#amber heard deserves prison

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

chapter xvii - gust & flame

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Eris Vanserra has been a prisoner in his own home since the day he was born. He has done what he had to in order to survive and protect the few he loves. And he is playing the long game. Waiting, waiting, and waiting for the right time to make his move, to usurp his wicked father and become High Lord of Autumn Court. But things become even more complicated when a human girl drops into his life. Perhaps Eris can wait no longer to take his throne.

Word Count: 3,500+

masterlist

It only took two turns for Y/N to guess that she had already made a mistake and was surely going to get lost in this ginormous house. 

But it seemed to take even less time before she heard her name being called and Eris’ quick steps behind her. 

Y/N stopped walking, but refused to turn around. 

“We both know you have no idea where you are going,” Eris commented darkly from behind her. 

She sighed and turned to look at him. 

He took that as her silent invitation to let him show her back to her bedchambers. Well…his bedchambers.  But she could sleep in his bed for as long as she so pleased – even if he wasn’t in it along with her. 

The walk was 20 minutes of silence. And Eris knew better than to try and force her to break it when she was in such a delicate state. Little did he know, his silent presence was starting to comfort her.

“I meant what I said,” Eris finally spoke when they stood outside the door to their bedchambers. 

“About what?” She asked for clarity in a soft voice. 

“You are not a prisoner here.”

She just stared into his eyes, looking for any hint of lie. But found none. 

“This home is your own. Go where you please. Use what you wish. If there’s anything you desire, you need only ask.” Then he nodded towards the door. “There are clothes in the wardrobe for you. I had the seamstresses working all day and they were quite confident they got your sizing correct.”

Y/N blinked. “You…Y-You had them make custom dresses for me, all in one day?” 

Eris could not seem to understand why she was confused – and so taken aback. 

“Of course,” he answered, as if it were obvious. “You arrived with almost no belongings.” Only his cloak and the weapons he had gifted her. 

Then she opened the door in a rush and marched to the wardrobe, leaving the door ajar to silently invite him in. 

Y/N opened it to see the most beautiful dresses she’d ever seen. Yes, Rhysand had gifted her clothes while in Night Court. But these dresses…they felt more... her. And there wasn’t just dresses: there was an equal amount of pants and tops, as well. 

“Eris,” she whispered. “This is too much. I…I do not deserve such beautiful clothing.” 

To her surprise, Eris’ eyes darkened and he stepped closer to her. 

Then his stare went up and down her body – not objectifying her, though as if he was trying to find something he couldn’t seem, but she did. 

His amber eyes stared and she wanted to look away, but couldn’t. 

Eris voice was low as he slowly said, “I would like to know who in this life made you ever believe that you are undeserving of clothing.”

Y/N opened and closed her mouth a couple times.

When he put it so simply, it did make her rethink. 

“But it’s not just clothing,” she argued. “It’s far too lovely.”

“So you don’t believe you deserve lovely clothing?”

Y/N glared at him now, seeing the game he was playing. 

Eris took another step closer to her. And it made Y/N’s heart beat a little faster. She wondered if his fae senses could hear it. 

His eyes flickered from her y/e/c eyes to her lips before he said, “If there is one thing I shall achieve during your stay here, it’s to untrain that mind of yours and stop you from ever thinking you are undeserving of the very best.” His head tilted closer to her. “You should be gifted anything you have ever wanted. You…” He paused. “You should be worshipped, Y/N.”

He lifted his head back, giving her space to linger on what he just said. 

Y/N was grateful for it, because she was convinced her knees would give out at any second.

If her heart was speeding up before, now it was threatening to beat out of her chest. Her breathing was heavy, and she was struggling to control it. 

No man had ever spoken to her the way Eris just did. And she somehow knew that no one else ever would, either.

Eris took a step backward. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

He bowed his head and left, closing the door gently behind him. 

Y/N stood frozen in place for minutes before she could find it in herself to move.

–🍁–🍁–🍁–

The next morning, Lucien was once again guarding her door.

Y/N suspected that Eris assigned at least one of his guards while she slept, before his brother reached his post. 

This time, Lucien was standing and reading a book. 

“Do I really require a babysitter?” Y/N moaned. 

Though, if she were being honest, she’d recognize that she had no idea what she would do with herself in this place alone. 

Lucien smiled in that cocky way of his. Then he took in Y/N’s dress carefully.  “I see you are making use of your new wardrobe…”

She said nothing and only awkwardly shifted her weight as her face got warm. 

“I don’t think I need another tour,” Y/N announced quietly, hoping not to sound rude. 

“Good. Because I did not plan on giving one.”

“He must be busy…” Y/N thought aloud as she started following her escort. 

Lucien frowned. “It is not easy transitioning to High Lord, especially after this Court has been ruled by Beron for so long.” 

“Will the people accept him?” 

“It would be best if they did…” he hummed. 

Y/N paused and looked at Lucien with fear. “He wouldn’t…Eris would never…he wouldn’t hurt anyone for the disrespect if they did not…w-would he?” 

Lucien seemed amused by both her concern and uncertainty. “Doubtful. Eris wishes do abolish Beron’s evil, not renew it. But there are still those who will question his power and if he is fit to rule at all.” 

“But the Cauldron chose him!” Y/N argued. "The powers of Autumn Court are with him.” 

Lucien shrugged. “Sometimes the courtiers need more than that.” 

“Where are we going?” She suddenly asked. 

“To the kitchens,” Eris answered. “My brother nearly throttled me when he found out I had taken you on a three-hour tour without feeding you beforehand.”

“Will you stay…now that Eris is High Lord?” 

Her waiting gaze was nervous, as if she was scared the question was rude and she was stepping out of line by asking it. 

Lucien sighed. “My brother has assured me that one of his first acts as the new High Lord was to rescind my exile. I am welcome once again in Autumn Court.” 

“But do you wish to actually return?” 

It was obvious these were all questions that had been racing through Lucien’s mind. But it was also obvious that he did not have steadfast answers. 

“It is nice having you here…” Y/N admitted quietly, giving him time to consider his answer. But also offering him an out to change the subject, and not answer at all. 

Lucien gave her a shy smirk. “The feeling is mutual.” Then he frowned. “But you intend to return to the Mortal Lands as soon as Eris deems it safe.” 

Y/N stopped walking and frowned. “You must think me no better than Elain.”

“Well, Elain does not even acknowledge my existence. At least you actually converse with my brother.” 

It took Y/N a moment to realize he was teasing her. She looked up to see him smiling mischievously down at her. 

Y/N’s brow furrowed. “Perhaps you fae will never understand it…”

“Understand what?” 

“The power of choice was taken away from us. We mortals live a short life. A bad decision – or the lack of choice – could greatly change our lifetime. Our lifespan…it’s just a blink of your immortality.” 

Lucien understood what Y/N was trying to tell him. And he wondered if this was why Elain pushed him away again and again. He was thrust onto her at her most vulnerable, ruining the life she had imagined for herself. 

“So…you are upset that the Cauldron chose for you?” 

“Feyre explained that mating bonds do not always imply love…”

Lucien wanted to correct her, to tell her that was not the case for his brother. But he knew it was not his place. Perhaps it was not yet love Eris had for Y/N. But Lucien could see it was quickly nearing. Without the threat of Beron, Eris was free to choose his mate – choose to love and protect her. If only Y/N realized that it was not a situation of the Cauldron forcing them together out of spite. 

“This is true,” Lucien couldn’t help but agree. “Throughout history, some mates have despised each other. But you have spent time around Feyre and Rhysand, Nesta and Cassian. Surely you understand the power the bond can mean for others.” 

Y/N didn’t respond, just remained lost in her own head. 

––

Lucien had snuck them into the kitchens that were bustling with energy and cooks. There was a little nook in the corner, out of everyone’s way. It was just big enough so two could eat together discreetly. 

As soon as they were seated, a cook came over with a shy, but warm smile. She appeared to be lesser fae, with almost red skin and bright, golden hair. Her eyes were entirely black though – no irises or pupils to be found. 

She bowed her head to both of them, the gesture taking Y/N aback. In both hands were two plates full of breakfast. She gently placed them down. 

“I will be back with coffee and tea,” she told them almost apologetically. 

“Thank you,” Y/N managed to say before the cook scurried out of sight. 

Y/N looked to Lucien with a questioning gaze.

“There are many who wish to meet the legendary witch who rid the court of Beron Vanserra.” 

Y/N scoffed. “I hardly even helped. I was more in the way than anything. The winds tell me it was you, Eris, and your mother who truly ended him.” 

Lucien’s face turned serious as he said, “If you think my brother could have found the courage to face Beron without you, then you truly do not understand your importance here.”

The cook returned, holding two giant mugs in each hand with impressive finesse. In one set was coffee and in their other appeared to be earl grey tea. 

Lucien gave a nod and looked into her eyes as he said, “Thank you, Marwyna.” 

Even with her red skin, she seemed to be blushing at such attention. 

“Yes, thank you. It looks delicious,” Y/N also urged. 

The two of them ate without conversation. If it weren’t for the bustling of the kitchens they sat in, there would’ve been complete silence between the two. 

Lucien could tell something had been struck in Y/N’s mind and she had no retreated there, thinking and thinking and thinking. 

It wasn’t until both of their plates were nearly clean when she finally spoke. 

“I make him weak,” Y/N breathed. “I am just a mortal. I could so easily be used against him. It would be better if I….if I just d-d-disappeared.” 

Lucien watched Y/N, reading her face to see that she truly believed the words she spoke.

But it would not be him that could make her realize how wrong she was. He would need to have a long conversation with Eris. Only his brother could make Y/N understand how important she was – to him, to Autumn Court. 

So, all Lucien stead was, “There is nothing weak about you, Y/N.” 

She blinked in surprise at his declaration. 

“Now if we are finished eating and feeling sorry for ourselves, I think a nice walk around the gardens would do us well.” 

A whisper of a smirk showed on Y/N’s lips as she nodded. 

—🍁—🍁—🍁—

“That is all for today,” Eris announced to his table of advisors as he stood. 

He could sense everyone’s mental exhaustion. But mostly he could feel is own.

There was…much to be repaired in Autumn Court. Beron ruled with fear and without any mercy, and it would take a lot to undo such philosophies. 

His mother sat to his right and gave him a sympathetic look as the fae bowed their heads and slowly took their leave from the great hall. 

However, Leonora stayed behind. 

Eris had already grown exhausted with his High Lord duties. Though he had prepared for centuries to have such power, nothing could’ve prepared him for the toll it took on his mind and body. 

Leonora waited for them to be left alone before she spoke. 

Then she subtly nodded her head to the other end of the hall that led to a balcony that oversaw the courtyard below. 

Eris held out his arm for his mother before moving. 

She squeezed his arm to comfort him. “You cannot change this Court overnight, Eris.” 

“We are moving too slowly,” he argued. 

Leonora smiled. “I know you have patience, for you waited centuries to for this opportunity. But you must still practice that same patience to mold Autumn Court for the good of its denizens.” 

As they walked onto the balcony, Eris was hit with the fresh, brisk air of autumn. The sun was nearing the horizon as it set for the day.

It was common for mist and fog to linger in this court.

And today’s dusk was no different, leaving a haunting feeling to the courtyard below. 

When Eris looked over the edge of the railing, he froze. 

Below were his acclaimed smoke hounds. 

Everyone in the Forest House feared them. They did not take kindly to anyone that wasn't their master. Because they were feared for good reason: trained to hunt and kill – if ordered. They only tolerated their handlers by command of Eris, since he could not solely take care of them himself – especially now that he was High Lord. Even his mother was careful around them. They’d never attack her, but they were by no means fond of the Lady of Autumn either.

But below him, the pack was surrounding Y/N, who sat on the ground as they all wagged their tails, fighting each other to lick her. 

Two pups from the most recent litter were cuddled on Y/N's lap, as she giggled from all the affection the adult hounds gave her.  

Then Eris spotted Lucien a few yards away from Y/N, with a look of exasperation. Most of his childhood Lucien spent trying to win over his brother’s smoke hounds. They only grew to tolerate him, never showing him acceptance or affection. 

Any time Lucien so much as shifted his weight, the hounds would interpret it as him trying to get closer to Y/N, and they would all let out a warning growl.

