly how far the emissary sat from Vythra without looking a second time.

 To his right, Elain took interest in something too: Azriel. The realization arrived quietly, like sunlight creeping beneath a closed door. She had spent months convincing herself that whatever existed between them remained unfinished. Undefined. Yet tonight she watched him interrupt an entire conversation simply because another male had captured Vythra's attention.

 Not once, but several times. And for the first time, Elain stopped looking at Vythra. She looked at Azriel.

 At the tension hiding beneath his composure, at the way his focus followed Vythra unconsciously, at the irritation he couldn't quite conceal, at how his scent changed the way it changed that winter night, when only the two of them remained in the hallway. Arousal, but not for her.

 Vythra leaned forward despite her tension. And suddenly nobody cared about panthers or wine or awkward dinners. War had entered the room. And war always demanded to be heard.

 Lucien did not answer at once. He looked down at his untouched glass, at the dark wine trembling faintly inside it, as though the surface had become some small, red mirror through which he could arrange the truth into something less cruel before speaking it aloud. The light caught in his russet hair and in the hard, unnatural gleam of his metal eye, but the rest of him seemed to sink into shadow, his face losing the last softness dinner had coaxed from it. 

 Gone was the male who had smiled at Vythra over absurdities and panthers. Gone was the weary traveler with dust still clinging to the hem of his coat. " Spring has visitors. " He said at last.

 Cassian's spoke into syllables, tasting each word, as if noticing the sudden change of tone in the conversation. " What kind of visitors? "

 " The armed kind. "

 A muscle ticked in Rhysand's jaw, so slight it might have been mistaken for nothing at all. " Tamlin is making new friends? "

 Lucien let out a short, humorless breath. " No. And I would appreciate it if we treated this matter with the seriousness it deserves, High Lord. "

 Feyre's fingers tightened beneath Rhysand's hand. Even before Lucien continued, the mention of Spring seemed to drag old ghosts into the room with it.  " You of all people should understand why Spring isn't an easy subject to discuss, Lucien. " 

 Elain lowered her gaze to the tablecloth, totally ignoring her sister's remark. " Soldiers? "

 Lucien inclined his head once. He swallowed the sharper response threatening to rise. You are one of the reasons Spring fell, Feyre. Instead: " Small groups at first: two or three men, then more. Never enough to resemble an army or to be called an invasion. They move through villages, along the old roads, near the border paths. They ask questions, sometimes they pay for answers. When coin fails, they resort to threats. "

 " Is it that vicious land again? Hybern? " Nesta entered the conversation, her chin coming up a quarter of an inch. The name fell flat and ugly between the silverware.

 " Some of them look like Hybern, some speak like Hybern, some wear pieces of old Hybern armor badly covered under travel cloaks. But they are not starving remnants with rusted swords and too much pride. These men have coin and supplies. Someone is feeding them, paying them and giving them orders. "

 " Rask. " Rhysand said as he remembered Morrigan coming back from the continent. " Or Montessere. I have reason to believe so, but your father Beron is not excluded from the equation, Lucien. "

 Lucien's gaze flicked to him. " I don't exclude any of the possibilities. "

 Cassian leaned back, the chair groaned faintly beneath his weight, wood protesting against the contained violence. " Possibly is a diplomatic word for you think yes. "

 Lucien gave him a look. " Possibly is a diplomatic word for I would rather not accuse an entire kingdom of covert military movement through a broken court without proof sufficient to avoid starting another war over dinner. "

 Misty made a low rumbling sound from beside the hearth. Here we go again, even the mice are more fun when they're scared.

 Vythra did not smile at her partner's remark. She was watching Lucien now with the dreadful focus of someone standing at the edge of a door she already knew would open onto pain. Something in his voice had changed again. There was weight beneath the words. A thing carried carefully because dropping it would damage everyone in the room.

 Azriel's shadows had risen without permission, gathering behind his shoulders. They did not lunge toward Lucien. They did not curl around Vythra. They listened and Azriel knew before the words came that whatever Lucien had brought to Velaris was not only about Spring, but about the woman he so carefully circled for the last hour.

 Feyre's voice remained gentle, but her eyes had become hard. " Why would Rask be moving through Spring? "

 " That is what I came to ask. " Lucien's gaze slid briefly toward Rhysand, then to Feyre, then to Azriel, and only after that did it settle near Vythra. Not on her, not directly. Near her, at that force now staring him down. As though even looking too clearly might reveal too much. " At first I thought it was opportunism. Spring is weak and Tamlin's borders are not what they used to be. If someone wanted to test Prythian's response after the war, Spring would be the easiest place to do it. "

 " And now? " Nesta asked.

 " Now I think they are searching for something. "

 The fire cracked in the hearth. Vythra's throat tightened before she knew why. It was a small thing at first, a faint pressure just beneath the jaw, like an unseen hand deciding whether it wished to become cruel. She forced herself to breathe through it, forced her fingers to remain loose around the stem of her glass. Forced her body not to betray the sudden, animal knowledge waking beneath her ribs.

 Things did not search unless something had been lost. Things did not hunt unless something had escaped. And she did just that months ago, in Thaibar.

 Azriel's eyes flicked to her hand, then caressed her cheeks, now drown of any color. He felt the need to swallow, his mouth now a dry desert.

 " What are they searching for? " Feyre asked.

 Lucien did not answer her immediately.

 That was when Vythra knew. Not with names, not with details, not with the entire blade visible. But her body knew. Her bones knew. Some old, buried part of her that still smelled smoke where others smelled candlewax, that still heard screaming under polite voices, that still remembered how ash could settle on skin like snowfall.

 Lucien reached inside his coat.

 Azriel's shadows snapped forward so quickly the candles bent away from them.  " Move slower. "

 " It is parchment, not a dagger. " Lucien's mouth pressed into a thin line, but he obeyed. Slowly, with two fingers, he withdrew a folded sheet of weathered parchment and placed it on the table between the plates of half-eaten food and crystal glasses gone untouched. The sound was soft, almost ridiculous, for how violently it altered the room.

 No one reached for it. For a moment, the parchment simply lay there. Then Rhysand lifted one elegant hand, and the paper unfolded itself.

 Vythra saw the ink before she saw the words.

 Feyre read it first. Her face did not change, but the color drained slowly from her mouth and her sight went to Vythra.

 Cassian leaned forward. Elain pressed a hand lightly to her throat.

 Azriel did not look at the parchment. He looked at Vythra and that was why she could not look at him. " What does it say? "  Her voice sounded wrong. Worse than weak. Distant. As though it had come from a room far below the one where her body sat.

 Rhysand's gaze lifted from the parchment. Whatever he found there made his violet eyes colder than night over a battlefield. " It is a warrant, one that I already knew off. "

 Vythra's fingers tightened.

 " For whom? " Nesta asked, though her gaze had already gone to Vythra.

 Lucien answered this time. " Two fugitives from Thaibar. "

 The world narrowed. Thaibar.

 The name entered her body before it entered her mind. It went through her like smoke inhaled too deeply, burning the back of her mouth, lodging behind her breastbone, filling her lungs with a remembered heat so vivid she almost heard wood split in the flames. For one terrible second, the House of Wind vanished, and she was back among narrow streets and shouting voices, back beneath a sky made red by other people's cruelty, back with ash in her hair and blood under her nails and Cynthia's face somewhere in the dark. She could hear Niven's plead: kill me.

 Cassian said her name. She did not know if it was out loud. 

 The parchment lay open between them. Elain was the first to truly look at it. Her gaze moved from the inked portrait to the female sitting at the table. Then back again. The artist had gotten details wrong. The jaw was sharper, the eyes filled with murder, the expression harder. Yet the resemblance remained unmistakable. " That's... " Her voice faltered. " Is that supposed to be you? "

 Cassian leaned forward. The General's brows knitted together as his gaze shifted between the drawing and Vythra's face. " Mother above. "

 Nesta reached for the parchment. " It is her. "

 The realization settled over the table like fresh snow. The female who had crossed the Bog beside them. The female who sat a few feet away. The female currently trying not to look at the portrait bearing her own face.

 Vythra lowered her eyes. Malou's portrait occupied the lower corner of the parchment. 

 The sight somehow made everything worse.

 Misty rose from the hearth. The panther's massive paws made no sound on the floor, but every head turned as she moved behind Vythra's chair, huge and black and gleaming, a living shadow with golden eyes. She did not speak into Vythra's mind. For once, she did not make a joke. She simply stood there, close enough that Vythra could feel the heat of her animal body at her back.

 Azriel's shadows touched the table. One thin strand reached toward Vythra's glass, curled once around its base, then stopped. He did not let them touch her. Not here. Not in front of everyone. Not when she looked as though the smallest kindness might become another wound.