It made Lucien roll his eyes. And Eris swore he heard his youngest brother mutter, “Stupid, overprotective mutts. Of course you would like her…” 

“Seems like your hounds have brought your mate some joy,” Leonora hummed as she also looked down at the sight with a knowing smile. 

Eris couldn’t deny how much it warmed his heart. 

Perhaps they remembered Y/N from that dreadful day he found her in the forest. Or perhaps they could also sense that Y/N was their master’s mate. 

—

“There is so many of them!” Y/N giggled as the hounds kissed her face, tickling her. 

“They will not even let me pet them and look at you!” Lucien called out bitterly. 

Then a whistle pierced the air. 

The pack of one dozen dogs immediately retreated, forming a straight line, like little soldiers. 

Y/N sat straight and twisted to see that they were now facing Eris, who had stepped into the courtyard and stood straight with his hands clasped behind my back. 

She also jumped to her feet. For some reason, she felt like she had been caught doing something mischievous. But she still had the two puppies in each hand. Clearly, they were too young to know the same commands as the others. 

Eris walked further into the courtyard. “I see you have met my smoke hounds.”

Y/N quickly, but gently, put the two puppies on the ground. But as soon as she let them go, they looked up at her and started whining. 

Eris looked at the two handlers, who had been standing watch, and then at his brother.

“Leave us,” he commanded politely, but firmly. 

Lucien glared at his eldest brother. But still followed his command, giving Y/N a polite nod before also leaving the courtyard. 

Then it was just Y/N, Eris, and his hounds. 

Y/N, still thinking like she was caught doing something wrong, immediately stuttered out, “L-Lucien and I were just going for a walk when we came upon your handlers and the dogs. They approached me! I didn’t mean to disrupt them.”

Eris finally smirked at her. “You seem to be under the impression that I plan on scolding you.”

Y/N blinked. “Well…I…yes.” 

Eris wondered what he had to do to make his mate realize she could never do anything to upset him so pettily. 

He looked at his hounds and said, “Effrenate.” 

The hounds relaxed and all went to greet their master with wagging tails. 

“Animals seem to have a certain draw to you…” Eris noted as he kneeled to greet his dogs with pets and affection. 

“Most witches have a connection to that of nature,” Y/N mumbled, almost as if she were embarrassed by this certain trait. 

“So you have bewitched my hounds?” Eris asked with playfulness in his eyes. 

“Of course not,” she quickly answered with a huff, as she picked up the two puppies again and walked toward their master. 

“Do you have names for them all?” Y/N asked. 

“Of course.” His gaze went up to the two in her hand. “That is Aspen and Brutus.” 

Both puppies tails wagged even harder at their names being called out. Y/N smiled down at them when she noticed it. 

Then he went around and listed off the rest of the names.

“Now that I know they are all so fond of you,” Eris began. “Perhaps I should leave a few of them to guard you during your stay.” 

“I wouldn’t mind the company. But is my safety really at such risk here?” 

“I should hope not,” Eris answered lowly. “Though it would ease my guilt from leaving you alone for such long periods of time.” 

“You are a High Lord. You have more important matters than entertaining me. Though I hope you start to take pity on Lucien and dismiss his duties as my personal jester.” 

Eris smiled at her subtle jab toward his brother. 

His smiles were rare before. But now there was brightness there that Y/N doubted existed before Beron’s demise. 

He was so handsome. Not that it hadn’t been the first thing Y/N noticed when she had met Eris officially in the Night Court. But Y/N would not be surprised if the power of being a High Lord somehow enhanced his looks.  

Eris’ amber eyes almost glow with a warmth that only ever seemed to be directed toward her. And his cloak-like jacket fit his body perfectly, showing off his posture and strong presence. He would immediately be noticed in any room he walked into.

“You should never hide your smile,” Y/N blurted out before she could stop herself.

Her eyes widened in embarrassment when she realized what she had just said aloud.

“Excuse me,” she quickly added. “I should not say such things so carelessly.” 

But Eris ignored her apology. “Whatever smiles you see are your doing.” 

Y/N's face warmed at his implication. 

But then something dark suddenly clouded her face. “I should return to my rooms.”

Eris stood up from his dogs. “Will you not join me for dinner?” 

Y/N carefully placed the two puppies in Eris’ grasp and only looked at them as she answered, “I would like to eat dinner alone in my rooms, if that is alright.” 

“O-Of course,” was all Eris could manage to say back. 

What would he do instead? Force her to have dinner with him? Is that not what Tamlin did when Feyre was imprisoned in Spring Court? Or at least, that is what Eris had heard. 

Had he said something to upset her? 

“Your training,” Eris called out before Y/N could fully escape the courtyard. 

She turned to him, brow wrinkled with clear confusion. 

“Do you wish to continue your training?” Eris clarified. 

Even though it was just the two of them, Y/N still looked around the courtyard as if she would find another person Eris could possibly be talking to. 

“I would,” she finally answered slowly. 

“I will assign my Weapons Master to train with you tomorrow. He shall meet you here.” 

Y/N opened her mouth to protest. 

“Before you say some nonsense about not wanting to be a bother,” Eris continued before she could speak. “It would bring me great peace to know you are keeping up with your training.”

She just watched him for a moment. 

Eventually she nodded, and said, “Tomorrow then.”

––––––

*for those curious, the breed I used to reference Eris' smoke hounds is a Dogo Argentino. (I know most people imagine a grey hound, but they look like rats to me and I like this breed more. And they seem more badass anyways.)

Please write me a book report, comment, send me a message. They make me happy and keep me writing. Be like @pancakefancake.

Chapter XVIII

[briarberrythornedhart]

Near Drowned in Amber

BriarberyHartfield Published:2024-04-09

Summary:

Claudia had moved to Hawkins, Indiana when Dustin was in fourth grade. But it wasn’t the first time she’d been there.

🦋

An observant person could spot that Claudia Henderson visibly jumped and cringed/winced every time she heard someone mention ‘Eddie Munson’.

Anyone who knew Claudia well might interpret this as fear for Dustin’s safety or worry that Dustin would be associated with Edward Munson - who was as good as accused of murder.

But that wasn’t really what was going on in Claudia head, not at all.

It was the surname 'Munson' that got the big reaction.

It made her think of a sweltering Indiana summer 15 years ago. It made her want to find a pack of Virginia Slims (when she hadn’t smoked in yes 15 years) and a light beer or two … and take a very cold shower.

It made her think of Al Munson’s gifted hands. His stamina. What it felt like to sit in his lap on his long legs in that dive bar he loved, and have her hair played with and be felt up when no one was (probably) looking.

And most of all she thought of Al’s lips. Warm kisses you felt for hours afterward.

🦋

In the summer of 1970 Claudia was working in Indianapolis, she was studying to be a RN and working at the Methodist hospital connected to the University.

Al Munson had come in one night shift busted up bad, but salvageable. A bar fight he said. ‘Defending a lady’s honor’ he said.

From the start he called Claudia, ‘Butterfly’ and ‘Sweetheart’. He flirted with her outrageously when she bandaged him up and had been wildly handsy for a man who’d nearly bled out and was on an IV.

His eyes were the prettiest she’d ever seen. The lashes that lowered when he flirted. The wink that hit her with deadly accuracy.

They looked violet in the hospital light when she checked on him every day.

They turned to amber when she saw him in the sun and she’d nearly drowned in them - there in the parking lot - when he leaned in to kiss her. A token of my gratitude, he said.

She finally saw that his eyes were changeable, mottled tortoiseshell (like his illegal guitar pick) when she agreed to go out on a date with him. They never seemed just plain brown...

One week of generous sex that blew her mind and sweetness that seemed true and natural as breathing, she thought maybe he’d settle down with her and get serious but he was never that.

They always used condoms.

Always.

Except that one time, which she never really regretted.

She loved being a mother even if she never saw Al Munson again.

She only saw Al in Dustin’s small resemblances. The curly brown hair, the cheeky confidence, and the pretty eyes.

When she took the test and got a positive, Claudia tracked Al to a house in Hawkins, Indiana. A strange little town.

She found out that Al was in and out of prison (in again at present) and he’d been married to another woman the whole time, that he had a curly haired little boy named Eddie just five years old. A little boy who didn’t deserve his life blown to hell because Claudia couldn’t resist big amber-brown eyes and too good to be true lies.

🦋

So, Claudia found a steady man with a steady job and married that man before he could do the math.

When Dustin and his buddy Steven Harrington brought Eddie Munson to Claudia’s house he was busted up worse than Al had been, but just as salvageable.

Dustin said it was coyotes? Steven said it was earthquakes?? They were both clearly lying. But it didn’t matter. This was Dustin’s brother. And family was important.

So she got out her first-aid kit and got to work.

[dyvimwhitehart]

all the skeletons you hide

A dark power doesn’t automatically mean a dark hand. He knew this long before meeting the Spellbinder, but seeing her wield the same magic as the Shadow Queen in such a noble way only cemented his beliefs further. or, The Wizard and Dyvim Whitehart find themselves at a dark kitchen table, unable to sleep the night before traveling to the Kondha Desert. READ ON A03 FOR ADDITIONAL COMMENTS.

Dyvim wakes up with his hand instinctively placed on the hilt of his sword.

Immediately, he looks for a Goliath. An Apiary guard. A mantis wielding her scythe. Any kind of bug to accompany the chittering in his ear, but there’s nothing. The room is empty, save for him and the bed in which he lays. A moment passes before he begins fiercely rubbing at his eyes to come back to the present. 

That damned chittering is still there. 

Dyvim pulls himself from bed, moving slowly across the floor to what he assumes is a window. There is a sliver of dark orange light peeking from behind a curtain. Carefully, he lifts it— anticipating the worst. What he’s met with is a limited view of two mantises battling a block or two away under the dim sky. 

It hits him then, all at once: he and the Spellbinder are in the city of Sardonyx. 

Under the request of both Zaltanna and Ezekiel the Lucent, Zarozinia the Deathsong had arranged for them to stay in an unoccupied home (its owners having all moved to the Hive) for the night to conserve energy before breaching the Kondha Desert at sunrise. 

The chittering is a result of the city’s now-uncovered Fifth Column members clashing with those loyal to the Umbra Legion. Such battles would not have been possible without the Spellbinder’s good work. Dyvim drops the curtain, briefly wondering if she’s succeeded so far in sleeping through the night. He can’t think of anyone who deserves a quick rest more. 

But, if he had to pick a runner up for that position, he’d pick himself. 

“By Mourningsword,” he murmurs. “Pull yourself together,” 

Before waking, he’d been trapped in that tomb again, only this time he was wide awake. As his fists pounded against the amber that encased him, the bees taunted him from above, their eyes beadier and crueler than he remembered. They were joined then by the Broodmother, who uttered no words and opted instead to scream at a pitch so loud he thought he might go deaf. Her warped voice grew more and more hysteric the harder he worked to free himself. 

And then he was running down the Moon Cliffs at full speed. His armor, however, was so heavy he began to sag to the ground. One limb at a time, Dyvim fell to the dirt, his head the last thing to remain unbowed before dropping into the sand. He continued to try and scramble despite this, all-too aware of the sound of a Goliath gnashing its pincers in the distance, ready to tear him apart in the name of the Shadow Queen. In the distance, the Eclipse Tower began to crumble into the lake. 

But soon he came to in a cell. All around him, the Broken Tower shook with what he could only justify as some kind of earthquake. Roze the Mousehunter, by name, paid no attention to him this time. This blossomed not hope, but deep confusion within him. As he stepped to the edge of his prison, fingers wrapping around the bars, he saw her far across the room moving at an absolutely erratic pace. Once his ears caught up with the rest of his body, he heard it: the unmistakable sound of a Burrower wailing for help, accompanied by the repeated strike of a scythe. 

Finally, when he thought he could go back no further in his journey, he was a statue. He stood still in the Silent Market, accompanied only by the others who had been turned to stone. Who had failed to escape when the Shadow Queen’s dark magic swept over their land. His ancestors were safe, but they would bear no heroic descendant. And the more he attempted to move, to scream— the quieter things became. 

Awake now, he takes special care to listen to his breathing. 

Though he is proud to be the sworn sword of the king sent across the sea, Dyvim can’t help but wonder if simply being in Sardonyx had triggered such horrific scenes. Then again, this isn’t an uncommon occurrence. It's just one he’d rather have an explanation for. That makes it easier to press on. 

He remembers then, a hand to his chest to feel his heartbeat, that he’d purposefully fallen asleep with his armor on. Call it a force of habit from the nights he and the Spellbinder would spend camping in caves and at the bases of trees. Though he is fortified, he lacks comfort, and one glance in the direction of his bed confirms to him that he won’t be falling back under anytime soon. 

His nose twitches. His stomach growls. He wonders if those traitorous mantises left any food behind. 

With his sword still at the ready, Dyvim gingerly opens the door to the common area, anticipating an equally quiet scene. What he finds is a candle on the kitchen table, still burning. Curious, he approaches it. A sheet of paper is illuminated by the light. Before he can make out the symbols scrawled upon it, he hears a soft, yet concerned voice. 

“Dyvim?” 

He looks up to see the Spellbinder’s silhouette approaching. The closer she gets, the easier it is to make out her face. Her dark brows are knit in what could be interpreted as frustration, maybe even anger— but Dyvim knows her well enough to see the worry in her eyes. To avoid intruding, he takes a step back from her work. 

“Forgive me. I thought you may be asleep,” 

“And I thought the same of you,” she says simply. 

“Then it appears we both thought wrong. I think that makes us even, don’t you?” 

He thinks he sees the flicker of a smile ghost across her face as she takes her seat. 

“May I sit?” 

“Of course,” 

A sense of relief floods him as he pulls another chair out. Not that she has the authority to send him back to bed, but he’d be disappointed if she didn’t want his company. And that disappointment alone would’ve at least been enough to send him to the other end of the room. 

They sit in silence for a moment. He watches intently as she waves a hand, causing a pen to rise into the air. She continues her notetaking in this hands-off way, a small section of brunette hair cascading from the braid she hasn’t bothered to fix in hours. It frames the one side of her face sweetly, accentuated by the candlelight. 

Its been a long road to this point. Dyvim admitted to himself ages ago that he felt some kind of yearning when he saw her. Those feelings have little place in their current set of affairs, however. It would be deeply unfair of him to unload that on her when her plate is so unimaginably full already. 

Still, in moments like this, his courtly nature almost falters. They’re hidden away from the world they have to save. If not for the sparring on their doorstep, maybe it could all melt away in the depth of her eyes. 

“What are you sketching?” he asks, a selfish attempt to hear her voice, to delve into her thoughts. 

Her gaze reaches him for a moment before returning to her work. “It's not so much sketching as it is… studying.” 

“Ah, well then, may I ask what you’re studying?” 

She hesitates, the pen hovering in midair for a moment. 

“Shadow magic,” 

Amber doesn’t so much as slide the paper toward him as she does move her arm in a way that he can see it if he wants to. With the added context, he recognizes the Shadow symbol immediately, accompanied by what he thinks is the symbol for Necromancy. He’s seen her draw and cast it many times before. 

She seems like she’s waiting for him to say something, like she’s holding her breath. Dyvim keeps from pouring over the paper and gives a nod. 

“Its been some time now since you captured the Eclipse Tower. How are you feeling?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, I’m not a spellbinder myself. Maybe I’m just making an assumption here, but I’d imagine wielding such powerful magic has somewhat of a physical and mental impact. Especially…” 

“Dark magic?” 

He blinks, not wanting to imply anything. There simply isn't any other way to put it. But a dark power doesn’t automatically mean a dark hand. He knew this long before meeting the Spellbinder, but seeing her wield the same magic as the Shadow Queen in such a noble way only cemented his beliefs further. One of his ears twitches, and he shakes his head. 

“I didn’t mean—” 

“It is dark magic, you’re correct. That’s why it’s important for me to seek to understand it further.” 

There’s an unspoken end to her words that hang heavy in the air. Something akin to… so I don’t end up corrupt and vile like Morganthe . It occurs to him then that he may have a deeper faith in her than she has in herself. Dyvim sits up a little taller, each second they spend together making his role in all this clearer. He’s always been there to stand beside her, even when he didn’t think she needed him. Now it’s becoming apparent that she does. Not because she’s weak, but because she’s a tad too strong. 

His eyes are still heavy, but he fears another chapter of the nightmare: venturing to the end of this world just to lose her to the destruction of them all. 

“You are still a student, yes? Back in your home world?” 

“I am,” she begins writing again. “But not a classic one. My studies are more… field work based. I’m rarely ever in a classroom. Hence, well, my being here now.” 

“Are your teachers reasonably lenient with you? Considering all the world-saving,” he attempts to joke. 

“Well, my Necromancy professor usually can’t keep track of the days of the week, let alone my work. And there’s one who is on the Council of Light that guides me, so I suppose she reports back to the rest,” Before he can respond, she speaks again, causing his ears to jump. “They don’t offer Shadowmancy at Ravenwood,” 

“Because it’s a dark magic?” 

She wiggles her fingers in his direction, causing the pen to spike up and down. “It’s entirely forbidden,” 

“So what shall they do when you are set to return to them?” 

“You say that so optimistically,” 

“I am optimistic,” 

Amber shrugs. “I guess I would have a bone to pick with them if they refused to let me graduate after all I’ve done. But I don’t seek their approval, necessarily. I just seek… whatever I have to do to stop the Song of Creation from being sung. And if that means becoming a Shadowmancer…” 

She has little choice now, it appears. Actually, it sounds like she’s always had little choice. This Council of Light she speaks of does most of her decision making. In a way, she is their sworn sword. Perhaps it’s an honor for her like it is for him under King Pyat. But when he speaks of the king, he never sounds so exhausted. 

“So how does it feel? You never answered me,” He pushes the envelope only because she’s been more open tonight so far than ever. Dyvim blames it on the combination of fatigue, duty, and candlelight. 

“You’re asking me a lot of questions tonight,” 

The knight in him wants to step back, to bid her goodnight alongside an apology. But the heart in him… 

“Would you rather I not?” 

“Why are you interested? If you aren’t a spellbinder yourself,” the word rolls off her tongue almost teasingly. Perhaps he’s taking this more seriously than she is. 

“Because you are my… companion. And I, yours. And if this weighs heavily upon you, I wish to help you carry the burden. It’s no secret to me how those who occupy this land view the Shadow. It’s unfair of them to view you similarly when you are only here to help,”

It’s not until he finishes rambling that he sees the small smirk across her face. She brushes that loose section of hair back behind her ear before returning to her work. He doesn’t dare to wonder if the warmth across her cheeks is simply heat from the fire, or… 

“It makes me dizzy when I use it. Or when I’m struck by it. Like I’ve got a cloudy head, or I’m about to pass out…” she begins tracing the Shadow symbol again upon her paper. “The better I get at it, the less it impacts me. But it does feel heavier than my Death magic. My trip through the Eclipse Tower wasn’t exactly relaxing. Sofia Darkside is an exceptional, but brutal teacher,” 

His skin itches, still touched somewhat by the tomb the bees had placed him in— the coffin he’d been cheering her on from, whether she knew it then or not. 

“You have an exceptional gift,” Dyvim continues to speak before she can accuse him of buttering her up extra. “All heroes are powerful, but not all of them are smart. That’s what sets you apart. Your desire to understand and respect your magic,” 

“I’ve been trusted with it. It’s only my responsibility to do so,” 

A task many have failed, he thinks. His desire to bring up the Shadow Queen again, however, is nonexistent. 

Apparently tired of having the heat on her, Amber sets her pen down completely and turns to face him. “What about you?” 

“What about me are you asking?” 

“You know what’s keeping me awake. It’s only fair that you tell me why you’re up. If we’re to stay even, that is.”

Dyvim shakes his head, scooting his chair back slightly. “Ah, well, before you captivated me, I was looking for a midnight snack,” 

Her eyes widen, giving him the impression that he may have stood up a bit too hastily. He glances from side to side before realizing his sword is still in his hand. As if she can’t see it, he sets it down on the table and turns to head for the other end of the kitchen. 

“I suppose those mantises wouldn’t have good enough taste to keep some aged cheese around, eh?” 

The Burrower knight opens a cabinet, nose twitching wildly, searching for a scent. The Spellbinder continues watching him from her seat with no intention of moving. 

“Dyvim,” 

“I suppose we could try our luck with the market in the morning, stock up on food for the desert. It would be horrible to end up with only the meat-eaters’ menu available.” 

“Dyvim, I get them too,” 

He stalls then before an open drawer. Her eyes bore into his back, rendering his armor useless. Slowly, he turns to face her, ears drooping and eyes soft. She’s similarly vulnerable, a state normally so difficult to unearth. 

“You do?” 

Amber laughs, though there’s no real amusement in it. “I do. It would be concerning if I didn’t when you consider… what I’ve seen. What I’ve done,” 

Dyvim wonders how many people would guess that about her. A Death wizard’s heart being set to race in the dark doesn’t sound right. And she’s so composed, so straight-faced and unafraid. He’s not unwise enough to fall into such a trap, but can see many interpreting her as above such a thing. But she suffers those nightmares face-to-face so they won’t have to, those endless people she’s saved. 

Like her, he suffers for generations of people he will never meet. The long dead, the never born, the gone too soon— any and all of the Burrower ghost statues that give the Silent Market its name. The misery of his people compounds on his brain and, on occasions like this, keep him up at night. 

“I didn’t mean for you to hear,” his tail falls between his legs. 

“And I didn’t mean to dance around it. But I sleep with my wand on me. In times like this, it’s hard to tell what’s real and what isn’t,” 

“Until you wake up,” he glances at her face, at each feature in the dim light. “And even then, it takes a moment.” 

The Spellbinder nods. Her eyes are weighed down by hours of rest she hasn’t gotten. Whether she even tried to sleep or not is a mystery to him, but he approaches the table again, hand nearing the base of the candle. 

“Can I help you, Spellbinder? In any way? Perhaps if I keep watch, like before,” 

“You mean sit out here?” 

“Wherever you need me. At the table, the foot of your bed…” 

She stands, looking around the room before wordlessly crossing it. Dyvim watches her take a seat on a couch beside another window bleeding dark orange light from the Sardonyx sky. 

“Or we could both sit here. And I’ll… try to close my eyes,” 

Dyvim picks his sword up and joins her. At first, he takes the far side, but as Amber settles her legs on the latter end, he scoots closer so she’ll have a place to rest her head. She accepts his shoulder despite the armor covering it. He’s stoic to start, but upon growing accustomed to her weight, exhales and sinks further into the plush of the cushions himself. 

They don’t speak beyond that. There isn’t much to say, or much they feel they can do without inviting complication. Instead, she does just as she said she would, shutting her eyes and focusing on leveling out her breathing. 

Like this, she looks cherubic. She looks the antithesis of what the public would assume an apprentice of dark magic to be. She looks so tired, so young. 

And Dyvim supposes he is the same, though he stays up the rest of the night, hand ghosting her forearm though his sword sits beside him.

[rainbowchewynuggets]

TMA Encore #14a

The earth is crushingly heavy. Jon has no room to expand his lungs, nor any air to breathe. His lungs are on fire. He could try to struggle his way out. A knowing voice in the back of his mind tells him that there is a way out. But the voice also says that every movement he makes presses on someone else trapped nearby in the trench of soil. The thought of squeezing the life out of them to grant him a feeling of agency makes him sick. It could be someone he cares about. Someone who doesn’t deserve it. Tense brittle bodies press on him between layers of dirt as he sinks further and further. He keeps his eyes screwed shut as grit creeps through his nose and ears.

The sand slides off of part of his elbow, and his skin prickles in open air. His heart quickens. It could be an escape, or at least a pocket of air. Should he move? Can he risk it? He seriously considers, but too late. His arm is quickly entrenched again.

His blood pressure builds, pressing on his throat.  A strained grunt escapes him. The sand around him is shifting, pressing harder. He pulls a little tighter, but the pressure prods at his arm. Something cold grabs him and pulls. He resists, but the force is overwhelming.

The next thing he knows, he’s on the ground, staring up into a pale familiar face. It looks like Martin–if Martin had been left out in the cold. His colorless skin doesn’t move an inch, staring down with featureless scrutiny. There’s almost something hostile in it.