 Feyre's voice was low. " Do they have names? "

 Lucien looked at the parchment, then at Vythra. There was apology in his face now, quiet and useless. " Malou. " he said.

 Vythra closed her eyes. The second name did not need to be spoken as she remembered the girl she left dying on the other continent. Cyan.

 But Lucien spoke it anyway, because some truths did not become less cruel when spared. " A certain Cyan. "

 Every reaction arrived at once, with the terrible precision of people trained to survive disaster. Rhysand's power darkened the air at the edges, not unleashed, merely present. Feyre's spine straightened, High Lady and huntress both staring at the warrant as though she could burn it by will alone. Cassian's hand curled into a fist on the table, knuckles whitening. Nesta's lips parted slightly, and in her eyes there was pity. Elain looked from Vythra to Azriel and then back to the parchment, horror softening her face until she seemed almost younger.

 It was Vythra's portait, clean and distorted by the painter's hand. Malou looked old, like when she escaped the prison.

 Azriel remained still as he didn't know what to make of that information, as he didn't know how to mend whatever broke inside the woman in front of him.

 That was the worst of all. Only stillness. No one other that Azriel and Rhysand knew the truth, no one else than the two of them and the incuplate.

 " What is the accusation? " Nesta managed to continue.

 Lucien's mouth moved once. " The burning of Thaibar. "

 Vythra made a sound. It was very small. Barely enough to be called sound at all. A breath caught against the shape of pain, a broken thing strangled before it could become grief. Her hand flew to her throat as though the words had become hands there, as though something had reached out of the past and closed around her windpipe.

 No, no, no.

 Because Thaibar was supposed to be a scar beneath clothing. A grave she carried privately. A place that burned only when memory decided to be cruel. It was not supposed to still exist in the mouths of strangers. It was not supposed to walk through Spring Court. It was not supposed to be folded on a table in Velaris between salad and wine and the hands of people who were still learning how to look at her without fear.

 She had survived it. Apparently that had not been enough. " They say we burned it? " 

 Lucien looked at her fully then. His natural eye softened. His metal one did not. That one remained fixed, cold and ancient in its strange way, and through it the world must have looked unkind. " Yes. "

 Vythra laughed once. No one mistook it for humor. It came out thin and ruined, scraped raw from somewhere too deep to be polite. " Of course. "

 Azriel's hand slid beneath the table. The wood near his knee cracked. Elain flinched at the sound.

 Rhysand's gaze cut to him once. A warning.  Azriel did not apologize. He remembered Thaibar.

 He remembered Draegan's palace, its rotting flowers hidden beneath incense, its masked servants, the king's voice slick with cruelty, the way the room had watched innocence be dragged toward slaughter and called it order. He remembered Eris, too pale beneath his arrogance. He remembered the third servant with sea-storm eyes and impossible calm. He remembered understanding too late that she was not weak at all.

 He remembered fire and how she first died in his arms as he tried to reach her. And he remembered knowing, long before anyone in this room knew her name, that the woman they would one day call Vythra had not been the monster in that palace. " Draegan did this. "

 Lucien's gaze snapped to him. So did Feyre's.

 Rhysand's eyes narrowed. " I am aware. But there's no proof to back you up. We're in the dark and we're shielding a fugitive. It could be passed as treason. "

 Azriel looked at the parchment at last, and something in his face became almost unbearable in its restraint. " I was there. She was there. Malou was there. And even your brother, Eris, was there, in your father's name, I recall. "

 Vythra's head turned slowly. Not because she did not know. Some part of her had always known that Azriel carried pieces of Thaibar with him. But hearing him say it in front of them, hearing his voice strip itself down to that cold, factual confession, made the room tilt.

 The new information brought at the table made Lucien's skin turn cold. " My brother? "

 " You heard me loud and clear. "

 Cassian stared at him. " In Thaibar? I used to meet with him, when did he... ? "

 " In Draegan's palace, " Azriel said. " Before the fire. I wouldn't be surprised if he was in Draegan's bed as well." 

 Lucien sat back slowly. " He never mentioned Thaibar. "

 " I'm not surprised, " Rhysand said.

 " I am. " Lucien dragged a hand across his mouth. " Eris keeps secrets. That's hardly news. But this? " His mechanical eye whirred softly. " This is different. You saw him? "

 " I saw enough. "

 Nesta's voice cut in, ignoring any evidence of Eris. " Enough to know she didn't do it? "

 Azriel's gaze returned to Vythra, as the answer came without hesitation. " Yes. She is innocent. "

 Something in her chest cracked at that. Not because she needed him to believe her. She did not. She had survived too many things to require absolution from a male who had once looked at her like a problem to be solved. But there was a brutality to being defended for the right wound by someone who had seen the beginning of it. A cruelty in relief. It made her want to turn away. It made her want to lean toward him. She did neither.

 Feyre looked at Lucien. " What exactly are these soldiers asking? "

 Lucien seemed relieved for the question, for something practical to hold. " Descriptions. Routes. Whether anyone has seen two women traveling together. One younger, human, dark-haired. One older. " His gaze flickered to Vythra, then away. " The posters describe Malou as elderly. "

 Vythra's mouth tightened. " They can't find her because she's not old anymore, the prison took her youth and powers as she was locked. " Malou would have hated that.

 Even now, even with her pulse choking her, the thought appeared with such vicious clarity that grief almost broke into something sharper. Malou, old and furious and impossible, being reduced to an elderly fugitive on a piece of paper made by men who would not have survived a single hour of her attention.

 Cassian caught the shift in her expression. But he couldn't decide if he was proud or shocked. " What? You took the Valkyrie out of a prison? Since when was she locked if she was so... weak. "

 For a moment, Vythra stared at the table. Weak. Not because Cassian meant it that way, but because there had once been a time when entire armies would have crossed oceans to avoid standing where Malou stood.

 " She wasn't weak. " Vythra's voice came quieter than before. " She was being punished. "

 Nesta's attention sharpened. " Punished for what? "

 " I don't know. Existing, mostly. "

 Lucien frowned. " That's not usually considered a crime. "

 " Depends on who is writing the laws. The prison took things from her. Her strength, her youth, her force. It's an ugly dungeon filled with really, really unwelcoming inhabitans. "

 Cassian folded his arms. " And yet you broke her out anyway. "

 " Yes. "

 " Alone? "

 " No. " Her jaw tightened. " I had help. "

 Kallus. Niven. Nimue. Aoife. Names she refused to speak aloud. Multiple graves digging silently between her ribs.

 Across the table, Feyre studied her carefully. " Is that why they're looking for you? "

 Vythra looked at the warrant. " Not entirely. "

 " Then why? "

 Vythra felt her heartbeat stumble, because somewhere between Thaibar and Velaris, between death and survival, she had become something people crossed kingdoms to hunt. " Draegan wanted Malou dead before she ever escaped. " She said at last, giving the official explanation, sparing the part where Draegan wanted the thing sleeping inside her. " Helping her made me convenient. Blaming me made the story cleaner. He wants me dead. "

 Lucien nodded slowly. " That matches what we've been hearing. "

 Azriel's gaze shifted toward him. " Hearing from whom? "

 " Villagers. Merchants. A few frightened officials willing to talk after enough wine. " Lucien glanced at the parchment. " The story changes depending on who tells it, but the ending remains the same. Malou and Cyan murdered a town and fled before justice could find them. "

 For half a second, no one understood, then Nesta huffed a breath through her nose.

 Misty's tail flicked once behind Vythra's chair.

 " What else? " Rhysand changed the subject.

 Lucien straightened. " The reward is substantial. Too substantial for simple vengeance. The order says alive if possible. "

 Azriel's shadows went blacker.

 Feyre breathed out very slowly. " They do not want an execution, but possession and persecution. "

 The word moved through Vythra like cold water poured down her spine. Possession. Not justice. Not punishment. Not even death. Those would have been easier concepts to hate. Possession meant cages, rape, torture.

 Nesta's eyes flashed. " Then they can come and try. "

 " Nesta. " Rhysand warned quietly.

 " No. No, I am tired of courts and kings and ancient things deciding that women who survive them are property misplaced. If they want her alive, then they want something from her. Which means they know of her powers. "

 For a moment, the Bog breathed between them. Death in a mask. Life refusing to kneel. Two women standing on opposite shores of the same impossible river and recognizing the other as something neither friend nor enemy could properly name.

 " She is right. " Elain said.

 Everyone turned to her.