Jon tears his arm out of the hand that still holds it and scrambles to his feet. He brushes off the dirt and lets himself stabilize, sizing up his rescuer. This Martin mirrors his gaze. Then, the Martin steps back and walks away. Jon says nothing. His throat is too dry, anyway. He takes in his surroundings.

He’s standing on a piece of flooring beside what used to be part of the prison exterior. Martin just pulled him out through a window. The sand shifts down solidly as if the window weren’t there. The area around him is dark and hazy like a humid cave. Dingy light trickles in through the ceiling high above and quickly diffuses. It’s hard to see beyond the assembled chunks of stone that clutter his immediate eyeline.

Jon follows cautiously behind Martin to a patch of amber light over mesh wire–only because Martin proves that it’s sturdy enough to stand on. Jon swallows and starts to ask a question when Martin shushes him. He looks upward. So does Jon, reluctantly.

A shaft above them looks like it was burrowed out through layers of wreckage. Something long, black, and spindly blots out the light for a moment, accompanied by echoes of screeching metal. Bits of rock rain down around them.

Martin heads off in the opposite direction as the creature above them. Jon follows. This Martin doesn’t seem as intimidating as he first thought. Mostly just tired and fidgety. Still, he doesn’t follow too close. He tries to get Martin’s attention, to ask him questions only the real Martin would know. The man only returns a quick glance back at Jon before continuing.

The atmosphere finally lightens, revealing a room filled with fog. Ghosts of bulky forms and tilting pillars pass on either side of them. A far away clamor overhead gets Jon’s attention. Martin stops as it grows closer.

Be ready to run, Jon tells himself wearily.

The scraping of metal hinges and breaking of heavy objects compete to be heard over a monstrous voice that shakes Jon to his core. Another voice answers, but he can’t understand it past the prevailing sound of tumbling boulders and spokes. Jon throws himself back as they arrive from out of the haze above them and break cleanly through the mesh into the void below. Martin makes no adjustment to his position, his head turned skyward to face the falling debris.  

Jon sees an iron rod the width of his thumb bury itself in the front of Martin’s shoulder. Martin stifles a yelp and manages to stay on his feet. He wraps a hand around it and removes it. The bar clatters loudly on the mesh. Only then does he turn to Jon, who is sat down, stupefied. Open confusion crosses Martin’s face.

Martin: Jon? You’re alive?

He asks as if seeing him for the first time. Jon’s jaw moves somewhat, unable to make words. Martin awkwardly slaps a hand over the wound in his shoulder.

Martin: Don’t freak out! Don’t freak out! I can explain.

The detached demeanor is gone so fast that Jon can’t help feeling a little slapped. He snaps up and charges over.

Jon: Martin, what the hell?!

Martin: It’s not as bad as it looks, I promise.

Jon ignores him and tears his cold hand away to see the puncture. To his utter surprise, he finds nothing there. Not even a blood stain.

Martin sheepishly explains his method of subverting the Fears’ influence in their new domain. As long as he’s not afraid, he can’t really be harmed. Jon doesn’t like to think that’s right, remembering the cuts on his arms that aren’t there anymore.

Jon: That’s insane.

Martin: Yeah, but it’s working.

Jon pushes his hair back. He does his best to express his bafflement and exhaustion, but he looks nothing but relieved. Martin stifles a smile.

Martin: Uh, actually, could you do me a huge favor? I think there’s one in my back.

Jon turns Martin around and sees another rod sticking out. He cringes.

Jon: Oh, god.

He shuts his eyes and pulls. It hits the floor with another loud clang.

~

Tim and Sasha want to find a way out.

They want to find Jon and Martin first.

They search.

Sasha finds a new area.

The way is locked.

Tim finds a way to open it.

They search.

Something terrible happens.

They can’t continue.

They go back.

Tim and Sasha want to find a way out.

They want to find Jon and Martin first.

They search.

Tim finds a hidden passage.

Something terrible happens.

They continue.

Sasha finds a new area.

Sasha hears Jon and Martin nearby.

Something terrible happens.

They go back.

Tim and Sasha want to find a way out.

They search.

Tim and Sasha get separated.

Tim gets injured.

They go back.

Tim and Sasha want to find a way out.

Something terrible happens.

Sasha gets injured.

Tim gets injured.

They go back.

Tim and Sasha want to find a way out.

They go back.

They go back.

They go back.

They go back.

They go back.

Tim and Sasha want to find Jon and Martin.

They move forward.

Sasha finds a new area.

The way is locked.

Tim finds a new area.

Something terrible happens.

They go back.

Tim and Sasha want to find Jon and Martin.

They move forward.

The way is locked.

Sasha finds a way around.

They continue.

Tim finds a new area.

Something terrible happens.

They continue.

Sasha finds a new area.

Something terrible happens.

They get separated.

They continue.

They find each other.

Sasha finds a hidden passage

Tim finds a new area.

Something terrible happens.

They go back.

Tim and Sasha want to find Jon and Martin.

They move forward.

~

The hellscape is silent and eerie. Everything feels far away, leaving Jon and Martin to talk quietly to each other as the area around them grades from mangled prison to mangled tunnels.

Jon recounts his ordeal being chased by the voices of their friends in the concrete forest. The coercion of the whole exercise is obvious upon retelling. He apologizes for being suspicious of Martin all the same. Martin listens solemnly and accepts. He, himself, had chosen to be cagey earlier rather than risk giving Not-Jon any information he didn’t already have.

Jon: You thought I was a spy?

Martin: Kind of.

Martin tells Jon about the fake death snare in the entry area. It’s sickening to hear, yet Jon finds himself hanging on every word. He stops himself from asking for details, not trusting the desire.

Jon: You said you haven’t seen either of them since?

Martin: I looked for a long, long time. There’s just no sign at all.

Jon sighs worriedly.

Martin: I’m starting to think it’s that way on purpose. I tried to go back the way I came, but the arrangement of this place is nonsense. When you just popped out in front of me as I was exploring, I found it… suspect.

Jon nods.

Martin: I’ve mostly been trying to get the lay of the land and track Not-Jon’s movements. It’s weird. It doesn’t seem like he’s actually all that focused on us. As long as I’m steadfast, everything mostly leaves me alone. It’s--I dunno--reactionary. Like he’s just leaving the place on autopilot while he does other things.

Jon: He sought me out.

Martin: Well, he doesn’t like you.

Jon: True.

Martin: When he’s not trying to get away from Not-Martin, he goes somewhere up in the very top. Like there’s something he wants. I mean, I don’t have a full picture of what the apocalypse is supposed to look like, but doesn’t this all feel shaky? Small-scale, y’know?

Jon: I suppose.

Martin: Based on the arguing I’ve overheard, I think he’s stuck in his own domain. The rest of the world is out there, and he’s trying to dig his way out. That’s why the walls keep shifting down.

A thought immediately stirs in Jon’s mind. Something about the tunnels collapsing. It struggles to form fully, but it compels him to agree with Martin.

Jon: It might explain why he’s not after either of us at the moment. Kind of a poor omniscient, if you ask me. Unless he’s still planning something.

Martin and Jon decide that if they can’t find Tim and Sasha, they’ll have to free them from the hellscape before anything happens to them. Martin has observed that Not-Martin can’t get Not-Jon to stop, only distract him temporarily. He summarizes the conversation he had with him before–about how their mortality functions and the possibility that Not-Jon is going to have to die. Jon is magnetized to the idea. He replies that Not-Jon might actually be vulnerable by that logic. He could see into the creature somewhat as it stared into him.

It was scared. Really scared.

Not-Jon has been deeply shaken by his transformation. He feels like he’s losing all control as everything spirals back to the outcome he was trying to avoid. He knows he’s on the cusp of leaving Not-Martin with all the hunger because he’s already so weak. However, he refuses to give up on salvaging the situation. He can’t be stopped, but he could be killed.

Martin concedes. It doesn’t sound like a guarantee, but it’s better than what they had before. Neither of them are reluctant to put Not-Jon out of his misery at this point. They’ll have to figure out what to do about Not-Martin, though.

Their surroundings grow narrower and clearer as they reach pathways leading upward.

~

Sasha: Think you can make it?

Tim: I think I’d be better off growing an extra foot first, but I’ll give it a try.

Tim takes a step back, sprints, and clambers up a plaster wall nearly twice his size. He scrubs his hands against the floor of the next story up and pulls himself over the lip. Sasha jumps to clasp his hand, and he pulls her up to join him.

Tim and Sasha are deep inside the interior of the island. They had lost all concept of direction hours ago. After fighting, fleeing, and clawing their way through gauntlet after gauntlet, they’ve made it to a region where their nightmare encounters are further apart. They take the chance to rest before restarting their search for their Jon and Martin. They need it. Both of them are ragged.

They pause among the shattered halls of the Institute.

Tim: You think he needs a lot of oil for all those arms?

Sasha: I’m sure he does, and I’m sure he’s not using any. My ears are still ringing.

They chuckle.

They had encountered their grotesque warden some time ago. Even now, miles deep in the folds of the enigma, he follows them in spirit. Might as well laugh at it, however difficult. Tim’s idea.

It’s a nice distraction. Neither of them dare think about what comes next. The onslaught of terror had forced them to measure their survival in moments. Looking back at all those moments strung together to bring them this far is elating. But they can’t look ahead. Can’t wonder where all this could possibly lead until they find the boys. It just isn’t practical. Sasha’s idea.

They’re shoved back to their feet before long by the sagging of the ground underneath them. The path ahead continues to sag as it branches upward. Tim and Sasha are hurried to stay ahead of it, having to make their decisions on instinct. Left. Right. Left. Left. The middle one. Right. Left. The warped hallway degrades to exposed wood to paper to a tight ventricle of pulp.

Tim feels his feet lose traction. He careens forward, propelled by Sasha’s body. They jam together in the limp paper tube as the path behind them fully tears away. A thundering mass of paper, then wood, then stone and brick fall inches from the soles of their shoes. The two of them are dumped out as the dust settles.

They don’t go far, landing hard on the pile of brick. The fallen path has exposed their trajectory: a long winding branching track strung back and forth across a deep red cavern. The entire thing, every step since they began their journey, has torn out of its fastenings and now slips down into the gloom. Sasha can only tear her eyes away when she feels Tim nudging her.

The mess of bricks had the fortune to spill out onto an outcropping in a wall that looks like someone made chewed meat out of a building. The paper shaft ahead of them continues, and there are several narrow ridges they could take down to other platforms. But they instead become fixated on part of the wall that came down with the tunnel. It left a craggy cone-shaped hole behind.

As they approach, they can smell fresh air. A twinkle of sunlight peeks in the distance between more layers of rubble. Tim and Sasha instantly dig at the brick and stone. The hole widens marginally. Sediment and iron mix with the fresh air. Just as the hole widens enough to crawl into, the ground under their feet suddenly comes away, as if yanked.

They fall for what feels like years.

Sasha wakes up and finds herself staring ruefully from the bottom of yet another hill. The foulness in the air she had all but forgotten pours heavily in her lungs. Everything hurts, but not as badly as before. She works her way to her feet. Turning, she sees Tim sitting nearby at the edge of the peninsula that apparently caught them in their descent. He’s facing away from her, his shoulders hunched tiredly.

Sasha: Well. That sucked. I guess we’ll get started again.

Tim: We can’t.

She swallows her despair so as not to lose her nerve.

Sasha: We’ve done it once. We can do it twice.

Tim: Sasha, come look at this.

Sasha wills her legs to show her what’s beyond the edge of the cliff.

Tim is staring into an acre-wide pit filled with bodies. Their bodies. Many are broken and torn in obvious ways. The injuries are precisely consistent with their journey so far. He points to a pair among those in the most recent layer. They have bloody fingers.

Sasha is repelled.

Sasha: It’s just a scare. It doesn’t mean anything.

Tim: How’d we survive that fall, Sasha?

Sasha: Come on. The Things upstairs wouldn’t want us dead. We can’t give them anything that way.

He looks at her with urgency, letting the thought he’d been sitting with propel to the surface.

Tim: They’re hardly getting anything from us at all. They want the whole planet. If they kill us and make us into their ghosts, they can send us out to do their dirty work.

Sasha: That’s what Not-Jon is for.