 Elain's face remained pale, but her voice did not tremble. " If they only believed she burned a village, why bring soldiers through Spring quietly? Why not send the accusation to every court? Why ask in villages instead of making a formal demand? "

 Lucien studied her, and something unreadable passed across his features.: What powers? " Because whoever sent them does not want a trial. "

 Azriel's eyes were empty of mercy. " They are not asking for help. They are flushing her out. "

 Vythra felt the shape of it then. The posters. The soldiers. The questions. Spring Court like a net cast across wounded land. Thaibar dragged behind her like a bleeding banner. Malou's name beside hers. Not because they sought justice for the dead, but because the dead had become convenient.

 Her stomach turned.

 " Does Tamlin know? " Feyre asked.

 Lucien's face tightened. " He knows strangers have crossed his lands. He does not know who they are looking for. "

 Rhysand's expression chilled. " You kept that from him. "

 " I kept him from tearing his court apart before I knew whether this was true. " Lucien replied, and for the first time irritation broke through his restraint. " Spring is not stable enough for Tamlin to hear that Hybern-linked soldiers are hunting a female currently sheltered in Velaris, especially not one accused of burning a village tied to his old enemies. "

 Feyre looked down. Rhysand's thumb moved again over her hand, this time slower.

 Cassian ran a hand over his jaw. " And if he finds out we kept it from him? "

 Lucien gave him a tired look. " Then I imagine I will enjoy another deeply unpleasant conversation with a High Lord. The real problem is, what if they find out she is hidden here? "

 Azriel finally spoke. " Then they already know. "

 Lucien's brow furrowed. " What? "

 " Not that she's in Velaris. " Azriel corrected. " That she's near. Men don't move through foreign territory for months asking the same questions because they're uncertain of their target. They do it because they're narrowing a search. Every village, every road, every witness. They're building a map. Someone saw something and had a big mouth. Either this or Draegan knows more than we think he does. "

 " That's not exactly comforting, " Cassian muttered.

 " It wasn't intended to be. "

 The General rolled his eyes.

 Rhysand leaned back slightly. " If you're right, then this isn't a manhunt anymore. "

 " No. " Azriel's voice remained calm. " It's confirmation. They're looking for proof. Once they have it, they'll stop asking questions and start sending the real soldiers. "

 Vythra was still looking at the warrant. It crawled in her vision, bending into shapes it did not truly possess. She wondered if Cynthia had known it would come to this. If Kallus had. If Niven, with all her quiet kindness and all her impossible faith, had looked at her and seen not only a girl to shelter, but a wound the world would keep reopening until something divine finally bled through.

 A faint pressure touched her shoulder. Misty's head. The panther leaned down, enormous skull pressing lightly against the back of Vythra's chair. You are not back there, Misty said, softer than she had sounded all evening.

  Cassian moved before thought could become permission. His hand covered the edge of the table beside hers, not touching, just there, warm and broad and steady. " You're here. " he said quietly.

 Vythra looked at him.

 Cassian's face softened with the kind of loyalty that made no demands of anyone's broken places. " You're in this room. Not there. "

 Azriel watched them. Something in his chest twisted so sharply it might have been jealousy if it were smaller, uglier, easier to dismiss. But it was not. It was pain. Pain at seeing how easily Cassian offered what he himself could not shape without turning it into a blade first. Pain at knowing Vythra did not flinch from the General's warmth. Pain at wanting to be useful to her and discovering that usefulness required a tenderness he had spent centuries burying under blood.

 She closed her eyes. But the body did not always obey truth. Her throat remained tight. Her lungs still fought for air. Her fingers had gone numb around the edge of the table. " I did not burn the damned village. " 

 No one spoke. She opened her eyes. The words came again, because once was not enough to push back against a king's lie, against a continent's accusation, against the dead who did not know whose name had been written over their ashes. " I did not burn Thaibar. It was my home for some time. "

 A bold shadow slipped across the table, another followed closely, then another. Until every inch of the warrant disappeared beneath living darkness– the names, the accusations, the portraits. Gone from sight. " I know. If Draegan wishes to accuse you, he can do so to my face. "

 Vythra looked at him then, and found nothing in his face that asked her to prove herself. No doubt. No careful distance. No fear of what she might have been. Only fury, leashed so tightly it seemed to hollow him from within, and beneath it something worse. Something that had been standing beside her in the Bog, shaking under the weight of its own guilt.

 Cassian's voice came lower. " We know. Draegan and all the believers can go fuck themselves for all I care. "

 Nesta nodded once. 

 Feyre's eyes gleamed, bright and hard. " Then that is what matters in this room. "

 Lucien watched them all, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased, though not enough to become trust. " It may not matter outside of it. "

 Azriel decided: " Then we make it matter. "

 Lucien held his gaze. " There is more. "

 " Of course there is. " Cassian muttered.

  " Whoever is moving through Spring is careful. They avoid Velaris, obviously, but they also avoid direct contact with known Night Court allies. They are not ready to confront you. "

 Vythra looked at him.

 For a second, Lucien's metal eye clicked again, and its golden machinery shifted with a soft, predatory precision. His natural eye held hers with something almost careful. But the other eye seemed to look past her face. Past the mortal body sitting at a dinner table, trying not to choke on a dead village.

 For the second time that evening, Lucien saw her distorted. Not alone.

 Behind Vythra, just beyond the line of her shoulders, something stood where nothing should have been standing. The same red hair, the same face, the same slender hands, except steadier, older, adorned with a patience that did not belong to mortal fear. She was dressed as Vythra was dressed, and yet not at all. More regal and vicious. Crownless and still somehow crowned. 

 Then Vythra shifted, drawing in one unsteady breath, and the figure behind her seemed to fold back into shadow, not disappearing so much as choosing not to be seen.

 " Lucien? " Feyre asked.

 He realized too late that he had gone silent. Lucien reached for his wine and did not drink. " Sorry. " he said, too smoothly. " Long road. "

 Rhysand folded his hands over his chest. " Lucien, I want every detail. Where they were seen, who spoke to them, what routes they took, what markings were on their weapons, whether any of them crossed from the coast. "

 " I have notes. "

 " Of course you do. " Feyre murmured.

 A ghost of a smile touched Lucien's mouth and vanished. " I was raised in Autumn. Paranoia was considered a household skill. "

 Elain looked at him then. Really looked at him. For the first time that evening, not through the old ache of the bond, not through discomfort, not through the memory of all the rooms they had avoided each other in. " Thank you. " 

 Lucien stilled. " You're welcome. " 

 Azriel looked away.

 Nesta, who had seen the entire thing with merciless clarity, reached for her glass. " This dinner is becoming unbearable. "

 Cassian huffed. " Only becoming? "

 Misty's tail struck the floor once. I have been saying this for an hour.

 Vythra breathed in. It hurt. But it entered. Air. Not ash. The House of Wind. Not Draegan's palace.  " What happens now? "

 The High Lord's expression softened by a fraction. Not enough to make him less terrifying. " Now, we decide whether Spring is being used as a trap and we stay silent. If we're loud it will make us look guilty. "

 " And me? " 

 Azriel answered before Rhys could. " No one takes you. "

 The room went still again. It was too much. Too direct, too close to something unnamed.

 Vythra looked at him, and for one suspended moment all the politics, all the soldiers, all the dead villages and false warrants and hungry kingdoms blurred behind the unbearable simplicity of his face. He had not said it gently. Azriel rarely knew what to do with gentleness when too many people were watching. But there was nothing performative in his voice. No command from the Night Court's spymaster.

 Only the male from the Bog. The one who had almost killed her. The one who had trembled when he realized he had not. The one who now looked prepared to set fire to every road between Spring and Hybern before allowing another hand to close around her throat.

 And perhaps that was why no one spoke when Vythra reached for the place where the warrant once stood. Her fingers did not tremble now when she folded them in a fist, almost tenderly, as though handling the body of something already dead. " When I was in Thaibar, " she said, each word slow, threaded through a throat still struggling to open fully, " I thought the worst thing a person could do was survive. Survive long enough to remember what home felt like. Survive long enough to spend every waking hour trying to find a way back to it. Survive a place that burns you from the inside and still somehow keep enough of yourself intact to miss what came before. "

 No one interrupted her. " But I was wrong. " Her fingers tightened around what she imagined was this universe. " The worst thing is surviving long enough to hear strangers tell your story. To watch them take everything you lost and twist it into something unrecognizable. The worst thing is carrying the ashes and discovering the world has decided you were the fire. "

Chapter 35

Where the Living Drown. Part II.

 They did not know how long they had walked like that, in complete silence, without any more invasive hallucinations and without the atmosphere clawing panic into their skulls with every step.