Tim: Maybe he’s not doing it fast enough for them. He may be screwed up like them, but he hates them. He wants to do the right thing, so he tries to stop them from using us. He threw everything at us he could to keep us from getting out, and then showed us the landfill of failed tries when we found a way around him.

Sasha: Or to just stop us from escaping. We almost had it!

Tim: We weren’t supposed to escape! We were supposed to be looking for Jon and Martin! That was the plan, no distractions, right? And it was working. But we couldn’t help ourselves when we saw that opening, could we?

Sasha hesitates.

She can’t deny that he has a point. This isn’t the first time they’ve fallen for a false exit–they should know better. She retraces their route through the paper tunnel. The odds that they wound up at the one part attached to the wall seem uncomfortably slim. More memories surface. Drowning. Crushing. Burning. She had pushed them away before as intrusive thoughts brought on by close calls. She isn’t sure now. How many times, indeed, should they have died by this point?

She desperately wants to argue with him. She wants to prove that she hasn’t already been replaced. The more she searches, the foggier it gets. Tim reads her face.

Tim: I’m not sure, either. But if we’ve come this far to keep them from having their way, we can’t risk it.

Sasha: We shouldn’t even go after Jon and Martin, should we?

Tim frowns.

Sasha buckles to her knees. She and Tim sit in silence.

With nothing else to draw his attention, Tim notices a variance in the color of the ruddy ground. Something plasticky is wedged in the crags just under the cliff. One of the crappy old handheld tape players from the supply closet. He reaches for it, careful not to fall in with the rest of the dolls. It’s heavy. Through the clear plastic window on the front, he finds that it has a cracked cassette inside.

~

Martin and Jon come to an intersection of paths in the wet grey stone that surrounds them. Things are closer and clearer than they have been in a while. Unsettling noise comes from each option, a promise of danger. Martin takes a breath.

Martin: *rhetorically* Any preference?

Jon: *definitively* Second from the right.

Martin looks at him with wider eyes. Jon had told Martin about the glimpses he’d been getting from the Eye, but this is the first time it had done anything but make both of them more nervous.

Martin: You can see where he is?

Jon nods shortly.

Jon: Both of them. They move around, but they’ve been over this way for a while. This is the best way through. Our other options here are… nasty.

Martin considers. Avoiding the nasty stuff kind of defeats his immunity, but he supposes that Jon wouldn’t make it alive. He accepts, and they move on.

They approach the sound of rushing water again. The hollow ends at a T-junction with a giant water pipe. Fluid spews down into a hole that’s been punched into the rock. There are speckles of erosion everywhere.

Jon picks up a long piece of stone from a place where the wall is cracked. He holds it out to the current, and the rock forcefully melts. They both step back.

Jon: I didn’t realize. We should turn around.

Martin: Is there another way through that won’t kill us?

Jon: … No. We can look for something further back.

Martin doesn’t move.

Jon: Martin.

Martin: Well... I was hoping it wouldn’t be this way. Should have known better.

Jon: No. We’re not going in there.

Martin: Jon, we both knew we might not be getting out of this alive. You said yourself that was on the bill from the start.

Jon: I lied! I was never willing to let any of you get hurt. Me? Maybe. But not like this.

Martin. That was before. We’re on Their rules now. Our mortality’s a handicap. And death is-- Well, we... we could use it if we’re not afraid of it, and it’s just about all we’ve got left.

Martin exhales, having successfully dragged himself through the sentence.

Jon: You should be afraid. Not-Martin might act like he’s on the side of reason, but there’s clearly as much wrong with him as the other me. Think about what this could do to you!

The anxiety Martin had been pushing down since the talk in the security chamber boils high in his chest. It isn’t the anger in Jon’s voice that disheartens him but the genuine concern in his face. He is suddenly overwhelmed with a desire to listen. He doesn’t want any of this. He wants someone to tell him it’s okay to stop.

Jon waits, trying to appear resolute.

Martin’s face loses its softness.

Martin: We have to accept it, Jon.

Jon gives in to impulse and decides for him. He takes Martin by the hand and pulls him back the way they came. Martin’s ice cold fingers numb his own.

He refuses to let this get any worse. He searches through the Eye for Tim and Sasha, but it still won’t show him. He tries harder, despite the prickling discomfort. It takes him a minute to realize that his deadened hand is clutching nothing.

Martin isn’t behind him. He’s nowhere that the Eye can see, in all the cavities in the stone around the one Jon is standing in. Jon stares into the rushing acid. 

Could he survive if he jumped? If he mustered the detachment that Martin talked about, maybe he could catch up to him. Save him from whatever he’s about to try to do alone. But he can’t. He knows he can’t. His skin burns. Anger, guilt, and powerlessness rush through him. All he can do is go back and be reabsorbed by the hellscape.

A drop hits his neck with a sizzle. He quickly wipes it away. Another one plinks down on his arm from the eroded stone roof before he can put it down. To Jon’s surprise, the liquid isn’t eating through his skin. It’s evaporating, leaving his skin untouched. It’s so cold here, he hadn’t discerned his temperature growing exceedingly hot. Desolately hot.

The Eye made sense, but not this. He could have been marked–at most–by the door knob, if that even counts here. He shouldn’t be able to use it. It doesn’t work like this. What did he do wrong?

Jon approaches the wall of the passage. He extends a hand, and the cement recedes at the command of the Buried. Jon looks dejectedly at his palm. He can still feel the burning. The grit and filth in his pores. The wind whistling in his ears. The cuts all over. The mortifying terror or being hunted and loathed. He rubs his eyes as a white-hot streak of fire walks across his face.

He has to keep going. Or it will all have been for nothing.

Jon opens a way for himself and steps through.

————

Next

Prev

First

So, I’ve decided on a solution to my second big problem. I’m going to finish posting the text with longer chapters and way less art. Maybe one panel per. Hope that works. Thx! :)

Index

[glassartpeasants]

Crying In The Club .04

Overhaul x F!Reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of past abuse, physical abuse, emotional abuse, sad thoughts

A/N: Decent length i guess. Really just wanted to get this out there before it got lost in the hell that is my drafts

~~~

Nothing changed while you were healing. Overhaul was still a disgusting asshole who only cared about himself and his stupid plan. All he stopped doing was getting physical with you. The verbal was still strong. Calling you all sorts of names, you are surprised Pops hasn’t heard anything yet.

“Couldn’t he have chosen someone else? Am I really so pathetic that he knew I would say yes without a thought? I feel like such a fool. This isn’t fair at all. What did I do to deserve this?” You lay on the ground in your room, staring at your ceiling.

“There has to be something I could do to escape this hell. Every prison has an escapee, right?” You lay on the floor, still thinking to yourself. Maybe you could jump the wall outside? Or jump through a window? Hell, perhaps even crawl through the vents!

Just then, an aggressive knock echoed through your room. Knowing who it is, you immediately sigh as you stand up. Walking towards the door, you open it with an unpleased face.

“What do you want, cocksucker?”

“You’re lucky Pops is nearby, or I’d kill you here and now.”

“You’d be doing me a favor, you fucking virgin.” You try to slam the door on him, but he manages to grab it just in time before it shuts entirely. You could feel your heartbeat fasten, but you didn’t dare give him the satisfaction of seeing you scared.

“Come here (Y/N). Now!” With a slight glance, you see his left hand bare. His white glove was gone, which could only mean one thing. His hand twitched as he looked at you with hatred. If you weren’t scared before, you sure as hell were now. Your life was on the line again, and you knew if you wanted to keep it, you needed to stay away from those hands. Even though you knew you had to be careful, your hatred for him got the better of you.

“No thanks. I don’t want virgin cooties.” You had to hold back a snicker seeing his face. The laughter didn’t last long as he charged full speed at you. His hand is far out enough even to touch you slightly.

You managed to dodge it quickly before booking it out of the room and slamming the door shut to buy you a few seconds. You start running through the hallways, which feel endless while running for freedom. 

If you run fast enough, you can escape out the front door! You could run to the nearest populated area! That dumbass wouldn’t dare try something so open! Freedom was right there. You could almost grab it-

SHINK

Just then, a spike emerged from the ground in front of you. You quickly stop and lift your arm to protect your face. Thankfully you managed to stop quickly, so you didn’t get hurt.

You try to run around the spike quickly before another one appears beside it. Suddenly they appeared all around you. All of them sharp enough to pierce skin. They all point towards your neck, leaving you stuck in place.

“Nowhere to go now, dumb bitch. Really think you're smart, huh? Running towards the nearest and most guarded exit?” The sound of his voice sent shivers down your spine as he stepped closer to you. His amber eyes filled with hatred and rage.

“It was the best chance at escaping, so I don’t know why your so shocked.”

“Listen here, you bitch-”

“Kai? What’s going on here?” By the grace of god, pops showed up just in time to save you. 

“Oh, um, well-” The spikes lowered, and you ran towards pops. You acted even more scared than you originally were.

“We had a small argument, and he started yelling at me! He lost his temper so easily, and it turned into that! I don’t feel safe around him anymore, pops!” You could feel tears brim your eyes. From the fear of earlier and your adrenaline had run out. You could have been an actress with your performance.

“I’m sorry he scared you so. I’ll have a talk with him. Please go to my office and calm down. I’ll be right there.” Doing exactly what he said as you continued to play up the part until pops turned his back to look at Chisaski. When he did, you used both hands to flip off Overhaul as you mouthed ‘fuck you’ as you walked away.

~~~

Overhaul hasn’t talked to you in a few days, and it’d been the happiest few days of your life since you’ve been stuck in this hell. You’ve even got to know more of the precepts. You liked all of them except one. You’ve never met such a kiss-ass in you life. His name was Nemoto, something, but you didn’t really care enough about him to remember it. You much rather talk to the others.

“Hey, Rappa! How are you today so far? Hope Overbitch hasn’t been mean.” You and him both laughed at your shared hatred for him.

“Ah, too busy in a meeting to fight me. Sounds like bullshit if you asked me.”

“He’s just afraid he’s going to lose. What a chicken.” With more shared laughter, it was cut short by a similar voice.

“Rappa, the boss needs you.”

“Ah, come on, Chrono, I’m just talking to the pretty lady.”

“Just go.”

“Ah, whatever. See you later, doll.” Rappa walked away, leaving you and Chrono alone.

“So, how have you been?”

“You’re lucky you're alive, you know? Im astonished that he hasn’t killed you yet.” Wow, way to start a conversation.

“I know. You think he actually might like me with how I'm still alive.” You joke, trying to lighten the mood. 

“It’s probably cause pops likes you. It’s the only reason that makes sense.”

“You think with how much he hates me, he’d let me see other people. But I’ll have to thank pops later for being my saving grace.” You’ll make him his favorite dish cause despite what his son is like, pops was an amazing person.

“I’m not Overhaul, so I wouldn’t know.”

“Why do you call him that? Isn’t he your childhood best friend?”

“Yes, but that’s irrelevant.”

“I think he should treat you with more respect. You do more than he credits you for. This place wouldn’t be as organized as it is without you. And honestly, I prefer the times you’ve cooked over his. At least yours has flavor.” A slight snicker escaped from his mask before going silent again. Turning around, he starts to leave.

“...Thank you.” Just two simple words, and he was gone. Maybe you were too honest? But it was simply the truth. Overhaul didn’t give him all the credit he deserved. Without Chrono, you doubt Overhaul would have gotten where he was.

An urge took over you, but ever since your escape attempt earlier, Overhaul placed fingerprint locks on the doors. And no amount of those ‘spy hacks’ worked. You thought about jumping out of the windows, but they were all locked on the ground floor, and of course, there were no windows in the basement. 

The only other way to get outside was through the vents. But they were high up, and you didn’t know if you could fit/bring things with you since you were afraid he might destroy them if he were ever to find you.

But anything was better than staying here waiting to get killed by a cold-hearted bastard like him.

With that being said, you started walking to your room. You tried to look unsuspicious as possible. You would grab your things, climb into the ceiling vents, and silently crawl throughout the compound to find the nearest vent exit. 