 Vythra walked a few paces ahead of Azriel, letting herself be guided by the strange magnetism pulling her body toward the place where she prayed Nesta and Cassian still were. Every now and then she glanced back over her shoulder at the male behind her, at the Spymaster who had once again rebuilt himself into an impenetrable wall after nearly falling apart in front of her moments earlier.

 Azriel had not asked her to keep what happened a secret, at least not aloud, but somewhere deep down he already knew she would never humiliate him with it in front of his brothers. He had not managed to tell her what he had seen or what exactly he had felt, but if Vythra truly had read all those books about their lives the way she constantly bragged about, then she probably already suspected who had appeared in his hallucination and why it had shattered him so completely. He did not dare ask for more than that.

 The fog slowly began to thin around them, yet nothing became clearer because of it. If anything, the farther they walked, the more the Bog seemed emptied of the world itself, as though they had crossed the threshold into a place reality had abandoned a very long time ago. The trees had become rarer now, thinner too, wrung dry of every trace of life, their black trunks twisting upward like hollow carcasses left behind after some ancient disaster.

 Vythra found herself wondering how they still remained standing at all if nothing but bark remained of them. She could not feel anything through the thick soles of her boots, but breathing alone was enough for the place to reveal itself to her magic. The smell of damp emptiness clung to every inhale, leaving a sourt taste at the back of her tongue. Nothing here pulsed with life. Nothing grew. Nothing belonged to the natural world anymore. The things inhabiting this land fed on fear instead, moving only through the dark magic infesting the Bog.

 The water changed color slowly, almost impossible to notice at first, until Vythra realized it no longer reflected anything. Not them. Not the shadows around them. Not even the faint blue light pouring from Azriel's siphons. The lake ahead of them was completely black, as though someone had carved out a piece of the night sky and poured it into the middle of the swamp.

 The pendant around her throat suddenly began to pulse.

 Vythra swallowed down a groan as heat bit hard against her skin beneath her clothes. The small symbol woven by the spider folk now glowed faintly through the fabric, its delicate threads illuminated in a sickly gray light. With every step toward the lake, the pulse became stronger. More desperate.

 Something infinitely worse waited ahead. Something sleeping beneath that water.

 The thing resting deep inside her twisted suddenly in response, as if this land had shoved a stick between the bars of a cage and provoked a starving beast. For one moment, Vythra thought the power living inside her might split her open from the inside out and reveal something uglier than any horror lurking within the swamp.

 It was enough to make her stumble briefly. As though the magic in her blood answered the lake's call. As though the water sensed exactly what she was and had begun trying to drain her piece by piece.

 Weakness spread through her limbs immediately, sucked of all the energy she had left. Walking became heavier. Her movements softened with exhaustion as though invisible hands pulled against every joint in her body. She forced herself to use the techniques Malou and Sorscha had taught her—mind-steeling, anchoring herself deeper into her own consciousness before this place managed to hollow her out completely. Her pulse hissed painfully through her temples and she could have sworn her blood pressure dropped in the span of a heartbeat. Her breathing shortened, bringing with it the horrible sensation of sudden illness.

 " We're close. " She threw the words over her shoulder toward the Spymaster following her blindly through the mist.

 Immediately, she felt the shield around her thicken. The pressure inside her lungs eased slightly beneath the protection of Azriel's siphons. Realistically, she probably would have collapsed already if he had not been using his powers.

 " There are signs of a fight. " The male announced suddenly, his sharp gaze scanning the remains scattered along the sand now slowly flooding with black water. " Cassian was here. " He pointed toward a footprint half swallowed by mud, where the insignia of the Night Court had been stamped clearly into the sole of a boot.

 Then whispers rose beneath the perfectly still water. Vythra stopped dead.

 The lake stretched endlessly before them now, black and silent and enormous enough to swallow entire kingdoms whole. " What the fuck... " She breathed, lowering herself slowly onto one knee near the edge without touching the water. " The connection stops here. "

 " Here? " Azriel rose his brows incredulously, turning sharply as his eyes swept across the lake once more. " What, you're telling me Nesta is under the water? "

 " That's my guess. " Vythra answered quietly, trying to focus on the thin green thread suddenly blooming deep underneath, linking itself to what she believed was Nesta's power. " And before you ask, no, I have no idea how that's possible either. "

 Azriel's eyes tightened visibly. " Does that mean Cassian's down there too? "

 The whispers became harder to endure, repeating the same thing over and over again in languages her mind could not understand, yet her body seemed to recognize instinctively.

 Bearer of the Living Waters. The words crawled beneath her skin rather than through her ears.

 Vythra pressed a cold palm hard against her temple, trying to stop the voices scraping against the inside of her brain. It felt less like hearing and more like drowning beneath thoughts that did not belong to her. Some voices sounded ancient and brittle, others wet and bubbling, as if spoken through ruined throats filled with swamp water. The pressure behind her eyes sharpened.

 Azriel's blue shield remained raised around them, casting dim light through the fog as he instinctively shifted his body closer to hers. His shadows moved restlessly around his shoulders, but not a single one drifted toward the lake. They stopped abruptly above the black water and recoiled afterward, like animals catching the scent of something far higher in the food chain.

 He scratched his chin, thinking at every possibility of how they could go under. " Something's wrong with the lake. "

 His voice came out quieter now, but Vythra still caught the tension hidden beneath it. The slight narrowing of his eyes. The way both hands drifted instinctively toward the twin blades strapped across his back. The way his wings subtly shifted outward behind him, preparing for violence before his mind had fully reached the conclusion.

 Vythra swallowed hard, unable to tear her gaze away from the impossible water. Then something rose impossibly slow: a translucent face broke suddenly through the surface. " Everything is wrong with this damned place. "

 The thing drifted closer soundlessly beneath the water while staring directly back at her with enormous black eyes. Its features were vaguely humanoid, but stretched wrong, skin so thin she could see the sharp structure of bone beneath it. Long strands of dark hair floated weightlessly around its face while its mouth hung slightly open, revealing teeth far too narrow and numerous to belong to anything mortal.

 Its expression looked starving.

 " There's something in the fucking water! " Vythra shouted suddenly, stumbling backward when the creature jerked violently upward.

 The kelpie exploded from the lake. Water crashed everywhere as long gray limbs lunged toward her, fingers unnaturally thin and jointed wrong as they reached straight for her throat. Up close, the creature looked far worse than beneath the surface. Its body seemed unable to decide what shape it belonged to: half woman, half something aquatic. Its ribs pressed against translucent skin, dark veins pulsing beneath the flesh while strips of swamp weed clung to its shoulders. 

 The blade of the Spymaster's sword screeched across the lake's surface, blue light from his siphons flashing bright enough to cut through the fog as he stepped between Vythra and the creature in one fluid movement. The kelpie hissed at him, the sound high-pitched and animalistic, its mouth stretching wide before retreating backward into the black water with unnatural speed.

 " Kelpies. " He muttered darkly, eyes fixed on the rippling surface while his shadows writhed violently behind him now.

 Cassian scream echoed through the silence so rapidly that Vythra flinched hard enough for pain to shoot through her already strained back. It was not the roar of a warrior charging into battle. It sounded rawer than that. Angrier. 

 " Cassian?! "

 A body burst through the fog a heartbeat later and crashed into the lake with a choking splash, water erupting upward in heavy waves streaked with blood. The corpse floated only briefly before something beneath the surface dragged it down again. The ripples swallowed the evidence whole.

 " Cassian! " Azriel barked, his head snapping toward the noise.

 And in that single moment of distraction, the shield faltered. Only for a few seconds. Long enough for everything to descend into chaos.

 The soldiers emerged from the fog as though the swamp had vomited them into existence. Rotting armor hung crookedly from swollen bodies waterlogged from days spent buried in dampness and decay. Their skin sagged in gray folds against exposed bone, and their glassy eyes stared straight through them with the empty fixation of drowned corpses that had forgotten how to die properly. One was hurled directly toward them through the mist, arms twisting at unnatural angles, and Azriel split him apart on instinct before Vythra even managed to inhale.

 A familiar whistle sliced sharply through the air. Then Vythra's right leg gave out beneath her.

 She let out a strangled sound when the arrow punched clean through the flesh of her thigh, the force of it snapping her knee instantly. For one horrible second, her vision flashed completely white as pressure roared through her ears and reset every coherent thought inside her skull. Pain exploded upward into her stomach, hot and nauseating, while blood began pouring into her boot in thick, unbearable warmth. She tried to stand again and nearly collapsed when her leg refused to support her weight.

 " Motherfu- " Her hands trembled as she grabbed the shaft with both palms and snapped the arrow in half with a sickening crack.