Once you get in your room, you put a few heavy objects in front of it and lock it. Grabbing all the essential things, you manage to fit perfectly into the vents. You just hoped they wouldn’t come elooking for you anytime soon.

~~~

God, how long have you been in here? An hour? Two hours? Why was this so confusing? How hard could it be to find a damn exit?

“You wished to talk, pops?” The sound of Overhaul's voice made you stop moving as you tried to listen to what was being said.

“I wanted to talk to you about your relationship with (Y/N).” You could practically just hear Overhaul’s heart racing. 

“Hmm? What is it you wish to discuss?”

“I’ve noticed that after I walked in on your guys ‘fight,’ you haven’t spoken a word to her. That's not very boyfriend like. A boyfriend communicates with their significant other. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do anything that would insinuate that you two were together.

“Is that so?”

“Yes. I’m starting to think you're paying her to fake a relationship with you. I’m not a stupid man Kai.”

“What can I do to prove I care about her? I would never lie to you, pops.”

“Take her on a date, get her flowers, compliment her. Do things people in relationships do.” You can hear Overhaul sigh before speaking.

“I promise, pops.”

“I trust you, Kai. You can continue your day.” The sound of the door shutting reminded you of the mission you were on.

‘Okay, no more distractions. Gotta get out of here.’

With a few more twists and turns, you could finally see the vent system's exit. You put both hands against the vent cover to the outside before giving it a push with all your strength.

The sound of metal hitting concrete seemed to echo through the vents. You carefully look outside the vent and see you are about on the second/first floor. Either way, it was gonna hurt jumping down.

~~~

“Why hasn’t she left her room? I told her to get ready for a meeting 20 minutes ago. Why isn’t she showing up?!” God, could you be any more irresponsible! Overhaul walked towards the door, trying to hide his anger. Grabbing the handle, he notices that it’s locked.

“What the fuck? Why is it locked? (Y/N) open up!” No matter how hard he tried to hold his temper in, it still spilled over as he destroyed his white glove in order to get rid of the door blocking him from you.

When the door was gone, he saw everything heavy that you could possibly move was placed against the door. Looking around into the now seemingly bare room, he sees the vent open and the cover sitting right beside it.

“Shit! How long has she been in there?!” He starts running towards any and all precepts. Telling them to find you immediately. Leave no vent and room unturned. Search inside and outside. Anything that could find you.

He can’t afford to lose you. Without you, his plans to become the future leader would be lost! He couldn’t choose anyone else cause you already knew too much. Plus, Pops liked you, and if you managed to get Pops in a good mood, then it’ll be even more in his favor. 

It had to be you.

~~~

“Dear god, this city is bigger than I thought.” Your head was spinning as you feared you were going in circles.

While walking around, you notice a bar nearby. Its glowing neon sign pulled you in as you desperately needed social interaction other than men who were working for a man you hate. Who knows, you might meet a female friend here!

Stepping inside the bar, you could smell alcohol and food. It was the cleanest bar you’ve ever seen. Also, the most welcoming. 

People were chatting and seemingly having fun. Looking around, you see an empty booth just calling your name. You sit in it without a second thought, and you let out a sigh. You’ve been walking for forever and just wanted to rest your feet for a little while.

“Hi! Is there anything I can get you, darling?” A waitress stood in front of you and smiled brightly.

“Not right now, at least. But thank you very much, and you have such a pretty smile.” The waitress’s smile grows even wider as she looks at you.

“Aw, thank you! I’ll come back later to see if you changed your mind!” With those words, she walked away with a bit of a skip in her step. 

‘She seems sweet. Maybe I can ask for her name later?’ Just then, you heard footsteps approaching you. Thinking it was the waitress again, you turned your head in that direction.

“Hi, gorgeous. What's a girl like you doing out by yourself?” Snapping your head in the other direction, you see a man standing at the very end of the other side of the booth.

“Being broke. You can sit down if you like. I’d like to have someone to talk to.” Sitting down without being told twice, he gets situated and looks at you.

“Thanks for the seat. The names Finn, what's yours?” His voice sounded like silk as, a thick Australian accent ringing in your ears.

“(L/N) (Y/N). Nice to meet you.” 

“That’s a beautiful name. Where you from?”

“Oh, I’ve lived here all my life. What about you?”

“Ah, I was born in Australia. After 18, I’ve been moving around the world. Trying to get all the sights in before I can’t.”

“Huh. That’s admirable. Leaving your family behind must have been hard.” Letting out a chuckle, he nods his head.

“Yeah. Still, call my mom every night to tell her I love her.”

“I bet she appreciates that more than you know.”

~~~

You and Finn talked for what seemed like hours. He was so easy to listen to and talk to. You haven’t had such a carefree conversation in such a long time. You never felt like you had to walk on eggshells around him. 

He’d tell you stories about his travels, and you couldn’t help but be intrigued. What would it be like to go off to a faraway place? Away from Overhaul and the Shie Hassakai? Just go somewhere random and start a new?

It was a wish that would never come true, but you would still be able to see it in your dreams.

The bar had closed, and everyone had to leave, and unfortunately, that meant you were back on the streets again. But before you parted ways with Finn, he gave you his number. Telling you to call him anytime. With his final words to you being, “Goodnight gorgeous.” you could feel your face heat up at the compliment. 

But now wasn’t the time for thinking about a man who you’d never see again. You needed a place to sleep for the night. And maybe, even try to get a phone. 

Overhaul had locked your phone for ‘safe keeping’ long ago. He said no, no matter how hard you begged to text your brother. If you were to get another phone, you’d be able to talk to him once more. It’s been so long since you’ve heard his voice.

The sound of crunching leaves brought you out of your thoughts as you quickly looked around, trying to pinpoint where the noise had come from. It was late at night, and not a single person was in sight. You couldn’t even hear a car or anything. Who knows how far the nearest hero would be? Hero’s don’t even visit this side of the city often as it is!

“5 hours, huh? Must say I'm impressed.”

“R-Rappa? Is that you?”

“The one and only, haha!” Stepping out of an alleyway popped the giant man staring down at you. You waited for another one of Overhaul's goonies to step out, only to realize it was just him.

“Let me guess, Overhaul sent a search party?”

“I’ve never seen the man freaking out so hard like I did just then!”

“What I wouldn’t give to have seen his face!” You both laugh before coming back to your senses.

“I suppose this means you have to take me back?”

“Yeah, so come on. Don’t make me carry ya.”

“Whatever. I’d fight for freedom, but you could crush me with your pinkie so I know when to pick and choose my battles. Plus, maybe if I come ‘willing.’ I won’t get bitched at so hard.”

“Maybe. Guess we have to wait and see what he says.”

[edzasks]

It’s funny that Efron fans say believe all women (Meghan Markle , Amber Heard) when they say they feel abuse but when it comes to their fave with an ex Sarah Bro you call her a liar, if you believe what those people say you should also believe that Efron is abusive just like Johnny deep and brad Pitt

You can’t just call Zac abusive off one quote, especially in that same interview where she literally admits to showing up at his door without him knowing and him being like WTH.

If anything it sounds like he wasn’t a good partner this time around? But abuse?

No. Johnny and Amber both sucked, both physically abused one another.

As for Megan M I got no idea (I don’t follow royals I think the monarchy doesn’t deserve to exist in modern times) but like even Kate in that situation comes off as a prisoner not just Megan soooo

[owlstar97]

✨♥️JOHNNY DEPP AND HIS INCREDIBLE TEAM♥️✨

🫶🏻Johnny Depp is going to win - I can feel it🫶🏻

[raerana]

goldigging is not bad nor a crime. seethe and cope

I’m soooo glad you mentioned crime, turdbot 💖 (interesting that you don’t deny she’s a gold digger)

Crimes Amber Heard has committed:

1. Perjury- lying under oath (USA, UK, Australia. Currently under investigation in AUS with help from the FBI. Extradition and JAIL TIME possible)

2. Glassing- attacking someone with a glass or bottle (AUS. She avoided arrest by leaving the country after severing JD’s finger)

3. Assault & Battery (“I wasn’t punching you I was hitting you”, “I did start a physical fight”, “I can’t promise you I won’t get physical again”- her own words. See also: glassing incident.)

4. Endangering Biosecurity, I like to call it Bioterrierism in this case- (AUS. Importing dogs illegally. AUS has strict biosecurity laws bc it’s an isolated island with unique wildlife and important agriculture industry. She pled GUILTY and STILL LIED in a court of law there. This led to a perjury investigation in 2021 after the UK trial where it was revealed she threatened employees to lie about the dogs.)

5. Domestic Abuse- (2009 airport ARREST after assaulting ex wife in public. Also requested to “clean up” the charge before dating JD. Not to mention the shit she did to JD)

6. Driving with a suspended license- there’s a teenage mugshot available (suspected DUI and Vehicular Manslaughter to get license suspension in first place but not 100% proven. Her friend was killed by a car. Some underage criminal records hidden)

7. Fabricating Evidence- (Edited photos as proven during trial. Confirmed by JD’s and AH’s experts. Scamber also refused to present her devices to JD’s expert under court order. Something else to hide, Scamber?)

Possible Crimes:

1. Insurance Fraud (suspiciously getting 2 insurance policies to cover defamation lawsuits in 2018, the year the op-ed was published. New York Marine sued Scamber because the US trial determined she defamed JD “willfully” and “maliciously” and they do not cover INTENTIONAL torts.)

2. Animal Abuse (bringing dogs to AUS knowing they were in danger of being put down, winning JD’s dog in the divorce and giving it to her dog fighting father, holding small dog out car window like she accused JD of doing during trial (in her insta video))

AND THERE’S PROBABLY MORE !

Seethe and cope bestie 😘 Hope you recover from your delusion soon 😘

[beejsdevilishsoulmate]

Story time....

I've been following the Johnny Depp trial and I wholeheartedly support Johnny Depp and believe he is innocent of the vicious lies that AH made up to play the victim and ruin him.

I also believe that he was abused by her the whole way through their marriage, I believe this because there is evidence to prove it!

I mean if you were roughly penetrated with a glass bottle, that smashed and left you bleeding from the vagina, abused or not you would end up in hospital.

Anyways, people say to believe all women, I, as a woman don't agree with that and I'll tell you why...

A woman has the ability to ruin a man's life with a few words, then the man has to live with that for the rest of his life.

Trust me I know.

My cousin was accused of rape when he was 17, see he had sex with a girl he met, then she told him she had a boyfriend, long story short it turned out my cousin knew her boyfriend, they'd gone to school together.

Shew panicked because she thought he was tell the boyfriend, a week later there my cousin was arrested and my aunts house was being searched for a gun that didn't exist.

He was convicted for 9 years even though there was no evidence and she actually had someone else's dna on her body.

He know rarely leaves the house and has become an alcoholic because of the trauma its cause him, everyday we watch him slowly drink himself to death, because of a few little words.

So no, its not believe all women and automatically villainize the man, it's believe in actual evidence and facts!

I'm glad that Johnny spoke his truth and proved AH lied, he was lucky to be able to do that, it's a luxury most people don't get.

I hope know that he will be able to move on from this terrible chapter of his life.

[veylia]

A luna tick .... I can't. These memes are just toooooo funny!!!

[ainsanepencil]

The Homophobia and Misogyny AH vs JD brought up is terrifying

[internetaddict104]

The way that someone commented on the stream I was watching saying “Camille will never find a partner if she doesn’t stop and show some compassion” 🤢

[clintashaspawn]

yes, this is a pro Johnny Depp/anti Amber Heard account

if you support Amber Heard, your feelings aren’t safe here because that lying, abusive, manipulative awful human being deserves to be in prison 😇

[dindjarins04]

Darth Maul headcannons~ Cuddle times

At first, you never hugged.

He despised it.

He didn't feel as though hugs were nesscary to show his love for you.

And he liked his personal space.

Even when you began to share a bed, he stayed on his side and you stayed on your side.

The first time you cuddled, it was subconscious.

You were captured by the Pykes.

Many people in the galaxy say not to mess with the Pykes.

The also say not to mess with Dathomirians.

You were on the streets of Mandalore, shopping for fresh foods when you bumped into a Pyke, your foods spilling all over him.

You quickly apologize and hand him a towel from a random stool.

But he looked beyond pissed.

"This is the finest fabrics from across the galaxy and you've ruined it!"

"Well watch where you're going next time," You retort.

And then a fight broke out between you and the Pyke and that's why you were sitting in a cell, chained to a wall.

You were resting when you heard shouting, screaming and crying.

You tiredly open your eyes and walk out of the stone bed.