 The Shadowsinger transformed into something lethal in the same second. There was no panic left in him now.

 Only war.

 The shield rose outward around them with renewed force, blue light bursting across the swamp while arrows ricocheted from its surface in violent flashes. Truth-Teller disappeared and reappeared so quickly Vythra barely processed the movement before the first soldier collapsed headless into the black lake. Azriel moved between her and the attackers, wings spreading wide enough to block half the shoreline while his shadows erupted through the marsh like starving predators finally unleashed.

 Cassian fought as well, several feet away, red powers flowing throw his syphons as his sword met a corpse's shoulder and ripped it in half.

 Vythra caught glimpses of him through the fog between strikes and bodies. Blood soaked one side of his face already. His sword hacked through necks and ribs without pause, bodies flying backward into the swamp beneath the sheer force of his blows. One soldier latched onto his wing and Cassian grabbed the thing barehanded before smashing its skull into another corpse hard enough for bone to split.

 " WHERE IS NESTA?! " Azriel roared across the battlefield while cutting another attacker down.

 Cassian spun sharply, killing two more before shouting back through gritted teeth: " SHE FUCKING WENT INTO THE LAKE! " A corpse lunged for him from behind and Cassian drove his blade upward through its jaw with enough violence to lift the creature clean off the ground.

 " How bad is it? " Azriel tone shited when he turned toward Vythra, though he was already turning to slaughter the next enemy before she answered.

 " The pain is bad, " she hissed through clenched teeth, " but I don't think it hit anything vital. "

 With shaking hands she ripped a piece from her cloak using her teeth, an act that instantly made her stomach turn when she remembered every foul surface that fabric had dragged through inside the Bog. She gagged before forcing herself to tie the material tightly around her thigh.

 " Don't take it out. " He ordered sharply while burying Truth-Teller into another soldier's throat.

 " I fucking know not to take it out, you idiot! " She screamed back, dizziness already creeping into her vision. " I'll bleed to death! "

 " We can't stay here! " He roared over the clash of weapons and the black water slamming violently against the shore. Another soldier burst through the fog directly toward them, and one of Azriel's blades went straight through the dead male's mouth before he even managed to lift his own sword. " We need to get closer to Cassian. "

 Vythra tried taking a step toward him and nearly collapsed immediately when her pierced leg refused to support her weight. Pain exploded all the way into her hip, forcing her to sink her teeth into the inside of her cheek to stop herself from screaming again. Water had already begun flooding her boot with every movement, blood pouring beneath the tightly bound fabric wrapped around her thigh. Azriel noticed the way her limp worsened and did not even give her time to protest.

 He grabbed her sharply by the waist and threw her over one shoulder.

 " Azriel! "

 " Don't start. " His voice came out razor-sharp, almost buried beneath the noise of the battle. " Either I carry you or I leave you here to be eaten by Kelpies. "

 " You truly are a gentleman. "

 " Hold on. " And then he charged directly back into the fight with her slung over his shoulder.

 Everything became absurdly violent from Vythra's perspective. The world overturned with every movement Azriel made, soldiers' bodies flashing past them in violent blurs while the Spymaster moved through the swamp like something built solely for fighting. His wings battered both air and water at once, shadows tearing through legs and throats before his blades finished the rest. Vythra could feel him breathing harder beneath her, his torso tightening with every strike, the muscles of his back shifting under soaked leathers.

 " Left! " She shouted suddenly when she spotted a spear slicing through the fog toward them.

 Azriel spun instantly. The spear ricocheted off the blue shield barely a second before it would have pierced his throat.

 " Do you have any other hidden talents? " He muttered through clenched teeth while gutting another soldier in one savage movement.

 " Yes. I'm extremely annoying and I cannot die. " A body lunged toward them from the right and Vythra spotted it first. " Down! "

 Azriel dropped instinctively onto one knee just as a sword cut through the space where his head had been a fraction earlier. His shadows exploded outward immediately and shoved the creature directly beneath the lake's surface. Vythra tightened her grip around his shoulder when he rose again, feeling the warmth of blood coating his gloves.

 " I'm beginning to think you enjoy being carried. "

 " I always dreamed of becoming a princess. " She shot back before slamming the hilt of her dagger against another soldier's head hard enough for the iron helmet to go rolling through the mud.

 Azriel turned his attention toward her just long enough to finish the soldier by removing his head entirely.

 " Great teamwork. " Vythra muttered while bracing both palms harder against his waist to keep from sliding off.

 Cassian drove his sword through another soldier and shoved the corpse back into the water before finally answering them. " Nesta found the Trove! The Harp or the Mask. I don't know what the fuck is down there! "

 Vythra lifted her gaze toward the creatures still emerging endlessly from the fog and felt her stomach tighten.

 Cassian noticed what she was staring at. " Eris's soldiers. " His voice grew darker for a second. " The ones who disappeared in the Bog a few weeks ago. "

 Vythra studied the ruined armor more carefully now, the earthy colors and the circle of leaves stamped into the right shoulder plates. " You're sure? "

 " I meet with Eris often enough to recognize his damned men. " Cassian spat blood to the side before turning toward two more creatures crawling from the water.

 " Oh, I remember. " Vythra said quietly, feeling the male beneath her shift his attention toward her. " Briallyn has the Crown. "

 " And she turned Eris's men into brainwashed puppets before sending them into the Bog. " Cassian replied the moment he caught a second to breathe, his sword hanging heavily beside his leg.

 " Because she can't enter herself. Of course. " Vythra tried desperately to remember what came after this part in the book, but her thoughts short-circuited when she noticed another soldier rushing directly toward Azriel's exposed flank.

 " Behind you! " Before she even realized it herself, she had already thrown her dagger. The blade buried itself directly between the dead soldier's eyes.

 " You always aim this well? " The Shadowsinger asked while shifting onto one leg to adjust her weight higher against his shoulder.

 " Only when I'm under pressure. " But she never managed to say anything else, because another soldier slammed violently into Azriel's side hard enough to throw her straight off him.

 The air was ripped brutally from her lungs the moment she slammed into the waterlogged ground. Her pierced thigh hit the mud first, and Vythra let out a strangled sound as pain rose straight up her spine in a wave strong enough to make her head spin for a heartbeat. Black water flooded her mouth and nose, freezing cold and rancid, tasting of rusted iron and flesh forgotten too long beneath damp earth. She choked for a second before forcing herself onto her elbows, desperately trying to push herself back up.

 Around her, the battle continued, but farther away now. Distorted. As if the Bog were dragging the sounds in another direction.

 " Vythra! " Azriel's voice reached her somewhere through the mist.

 His shadows exploded violently through the place for a fraction of a second and she caught sight of him between the soldiers' silhouettes. The male was carving through them one after another with a brutality that no longer held anything elegant in it. He was not fighting like the cold, calculated Spymaster she knew. He fought like an animal trying to reach something before it was too late. One soldier grabbed onto his wing and Azriel shoved his blade straight through the creature's jaw without slowing down for even a second.

 But the fog began swallowing him again. And for the first time since they had entered the Bog, Vythra was alone.

 This time the silence came gradually. Worse than the noise. The whispers vanished. The water calmed. Even the soldiers seemed farther away now, blurred shapes moving somewhere outside her reality. Her own breathing became unbearably loud inside her ears while the spider pendant began burning against her skin again, hotter than before.

 Vythra managed to force herself upright through a series of pained groans, balancing heavily on her good leg. Her fingers dug into the soaked fabric of her cloak as she dragged a deep breath into her lungs, trying to ignore the sensation that the swamp was moving around her.

 Something was there. Something impossibly old.

 The fog ahead of her slowly began thinning, like a curtain being carefully pulled aside. A figure stood near the water. An old man.

 Not close enough to touch, but close enough for her to distinguish the tall, narrow shape of him and the dark robes that remained perfectly dry despite standing directly inside the lake. He looked almost woven from the mist, his outline fraying slightly at the edges before reforming again. Long white hair spilled over his shoulders like strands of a spiderweb drenched in rainwater.

 Vythra felt something inside her revolt. The same instinct that had once screamed at her to run from the Devourer.

 The old man slowly turned his head toward her and gave the faintest nod of acknowledgment. He looked at her as though he already knew her. Yet, not with the warm familiarity of someone wishing her well, but with the unsettling patience of a thing that had waited so long time itself had stopped meaning anything to it. The fog drifted lazily around his silhouette without ever truly touching him.

 Vythra felt her skin tightening painfully over her bones. 