You walk to the laser doors, adjusting your body the best you could while still chained to the doors.

But then they fell off.

The laser doors deactivated and you were plunged into darkness.

The power went out.

You gingerly step out, rubbing your sore wrists.

Other prisoners all began to file out, looking around curiously.

You looked down the hall to see Pyke guards getting thrown into walls.

You saw the saber before you saw him.

It was Maul.

He stood at the end of the hall, lightsaber ignited, amber eyes glowing.

You ran towards him while he turned off his lightsaber.

You threw yourself onto him.

He easily caught you.

You wrapped your arms around him tightly and buried your face into the crook of his neck.

He held you tightly, one of his hands tangling in your hair.

"I missed you," You mumbled.

"I missed you too," He responded. You heard his lightsaber being activated and you turned to see the hand that was in your hair is holding his lightsaber that is currently through the chest of a Pyke.

From then, he became more inclined to hug you.

Not in public however.

When he came back to your room, he would greet you with a hug.

And you would both hug in bed.

He eventually come to love the affection.

He didn't realize how much he needed these warm hugs.

He was the one who kept asking for hugs and you never denied him.

He loved to give you hugs from behind.

Whether you were cooking, painting or simply looking out the window.

He loved to wrap his arms around you and bury his head in the crook of your neck.

He loved how you instantly leaned back into his touch.

You were his everything and he wanted to give you everything you deserved.

Which was everything in the galaxy.

[theladyofbloodshed]

Au Acosf - Chapter 65

Sorry to have left you all on that cliff-hanger earlier in the week heheh

‘Is this a fucking joke? You’ve had me sitting here waiting for over half an hour.’

Rhys tucked his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall, not deigning Eris with the respect of joining him at the table in one of the Hewn City’s council rooms. Eris had jumped up however, the moment the door had opened. The male’s face was stark white, his hair dishevelled as if he’d been running his hand through it.

‘You look stressed, Eris,’ Feyre crooned from beside her mate.

Eris sucked in a breath then set his jaw to stop himself from saying something in front of the four of them that he might regret. A shadow curled around Azriel’s neck. His brother would love nothing better than pulling Eris apart piece by piece.

‘You were only here yesterday, Eris. What could possibly be so demanding of our attention? Has Nesta asked you to deliver another letter for her? Are you the heir to the Autumn Court and Nesta Archeron’s personal messenger?’

‘I don’t know why she still wants to try with any of you people. You don’t deserve her.’ Amber eyes turned on Cassian. ‘What did the letter say?’

Cassian shrugged one shoulder. ‘Nothing that concerns you, Eris.’

In truth, he had not even opened the letter. Eris had arrived at dusk to the Hewn City so Cassian had taken his time to retrieve the message to let Eris stew. Cassian couldn’t open it. He feared the contents. Feared Nesta had written that she had well and truly washed her hands clean of him and would be severing the bond. If it made him a coward because he could not face the truth then so be it. He’d rather be a coward than broken-hearted.

‘She was utterly devastated yesterday. I asked her if you were worth it and she did not hesitate to answer yes. She should have asked whether any of you are worth it – because believe me I would tell her the truth.’ The male’s eyes blazed, similar to Nesta’s when fury roiled within her. Eris had a strong bank of magic, even without the title of high lord. ‘Something happened here today, didn’t it?’

Azriel’s wounds were healing and all the foul creatures in the Prison were back in their cages. Before dawn, something had shaken the mountains of the Night Court violently enough to break down the wards around the Prison. Thankfully, Azriel had been out for a night-time flight. It was a small blessing that he could not sleep. His hazel eyes were ringed with a permanent shadow. Whatever had shaken the mountain had not created an aftershock at least and once the sun had risen, every inmate was back within their cell. Azriel had held the gate alone for a time – and he was paying for it now. Rhys had spent an age warding the Prison even further, using his more of his own blood to ensure the doors stayed locked, so he too had suffered a drain on his magic. It was why they were content to let Eris stew in the Hewn City. It allowed Azriel rest – not that he had – and Rhys’ magic could refill.

‘We felt a tremor in the Autumn Court. It has uprooted trees and split open a dam. My father spent the early hours of the morning repairing infrastructure lest our people drown.’ Eris swallowed. ‘What happened here?’

Cassian, Azriel and Feyre stayed silent – allowing Rhys to take the reins.

‘We felt something,’ he conceded. ‘I cannot say what. Perhaps the Cauldron.’

‘Did Lucien’s mate feel it?’

Feyre’s lips tightened into a flat line. ‘No.’

‘Then it was not the Cauldron. I’ve heard it favours Elain Archeron.’ Eris withdrew a crumpled piece of torn off parchment and clutched it in his hand. ‘I had no obligation to come here. If I had it my way, you would be none the wiser. I hope you have a damned good reason for making me wait. And I hope, after this is done, Nesta will want nothing more to do with any of you. I came here for her. For her alone.’

Cassian tracked the bob of Eris’ throat, the utter distaste seeping from him as he looked at the Night Court delegate within the Hewn City.

‘It’s Tamlin’s hand.’

Eris tossed the balled up parchment towards Cassian. Deftly, he caught it with one hand.

“Spring Court. Now.”

An eerie quiet had descended upon the lush, green lawns surrounding Tamlin’s Manor as they winnowed in. Not a single bird song could be heard.

‘That tremor came from Nesta?’ Feyre whispered.

Rhys clenched his jaw. ‘If it did, and we felt it in the Night Court, every court in Prythian will have. Or beyond.’

‘Fuck,’ Azriel gasped.

Almost every tree had been uprooted and launched to its side. Only the most ancient ones remained standing though some were tilted as if their roots had been forcefully jerked from the soil. It stood the hairs on the back of Cassian’s neck on end. A trickling of fear crawled up his spine. He thought of the day in the village when Nesta had convulsed on the ground and caused all the land around her to wither and die.

A ring of sentries encircled the manor, but gave it a wide berth. All were armed to the hilt. A sweaty palm brushed against Cassian’s hand. Feyre stared up at the manor. Every single window had been blown out. Cracks in the brickwork were visible even from their distance. Cassian forced back his horror at the sight of the horses struck down dead in the paddock. The chestnut mare that Eris had gifted Nesta lay crumpled on its side.

‘This was because she was upset?’ Feyre whispered in horror.

‘No,’ Rhys murmured, eyes soaking in the extent of the damage. ‘This is something primal, something ancient. A power Nesta should not be able to wield.’ He swore. ‘We should have brought Lucien with us. He’s the only one Tamlin might be amenable to.’

Eris straightened. ‘He summoned me. He will speak to me.’

Not to us, Cassian thought bitterly. Despite the days spent in Spring with Nesta and Tamlin, playing board games or watching the sentries, Tamlin had opted to summon Eris over him.

Fionn, the general, strode towards them. His blonde hair glinted in the sunlight. In one hand, he carried a sword and a shield was strapped to the other. On his back, he carried a bow and a quiver of arrows fletched with white feathers.

‘Fionn, what the fuck has happened?’ Eris demanded.

The general shook his head. ‘I don’t know. The high lord has ordered us to stay on guard in case anything is summoned by… what happened.’

‘And what did happen here?’ Rhys asked, stepping forwards.

Cassian could not speak, could not think. Feyre’s hand stayed in his and Azriel had another inches from his sleeve incase Cassian acted on his thoughts of tearing forwards into the house to seek Nesta.

Fionn narrowed his eyes at Rhysand. ‘You were not invited to this court.’

Rhys raised his brows, disbelief painting his features.

‘Please, Nesta is my sister. Is she okay?’

‘I don’t know what happened. The ground shook like an earthquake. This was the epicentre,’ he replied, glancing over his shoulder towards the house. ‘I arrived quickest. Thankfully no sentries were on duty. There are no marks or injuries to be found on the horses but they’ve been struck down dead. Same as the birds. Even a few rabbits that were above the ground.’

What Cassian had taken for shadows were the small carcasses of birds struck down as they tried to flee. Nesta’s power of death had been unleashed.

‘Nesta is… I can’t say she’s fine. She’s not right.’

‘Does she know about the animals?’ Cassian asked.

Fionn shook his head. ‘No. I can't tell her. I know Nesta. This is not something she has done willingly. I can’t put that burden on her. She’s a good person. My daughter loves her. She helped deliver my youngest into this world.’ The general’s voice was thick.

‘Zasha? Did Zasha…’ Eris’ voice trailed off as his eyes combed over the horses again.

Fionn shook his head. ‘The high lord shielded the dog.’

‘Can I go in?’

Fionn’s blue eyes swept over their group. Cassian felt so cold. Despite the sun shining in the blue sky, his skin was chilled. The general shook his head.

‘I will try and bring them from the house,’ he promised. ‘Nesta won’t be parted from the high lord. She’s clinging to him like a child. Remain here.’

As the general departed towards the ring of guards, Azriel murmured to Rhys, ‘Can’t you glamour all of this so she doesn’t need to see it?’

Rhys nodded tersely. Whenever they were out of this, Cassian would thank Azriel for having the foresight to hide it from Nesta. He certainly couldn’t think straight at the moment. That blast had echoed all the way to the Night Court and had enough force to tear open the wards around the Prison. She had to have been truly furious or utterly terrified. They were the only times her magic seized control of her.

‘She saw through glamours as a mortal. I don’t think it will work.’

Rhys’ brow furrowed. ‘Whose glamour?’

‘Tamlin’s. She knew I hadn’t gone to an aunt’s. She remembered him bringing me here. It’s why she tried to cross the wall with a mercenary while my father and Elain toasted their new-found wealth.’

Rhys scrubbed his face with his hands. ‘Nesta saw through a high lord’s glamour as a mortal? We are in such deep shit. I will try the glamour at least. She doesn’t need to see more death.’

Cass, you alright?

Cassian was thankful that Rhys had not said the question out loud. His throat already felt thick and his legs unsteady. Every second that ticked by and she still hadn’t appeared left him more worried.

Why didn’t I feel anything down the bond?

This was not Nesta, Cass. I know we aren’t always on friendly terms, but she’s not capable of doing this deliberately. She wouldn’t hurt this court.

An agonising wait followed. Eris had had enough of their company so sat beside a fallen oak, letting the scant bit of shade protect him from the sun despite the glamoured dead birds all around him. Feyre had come to Cassian and pulled her arms around him. He engulfed her with his own arms, glad to feel somebody soft and warm – but he could not look at his high lady’s face. Not when it resembled Nesta too much.

The sealed letter remained in his pocket. His mood could not have been worse. If he had come to Spring to talk with her after their argument, this might not have happened. With shaky hands, he unfolded the letter away from the others. He could feel Azriel’s concern burning like a brand on his skin. He did not deserve Azriel’s worry.

“Dear Cassian,

This is my sixth attempt at a letter and I have promised myself that this will be the final attempt and I will stop clipping my words or moulding them into prettier things than the jagged ones they are.

I am sorry. I pushed you because I knew it would hurt. I believe what I said but it was said to cause injury. I wish we could talk about Illyria in a civil way that doesn’t draw blood from you because I know it is a place that has your heart. It has mine too. I love being in Illyria. I love its brave, wonderful people. I just wish more was done for them. For the females like Emerie and Rovena. For the children like Lule and Lorin. For those who deserve someone to fight for them. And I know you feel the same – you will always fight for those who need it - but we are both too proud to ever back down from an argument.

It splits my heart in two to argue with you because I love you so much. We are equals but we are not the same. And that is not a bad thing. We have different roots but we can grow together. I want to grow with you. I want to find a way through every storm and be with you. You have my heart. You have always had it.

You are my mate, Cassian, and I love you.

Yours, Nesta.

P.S. Please accompany me to the Day Court. There are many places to fulfil the offer I gave you in Illyria – Helion’s throne room?”

Cassian wanted to weep. Nesta had bared her heart in this letter. She loved Illyria and him too. Loved them both enough to want better for the land. He could imagine her writing the post script then immediately wanting to scribble it out. Could imagine the blush spilling across her cheeks as she poured her feelings into words.

A noise drew his attention then a grey blur streaked across the lawn. It skidded to a halt then toppled into Eris’ lap.

Tamlin emerged from the house with Fionn following. The high lord carried a bundle in his arms.