 " You have no idea how long I lingered just to witness your arrival. " His voice slipped through the place, through the water, beneath her skin like a forgotten echo of the world. Vythra realized then that his eyes held no fixed color. Sometimes gray. Sometimes black. Sometimes gold for the briefest second before dimming again. " And your extinction. "

 Vythra shifted her weight more firmly onto her good leg and tightened her grip around the sword she had stolen from the ground earlier. Pain pulsed violently through her thigh, but anger kept her body upright. " Who are you? "

 The old man looked almost amused by the question. " Someone your world should have killed a very long time ago. Instead, they merely locked me away between time and reality. "

 Only then did Vythra notice the dead birds floating near the shore. Ravens. Dozens of them swollen with water, feathers plastered against rotting bodies. Not a single one drifted close to him.

 The old man tilted his head slightly. " Can you give it a guess? "

 " I'm not playing games with dead gods or hallucinations. "

 " Oo. " The old man chuckled under his white beard, the sound soft and strangely warm despite the swamp surrounding them. " Your mother taught you well. "

 Vythra blinked slowly, brows pulling together for the briefest second as she tried to understand which mother he meant. The one from this world, or the one from the life she had once lived somewhere far beyond Prythian. The thought unsettled her more than she cared to admit. Her fingers tightened instinctively around the stolen sword while cold water dripped slowly from the ends of her crimson hair down her throat.

 " Why are you showing yourself to me? "

 He studied her quietly before answering. His expression barely changed, but something shifted behind his eyes. " Because, for now, it is important that you see me. " His gaze slid slowly toward the vast meadow behind her. " And understand the scale of the disaster. " A faint smile ghosted across his thin lips. " One of you left a door open. I merely invited myself in. "

 Vythra's mouth went into a straight line. Even wounded, even soaked in black swamp water and half kneeling in the mud, something ugly sharpened the lines of her face. " You're talking about the Veil. "

 " Of course. " He tilted his head slightly, pale hair slipping over one shoulder like silk. " But the glory should not belong solely to you. You merely widened the hole. " His smile deepened by a fraction. " Those before you made the mistake of tearing it open from the beginning. "

 The Bog shifted faintly around them as he spoke, as though the swamp listened.

 " That means you know how to fix it. "

 " Yes. " The answer came instantly.

 " Then tell me. "

 " No. " He sounded almost amused now. " Why would I hand you the means to win? "

 Vythra let out a sharp breath through her nose and adjusted her balance on her good leg. Pain pulsed through her injured thigh, the warm liquid flooding her shoe, but she refused to let him see weakness in her posture. " Then fuck off. You're wasting my time. "

 He laughed without any trace of humor behind his eyes. " You are exactly as Life was always meant to be." His pale fingers folded neatly behind his back. " Always demanding. Never willing to give anything in return. "

 Vythra's eyes flashed with pride. " What do you want in return, then? "

 The man's teeth came into view. " I thought you were not playing games with me. "

 " This is a theoretical conversation. " She leaned faintly on the sword now, chin lifting despite the anemic state dragging at her body. " What do you want in return? "

 The old man's gaze lowered slowly toward the center of her chest. Toward the thing burried inside her being. " A sip of the Living Water. "

 Vythra scoffed, though unease coiled tighter in her stomach. " I don't have it. "

 Hei slowly placed one hand over his own chest. " Yes, you do." His voice turned into something almost reverent. " Right here. "

 For the first time since seeing him, Vythra felt something dangerously close to discomfort crawl near her. Like he could see through flesh and bone and straight into whatever had rooted itself inside her.

 " What do you want to do with it? " Her tone turned serious. " Bring yourself back to life? "

 " Yes and no. "

 Vythra rolled her eyes despite the tension knotting her spine. " Piss off with your double-meaning bullshit. Take me back to Azriel. "

 Something flickered across the old man's face then. Something eerily close to pity. " It is painful to watch you choose a dirty Illyrian over a God of Destruction. "

 Vythra's expression darkened beneath her long lashes, her fingers curled tighter around the sword hilt until her knuckles ached.

 " The Devourer is not the end. " Instantly, the whispers beneath the water grew louder. The lake trembled once beneath the black surface while fog thickened around them in slow spirals. " He is hunger. " His eyes shifted again: gray, gold, black. " And what comes after him... " He murmured absently, almost to himself, " ...is infinitely worse. "

 Vythra clenched her jaw so hard pain sparked beneath her temples. " I don't care what stories you're trying to sell me. "

 The old man laughed quietly, like someone who already knew exactly how the story ended. " You think you are stopping a beast. " His gaze lowered directly into hers, ancient eyes holding something endless inside them. " But all you are truly doing is opening a door. "

 " Again with the fucking door. " Vythra snapped, anger sharpening every syllable. Muddy water shifted around her boots as she steadied herself against the pain tearing through her leg. " Spare me the details. Tell the Butcher to leave me alone. "

 The lake seemed to pulse alongside her words.

 That presence inside her curled deep within her stomach, twisting ferociously at the mere mention of the unnamed creature, like a chained animal suddenly smelling blood through iron bars.

 " Life was always destined to kneel before what waits after this world. "

 Vythra stepped forward through the sand, ignoring the pain ripping through her thigh hard enough to blur her vision for a second. " Then I'll burn that damned door shut until there's nothing left of it. "

 He studied her for a long moment, as though seeing something he had not expected to find. " That fire inside you... Yes. I understand now why he chose you. "

 Vythra felt her insides turn.

 " Tell my little creature I still remember her. "

 Vythra froze. " I don't know who you're talking about. "

 His smile widened only slightly. " There is only one creature old enough to know my name. " His gaze dropped briefly toward the pendant resting against her throat. " And foolish enough to have once served my purposes. "

 The air vanished from Vythra's lungs for a second. The realization struck violently enough to leave her dizzy.

 And then he began disappearing with the fog. His outline unraveled slowly into the mist while the black lake swallowed every remaining trace of his presence. The last things left of him were the eyes. " Tell her she still belongs to me. "

 Vythra's vision snapped back into focus just as the fog ahead of her erupted outward. She didn't have enough time to take in what happened to her moments earlier. The lake convulsed once, as though something beneath it had finally awakened, and then the water began pulling away from a single point near the center. 

 Something was coming out. Vythra rose carefully, still maintaining her balance with the tip of the sword deeply rotted in the sand as a blonde hair began to rise from underneath.

 Cassian appeared first through the mist, half submerged near the shore, a blade hanging uselessly at his side now as he stared toward the center of the lake with an expression Vythra had never seen on his face before. Blood streamed freely from cuts along his arms and jaw, disappearing into the collar of his illiryan leathers. His black hair was loose, the tie that once kept it half-done scattered during the battle.

 Azriel emerged seconds later from the opposite side of the shoreline, chest rising heavily beneath soaked leathers, shadows writhing around him. The twin blades hung low in his palms, black sludge dripping slowly from the their edge. He looked ready to kill whatever climbed from the lake.

 Then, Nesta rose from the water like death itself had learned to wear flesh.

 The Mask covered her face entirely, pale gold gleaming against the darkness while the Harp rested in one hand, its strings humming softly with power too harsh for the world around them.  Several kelpies began surrounding her with sharp teeth, clinging to her once colored dress. 

 Vythra's expression changed, grim and untouchable, like the thing sleeping inside of her finally smelled an old enemy. This primordial power of the universe: Death. The first silence after the first life died. The thing waiting beneath every beating heart since the beginning of existence. It pressed against Vythra's senses brutally, recognizing her the same way she recognized it.

 And the world around them seemed to hold its breath.

 Cassian dropped to one knee first. His sword lowered slowly into the mud while his head bowed with reverence, massive wings folding inward behind him despite the blood still running freely from the tears across the membranes. Exhaustion dragged visibly at every line of his body now, but even through the bruises and swamp water and battle, there remained something solemn in the movement. Something deeply Illyrian. Like an ancient warrior acknowledging a force greater than himself.

 " Nesta... " His voice came out rougher than before, stripped bare by awe and relief alike.

 Azriel remained standing a heartbeat longer, shadows writhing restlessly around him while the Harp's low hum filled the Bog with music. His hazel eyes studied Nesta carefully beneath the Mask, sharp and unreadable even now, as though trying to separate the female he knew from the thing the Troves had transformed her into.

 Then the Shadowsinger lowered the twin blades. One scarred hand crossed briefly over his chest before he bowed his head and lowered himself beside Cassian. Two warriors who had offered Death more bodies than most living creatures could ever witness in ten lifetimes.

 But Vythra did not kneel.

 The moment Nesta's silver eyes lifted toward her, something deep inside her answered instinctively. The thing sleeping beneath her ribs stirred violently in refusal. Her entire body reacted before thought could catch up. Her spine straightened despite the agony tearing through her wounded leg. Her chin lifted slightly. The black water around her boots trembled as if caught between two opposing tides.

 Because Life does not kneel before Death. It opposes it, it balances it, it challenges it.

 Cassian's eyes shifted sideways toward the woman who remained standing while the rest of the world seemed to bow beneath the weight of the Troves. Confusion crossed his face.  

 Azriel followed a heartbeat later. The Shadowsinger slowly turned his head toward Vythra fully now, shadows recoiling faintly around his shoulders as though even they could feel the tension gathering in the air between the two females. His hazel eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly while understanding settled over him piece by piece.

 Nesta was Death. Vythra was something else entirely. And suddenly Azriel did not know where his loyalty was supposed to rest in this moment.

 His siphons flickered once while his gaze moved slowly between them. Nesta standing untouched by the Bog with the Mask upon her face like an ancient queen risen from a grave. Vythra standing bloodied and shaking from pain, yet refusing to lower herself anyway, stubborn life still burning through every inch of her body.

 The Shadowsinger grinded his teeth, because for the first time in centuries, the Spymaster found himself kneeling before one force while hungrily watching the other.

 The Harp hummed softly in Nesta's hand. Vythra's pendant burned against her throat in answer.

 Nesta took one slow step forward through the shallow water. The Mask revealed nothing of her expression, yet the silver flames beneath her skin pulsed stronger the closer she came to Vythra. The air thickened between them, power pressing invisibly against power until even Cassian lowered his head slightly again beneath the pressure of it.

 But Vythra did not move back. Pain had long begun hollowing her leg into fire, blood still dripping steadily into the black water beneath her boots, yet something fierce rooted her in place now. Her gray eyes locked onto the hollow stare of the Mask without wavering.

 Then, Nesta stopped. A line neither of them crossed.

 Azriel slowly rose halfway from his kneel before stopping himself abruptly, caught between intervention and reverence. His fingers flexed once against Truth-Teller's hilt while his eyes remained fixed entirely on Vythra now, tracking every breath she took as if preparing for either catastrophe or miracle.

 Water dripped slowly from Nesta's hair while she stared at the wounded woman looking right back at her, with pride and fury burning in her gray eyes. 

 " I thank you for the hospitality with which you welcomed us into your home. It was..." Vythra clicked her tongue softly and tightened her grip around the sword hilt. " ...refreshing. But now you have to let us go home. "

 Nesta smiled, still tangled in the lingering enchantment of the Troves. " Why would I do that? "

 Cassian exhaled shakily beside them, eyes fixed on Nesta despite the mud blurring his vision. Wonder and terror warred openly across his face. One of his hands flexed once against the sand beneath him as though grounding himself in something physical before the weight of Death swallowed him whole too.

 Vythra took one slow step forward. " There's no place for us in a land ruled by Death. " Pain exploded through her injured leg instantly, but she barely felt it now. 

 Nesta watched her approach with a hollow stare. " The rules are meant to be broken. " Her voice no longer sounded entirely like her own. It echoed strangely with the words, layered with something vicious. " You can stay if you want. After all, you visited me several times before. I thought you had grown attached. "

 Vythra's features remained calm, her eyes never leaving Nesta's. " I like visiting Death. I never said I wanted to belong to it. "

 Nesta tilted her head slightly, the movement unnatural. " Everyone belongs to Death eventually. "

 " Yes. Eventually. " Vythra replied monotonous. " But not today. "

 Azriel slowly rose fully to his feet now. His shadows had begun moving again, restless and uncertain around his shoulders. Cassian remained kneeling longer, jaw tight, as if part of him still feared moving too quickly might shatter whatever fragile line existed between Nesta and the thing wearing the Troves.

 Then Nesta smiled again. " You bargain strangely for someone standing in my realm. "

 " You visit my realm often too, and even so, I never make you stay. " Vythra inhaled slowly through her nose. " Every realm has rules. Even yours. "

 " I like your world, " Nesta murmured, or the God holding her skin. " I like the souls I take. But you never invite me to stay. "

 Vythra's gaze hardened faintly. " Because if Death remained among the living for too long, life would begin forgetting how to exist around it. Crops would rot before blooming. Mothers would stop carrying children to term. Seas would still. Hearts would slow. Your realm would consume mine until nothing remained except silence. " A pause. " Life and Death were never meant to rule the same land equally. Only visit. "

 " And yet, you still seek me whenever you are hurting. " The words fell softly. Nesta took another slow step through the water, death itself wrapped around her shoulders like a second skin now. " The living always speak of balance until grief claws through their door. Then,  suddenly they beg for more time. More breaths. One more heartbeat. "

 Azriel's gaze shifted sharply between them. Cassian remained utterly still.

 Nesta continued quietly: " You fear what I would do to your world if I stayed too long. " A faint tilt of her chin toward the endless Bog surrounding them. " But Life destroys things too, Vythra. Crueler sometimes. "

 Vythra met her stare without moving. " Maybe, but at least I give them the option of a second chance. "

 Moments passed by, the land shifting around them with each breath. " The living cannot leave without permission. " Nesta replied strongly, keeping her chin high. " That is one of the oldest laws. "

 " And Death cannot keep what entered freely without payment. " Vythra answered immediately.

 Cassian's head snapped toward her. Nesta went still.

 " We crossed willingly into your lands. We respected your guardians. We spilled blood in your waters. " Her voice lowered slightly, steadier now despite the fatigue threatening to pull her apart. " We honored the old laws. So now you honor them, too. "

 " Payment. "

 Vythra slowly lifted one hand toward the pendant resting against her throat. The spider-crafted symbol still glowed faintly beneath the stench staining her skin.

 Azriel immediately tensed behind her. " Vythra. "

 She ignored him. " The souls trapped here. " Her gaze swept slowly across the endless Bog surrounding them. " The ones who never saw sunlight again after entering this place. " She swallowed once before continuing. " I cannot bring them back to life. But when my power fully awakens... " Vythra's fingers curled around the pendant. " I will give them one final moment beneath the sun before they pass on completely. "

 Cassian stared at her. Even Nesta's silver flames quieted slightly. " And? " Because promises made in places like this mattered. The Bog itself would remember them. Death would remember them.

 Vythra slowly removed the pendant from around her neck. " And I will let them leave havoc behind. " She said quietly, the words carrying strangely across the empty field, now full of thousands of eyes watching. " I will let them feed from fear and fury and blood too. "

 The moment the chain slipped free, the swamp came alive: whispers rose softly, the dead trees groaned, shapes shifted beneath the black lake like creatures waking from a centuries-long sleep.

 Because the Bog understood then: Life was not denying Death its place in the world, only asking it to remember mercy too.

 Vythra lifted the pendant slowly between her fingers. " And on their final day beneath my skies, I will give them peace. One last sunrise before they are carried where even I cannot follow. " An offering and a vow. " In return, " Vythra said more confidently now, " you let us leave alive. All of us. And when I call upon the things ruling this Bog one day... " Her gray eyes lifted directly toward Nesta. " They will answer me. "

 Nesta slowly extended one elegant hand. " I always liked bargaining with you. " The words sounded strange, almost fond in a deeply unsettling way. The pendant fell into her palm and disappeared instantly.

 Silver fire flickered once beneath Nesta's skin as the Bog reacted around them. The black water rippled outward in slow circles. The dead trees groaned low enough to resemble breathing. Beneath the swamp, countless whispers rose together like a congregation answering a prayer older than kingdoms.

 Nesta tilted her head slightly toward Vythra. " Because I always take more than you offer. "

 Vythra felt the bargain settle into her bones afterward: the ancient law was sealed.

 The black water stopped moving altogether, turning smooth as polished obsidian beneath their feet. The whispers coming from the lake softened into something almost mournful now, less like hungry spirits and more like things finally remembered by the world above them.

 Vythra swayed faintly on her injured leg once the adrenaline began draining from her body. The pain returned immediately afterward, sharp and brutal now that survival no longer screamed louder than the pain. She barely noticed when Azriel appeared beside her again.

 He did not speak at first, but looked at her like she just made the biggest mistake of her life and the best decision of his to follow her.

 One gloved hand closed firmly around her elbow instead, grounding her before she could collapse outright. His tender eyes moved quickly over her face, throat, legs, as though confirming piece by piece she remained physically there after whatever cosmic madness had just unfolded in front of him. 

 Cassian rose from where he knelt all along. Wonder still lived on his face despite the exhaustion dragging at his body. Was she still there? Was the female who laughed too loudly, who snarled when angry and rolled her eyes at him over breakfast tables still somewhere beneath all that terrible power? The question sat naked across Cassian's expression as he took one slow step toward her, wings lowering instinctively behind him in something dangerously close to vulnerability.

 Vythra thought she had never seen someone look so relieved and terrified at the same time.

 Then Cassian lifted a hand slightly toward Nesta and Vythra shook her head violently. " Don't touch her. " The warning came out sharper than intended, enough that both Illyrians looked toward her. 

 Cassian retracted his hand as though something had struck him across the wrist, then slowly stepped back instead, retreating toward where Vythra now stood held upright by the Shadowsinger. Azriel's arm remained firmly around her waist, steadying more of her weight than she probably realized herself. 

 Nesta slowly turned toward them. The silver fire beneath her skin dimmed slightly now, enough that her own voice began surfacing more clearly beneath the weight of Death. " The Bog will let you leave. " 

 Cassian exhaled sharply, almost laughing from relief before stopping himself halfway. 

 But Nesta's gaze lifted toward him. " You cannot look back. The dead do not like being abandoned twice. " Her voice echoed around them. " They will call to you. They will sound like people you loved. They will beg. If any of you look back before reaching the living world... you will remain here. "

 The Bog stirred softly around them in agreement.

 Vythra thought of Orpheus, of old stories where love became weak enough to destroy salvation at the very end. Stories where one glance backward condemned two souls instead of saving them. Her gaze slowly shifted toward the General of the Night Court armies and, for the first time since meeting him, she genuinely questioned the strength of Cassian's will.

 Because the way he looked at Nesta now did not resemble devotion, but worship.

 The General swallowed hard, eyes fixed entirely on the female standing beneath the Mask despite the blood dripping from his jaw and wings. " And you? "

 Nesta's silver gaze softened by the barest fraction. " I will follow. "

 Reality split. The sound did not resemble music so much as the world tearing itself open. A long crack appeared through the fog ahead of them, widening slowly as darkness peeled backward like wet paper. Wind burst violently through the opening, carrying the scent of Velaris with it: cold mountain air, cedarwood, snow resting on stone terraces, smoke from distant chimneys and something alive beneath it all.

 Vythra moved first. Pain nearly buckled her leg when she stepped forward, but she ignored it and grabbed Cassian sharply by the front of his collar before he could move toward Nesta again. The force of it finally dragged his attention away from her.

 " Whatever you do, " Vythra said quietly, though the severity in her voice cut through the swamp harder than shouting ever could, " don't look away from me. "

 Cassian frowned faintly, still dazed by Nesta's presence, but Vythra tightened her fist harder in his shirt until the fabric twisted between her fingers. " Do you understand? "

 Something in her expression finally reached him then and Cassian nodded once.

 The Shadowsinger's attention remained locked on the tear splitting reality apart ahead of them while the Bog groaned softly behind their backs.

  As they began their exit, Vythra heard them almost instantly: some crying, some singing, her mother's voice, then her friend's and finally, her almost forgotten lover. 

 " Cassian. " Nesta's voice. Cassian's shoulders tensed. Vythra saw the instinct claw up his spine, saw the unbearable urge to turn toward the female he loved. His fingers twitched once near the hilt of his sword before tightening into fists instead.

 " Don't. " Azriel shifted even closer to Vythra's injured side as they walked, close enough now that his shoulder brushed hers every few steps whenever her balance threatened to fail again. Vythra wondered briefly if he heard the voices too, or if the swamp tailored its cruelty differently for each soul crossing through it.

 Then the whispers sharpened. " Azriel. " His mother's voice, broken and begging. The Shadowsinger's entire body tensed beside her. Vythra watched his jaw lock hard enough to hurt, watched one hand curl slowly into a fist while his breathing shifted unevenly beside her.

 Then another voice slithered directly against Vythra's ear. Cynthia. " Please don't leave me here alone. "

 Pain twisted viciously through her chest at the sound of it. The memory. The guilt. It nearly made her stumble. But she forced herself to keep walking anyway, eyes fixed on the crack splitting reality ahead of them while the smell of Velaris drifted stronger through the opening with every step.

 The tear widened slowly before them while the Bog screamed behind their backs in frustration.

 Cassian's breathing grew heavier several feet ahead, ragged enough now that Vythra knew he was hearing his loved ones too. She saw the slight pull in his shoulders every few seconds, the unbearable instinct to turn around clawing visibly through him. His fingers flexed once near his side like he physically needed to stop himself.

 Azriel's hand brushed briefly against Vythra's wrist. A silent reminder: Don't look back.

 The Bog was trying one final time. Trying to make love stronger than survival.

 Then the whispers became shrieks. The dead trees groaned violently around them while black water crashed against the shoreline in furious waves. Shapes began moving wildly through the fog behind their backs now, too many to count, their silhouettes stretching unnaturally as they chased the living toward the fracture in reality. Vythra felt the instinct clawing higher and higher up her spine with every step, that horrible human urge to turn around just once.

 Just to see. Just to make sure.

 But Nesta's footsteps echoed softly somewhere behind them.

 Then the world dropped out beneath their feet. The Bog vanished all at once like water draining from a basin. Cold black mist tore apart around them, replaced instantly by warm mountain air carrying cedarwood, snow and sunlight. Gravity twisted sharply sideways and Vythra stumbled forward with a strangled inhale when solid marble replaced swamp beneath her boots.

 The House of Wind.

 Cassian spun around first and froze.

 Nesta stood several feet behind them still with the Mask and the Harp resting gently between her fingers while Velaris sunlight poured through the towering windows behind her like liquid gold. She looked almost unreal standing there between shadow and sunlight, between Death and the living world.

 For several long seconds, nobody moved, wondering whether she had truly come back with them at all.

 The House of Wind remained painfully quiet around them. Vythra realized only then how violently her entire body had begun trembling beneath the fading adrenaline. Mud still dripped from the hem of her clothes onto the pristine floor, black swamp water staining white marble in ugly streaks while blood continued slipping steadily down her injured leg.

 " Nes, " Cassian said carefully, voice roughened by what they've been through. " Are you alright? "

 " I don't know yet. " Her own voice.

 Cassian visibly exhaled.

 She slowly lifted one hand toward the Mask, fingers brushing faintly over the golden metal. " It's quieter now. " She admitted after a moment. " But I can still hear them. " Her silver eyes shifted briefly toward the distant mountains beyond the windows. " Death doesn't stop speaking simply because you leave its realm. "

 " It's alright, we're home. Let's get you inside. " Cassian's figure enveloped the woman's thin body.

 Azriel finally loosened his grip from around Vythra's waist once he became certain she would not collapse immediately onto the marble. His gaze dropped toward her leg where the ruined fabric tied around her thigh. " How bad is it? "

 Vythra looked down briefly as if only now remembering the arrow wound existed. The adrenaline had burned itself empty, leaving behind a deep throbbing ache that reached all the way into her hip. " I still have the leg attached. " She inhaled sharply when she tried shifting weight onto it again. " Which feels promising. "

 Cassian barked a tired laugh somewhere nearby while Azriel's brows pulled together instead.

 His scarred hand lifted slightly, like he almost intended to inspect the wound himself before thinking better of it.  " You're limping worse now. "

 " Thank you, Shadowsinger. " Vythra muttered tiredly. " I hadn't noticed. "

 But Azriel did not look away. There remained something unsettled in his expression now. Not about the wound. About her. About the bargain. Vythra could almost see the question sitting behind his eyes before he even voiced it.

 Why would you promise the dead access to our world? Why would you offer them sunlight? Why would you let something from the Bog follow you home? His jaw shifted slightly like he debated whether to ask aloud.

 Then the doors to the main hall burst open. The fragile quiet shattered instantly.

 Elain hurried outside still wearing the dress from this morning, golden-brown hair half loosened around her shoulders like she had abandoned whatever she'd been doing the second she sensed them return. Relief crossed her face so quickly it almost hurt to look at.

 Until she properly saw them: mud-covered, bleeding, Nesta holding the Troves, Vythra barely standing. Azriel straightened beside her. Cassian stepped instinctively closer to Nesta.

 Elain blinked once. Then twice. " I'm happy you're home, but... "

 Vythra huffed a weak laugh despite herself. She couldn't handle anything else now.

 But Elain's expression shifted into something far more serious. " We have a problem. "

 Cassian dragged one filthy hand down his face. " There's always a problem. "

 " Two, actually. " Elain corrected softly. She pointed vaguely deeper into the House. " First, there's an unexpected guest waiting downstairs for all of you. " Her eyes flicked briefly toward Nesta and then toward Vythra in a way that immediately made Azriel tense again. " And secondly... " She hesitated.

 A distant crash echoed somewhere far above them inside the House. Something large snarled.

 Everyone froze.