‘Stay back. Let him come to us,’ Rhys murmured. ‘We need to play by his rules.’

Azriel stepped closer to Cassian, monitoring him like a hawk, and Cassian noticed Rhys had done the same to Feyre. The two able to detach their feelings guarding them from breaching court protocol.

Flanked by sentries, Tamlin stopped in front of them. He wore no shoes and only a pair of shorts. His broad body was flecked with bloodied marks where shards of glass from the window had sliced his skin. Cassian spotted the golden-brown head of his mate nestled in a blanket and cradled against Tamlin’s chest.

Before Cassian could even blink, Azriel’s foot had shot out to block his path and a cold hand enclosed around his arm, preventing him from anything stupid.

‘Is she hurt?’

Tamlin’s green eyes met his. Surely Cassian would feel it down their bond if she was? Why hadn’t he felt last night? Why had he felt nothing?

‘I don’t know.’

The high lord lowered Nesta’s legs to the floor but she jerked them back up, refusing to put any weight on them.

‘Nesta,’ he bit out.

Her fingers dug into Tamlin’s skin at every attempt to try and set her onto the ground until they gained purchased and clamped around his neck. Her eyes were glassy and not a word passed through her lips. Her skin had been struck by glass too.

‘She won’t let me go,’ he explained.

Cassian couldn’t step forwards, not with Azriel holding him firm. Feyre, too, was leashed by Rhysand. Even when Cassian called her name, Nesta made no acknowledgement that she had heard it.

Once more, Tamlin lowered Nesta to the grass. Her legs kicked up like a toddler not wanting to walk. He could sense Tamlin’s discomfort of this scene unfolding in front of them. There was too much history for it not to be awkward.

‘I’m still here,’ he said quietly, peeling Nesta’s hands from around his neck as her legs stabilised on the ground.

Fionn cast a look of pity Cassian’s way as Nesta gripped onto Tamlin’s waist, her face pressing against the bare skin of his stomach trying to hide herself.

Rhys loosened his grip on Feyre and she surged forwards, running a hand against Nesta’s hair trying to evoke a reaction. None came. Even when Cassian had been turned loose and he stroked a hand against her bare arm, she remained clinging onto Tamlin as if he was the only steady thing in the world.

‘What happened?’ A muscle ticked in Rhys’ jaw and Cassian didn’t know how much of it was due to Nesta’s condition or Feyre’s proximity to Tamlin.

Tamlin shrugged. ‘We’d dined together. Chatted. The dog woke me. When I entered her room, she was on her knees being dragged across the floor by an invisible force. I took one step and a burst of power blew out of her. I only just managed to cover the dog and send up a shield, but it still wasn’t enough,’ he said gesturing to the marks on him.

‘Look at her fingers,’ Azriel murmured.

The sight of it made Cassian retch. The fingers on her left hand were broken out of shape and bent at odd angles. It had to be agony but she seemed even oblivious to that. A black burn was seared around her ring finger – and more burns were up her arm.

‘Handprints,’ Feyre gasped, covering her mouth.

Tamlin nodded tersely. ‘She’s spoken a few times. Always the same. I want to go home. I want to wake up.’

‘A healer needs to see her. Urgently,’ Rhys said softly.

The shuffle of feet alerted them to Eris’ presence. Zasha brushed against his leg when he stopped. His red hair stood vivid against his moonlight coloured skin. There was a spike of hope in Cassian’s heart that Eris might be able to invoke some reaction in Nesta, but she barely blinked when he stood in front of her.

‘Hey, Cauldron-born bitch with nice breasts, it’s your favourite male,’ Eris murmured, voice gentle. ‘You ruined my father’s morning. Thanks for that, you wonderful creature.’

His gentle tone didn’t match the worry creasing his brow. A finger flicked the tip of her nose. It ought to have been a casual gesture, but to Cassian it screamed volumes about the depths of Nesta and Eris’ relationship. That he could tease her without fear or she allowed him to tease her without reproach.

A spark flickered into her eyes. She blinked a couple of times until her eyes fixed on Eris. Then Nesta sucked in a gasp before a hysterical cry punched its way out of her. Tamlin was abandoned for Eris. She clutched his shirt and pressed her head to his chest.

‘I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. He knows.’ Nesta could barely speak through gasping breaths. ‘He couldn’t take me. I’m so sorry, Eris. He will come for you. I’ve marked you for death. I’m sorry.’

‘Tamlin, is there a room we could use in your home? I should like to go into Nesta’s mind – if she allows it – and would prefer if we were not out in the open.’

For a long moment, Tamlin and Rhys stared at each other. Cassian wondered if there was a conversation passing silently between them. Tamlin shrugged then turned towards the house. They took that as their cue to follow.

Nesta was with them – in a loose sense. The catatonic figure had been replaced by one of hysteria who still clutched Eris as if he was about to be torn away from her. Eris did not gloat over their contact, merely scooped Nesta into his arms and tucked her face into his neck and followed Tamlin into the office while she sobbed.

Fionn brought in a tray of tea and whatever could be found in the cupboards. All of the servants had been turned away at the door and sent back home that morning. He promised to have a healer sent for as well as workers to repair the windows and any gardeners who might be able to replant any trees.

Near the wall, Tamlin paced. He’d slipped on a pair of shoes that crunched across the shards of glass. Nesta sat in a chair, quietly rocking to soothe herself. Eris kept one hand in hers and the other arm was wrapped around Zasha who sat in his lap to avoid glass sinking through his paws. Cassian hated himself for feeling jealous of Eris’ contact with his mate. That she had awoken for him, had gone to him. That even Zasha preferred him.

‘Nesta, would I be able to go into your mind to see what happened?’ Rhys’ violet eyes flickered from Nesta to Feyre then to Cassian, awaiting permission from one of them. ‘It will not hurt you, Nesta. I won't hurt you.’

A stiff jerk of the head.

Cassian saw the world as Nesta had. Felt her sadness and her wishing to see him flying across the sky then the scene shifted to the Archeron matriarch looming over Nesta in her bedroom. Nesta’s fear of her mother was a palpable thing that made his heart shudder. He had thought Nesta had been her favourite child, but this was manipulation and cruelty. He did not doubt that Nesta’s fervent protection of Elain had stemmed from fear of their mother treating Elain as she had treated Nesta. It was a dream. A strange dream where Nesta was caught between memories and lucidity. Then they were tugged to a wood where Nesta’s mother walked her down an aisle. Koschei met them. Cassian felt as if the walls were closing in on him. An insurmountable pressure fell upon them all as if their magic was paralysed. The male saw the tattoo on her arm – saw that Eris had marked her and claimed her. They felt Nesta's distress as she tried to push away thoughts of the male who had claimed her. It was the only thing that had saved Nesta. Cassian’s own hand lanced with pain as Koschei broke Nesta’s fingers to force the ring upon it. As the blast of her power broke through her dream and into Prythian, Rhys pulled them out of her memories.

‘Nesta, has Koschei ever come to you in a dream before?’

‘Many times,’ she whispered.

They plunged back into her memories. Again, her mother was there, leading her through the family home. He has come to take what is his. What was promised. All you are is what I made you to be. A queen to conquer nations. A queen to bring men to their knees. A queen who will turn the world to ash and dust. Her mother’s voice echoed around them. A crowd had awaited them, including Nesta’s father whose neck had been broken in the dream. She was presented to Koschei like a gift. And when they danced, the hall decayed and the crowd rotted into death. He forced his tongue into her mouth. Then Tamlin was there, dragging Nesta from a blazing bed and throwing water to douse the flames.

‘How long ago was that?’ Rhys asked him.

‘Months and months. Around the time she summoned the high lords to meet.’

Rhys went still then his eyes turned vacant, as he turned over more memories in silence. If Eris was afraid that Koschei would seek him out, he showed no signs of it. The male remained leaning his head against Zasha, lips pursed. At the sound of Fionn’s voice, Tamlin departed the room. Feyre’s shoulders sagged in relief.

‘The healer is here,’ Tamlin announced, poking his head back through the door.

It took Eris to lead Nesta away. When Cassian made to follow, Rhys asked him to stay. He’d planted his feet in the room, not willing to sit back down.

‘Did you know your mother did those things to her?’

Feyre blinked several times at her mate’s question. ‘No. She was always with Nesta. I used to be so jealous. Why didn’t she say that’s what mother did to her?’

‘Would you have believed her? Your father never intervened?’

Tears welled in Feyre’s eyes. ‘He didn’t know it was happening. Nesta has to be remembering it wrong.’

Rhys shook his head. ‘I think he did Feyre. I’m sorry.’

‘She hated him so much. She can’t be remembering it right.’

Shrouded in shadow, Azriel leaned forwards to pour them all tea. It was barely warm, but Cassian was glad to have something in his hands. He hardly felt like he was in the room with them. Nesta’s fear still coursed through him like a poison slowing his heart. She had been absolutely petrified facing Koschei alone in a realm he had trapped her in. And Cassian had been stubborn and refused to open her letter or go to her.

‘I hate to say it, but is it a safe assumption that Feyre’s father traded Vassa for Nesta?’ Azriel didn’t hide behind his shadows now.

‘He wouldn’t have done that,’ Feyre protested. ‘My father-’

‘Loved you and Elain,’ Cassian snapped. ‘I went to your cottage with Nesta. I’ve seen her grief, her anger towards your father. I was there when he died. I heard what he said to her. He said he was sorry. For all of it. How did a mortal merchant force a death god to give up his treasured firebird mortal queen?’ A roaring in Cassian’s ears took hold. ‘He promised the daughter who was always the most valuable. But he did not know Nesta was fae. He did not know she had stolen from the Cauldron. If Lanthys felt her come from the Cauldron, so did Koschei. He was probably rubbing his fucking hands with glee when your father offered her head on a platter.’

‘My father would not do that!’ Feyre looked desperately to Rhys, but even he appeared uncomfortable.

‘Feyre darling, I’m sorry, but it seems likely he did.’

The high lady of the Night Court said nothing then, merely folded her arms to stop Rhys from reaching for hand and sat in silence as tears rolled down her cheeks.

‘-be broken again to re-set the bones,’ the grizzled healer said as Cassian entered the dining room. He couldn’t be in that room any longer. Couldn’t look at Feyre’s denial of Nesta's suffering. ‘If she wants the use of them, it’s what must be done. The burns will heal like a mortal wound. They may scar as a result.’ She turned Nesta’s arms over. ‘These cuts aren’t healing as quickly as one would expect. For either of you,’ a glance to Tamlin.

‘She’s not in the right state of mind to decide whether she wants her fingers broken,’ Eris snarled.

The healer did not bat an eyelid. ‘Well, maybe now is the best time to do it if she won’t remember it.’

Cassian bristled at the healer’s tone, at the way she was talking about Nesta rather than to her. He settled into the seat next to her and brushed a finger along the back of her hand. Her smallest finger stuck out, reaching for him so he locked his own with hers.

‘Netopier,’ she said in a quiet acknowledgement. Beneath the layers of horror she had endured last night, Nesta was still there. Still fighting to stay above the waves.

‘You have my heart,’ he whispered, kissing his mate delicately on the cheek.

The healer waited with her hands on her hips. The sleeves of her brown dress were rolled up to the elbows. ‘I can give an ointment for the scratches to fend off infection. Another for the burns to dry them out. But the fingers need to be re-set today.’

‘Fine,’ Nesta replied, voice lacking its usual bite.

‘Once everybody has departed,’ added Cassian. Nesta would not want the others to see her in pain. She would want to tend to her wounds in private without an audience.

From the window, Cassian saw workers in the grounds collecting the dead birds and dumping them into burlap sacks. The horses had already been loaded onto a wagon and taken away. A few servants had been called back to assist with the clean up and they were already sweeping the manor clear of glass. The remnants of Nesta’s meeting with Koschei would quickly be brushed away and the manor restored, but Cassian knew it would leave a deeper wound with Nesta.

‘Can I have a moment with you three?’ Rhys stood in the doorway, gesturing to Cassian and the other two males. His gaze dropped to where Nesta’s finger linked with Cassian’s. ‘Sorry. It will only be a moment.’

Tamlin had been pacing like a stressed animal and Rhys likely knew they had scant time to remain in his home before an explosion occurred. To ease his guilt over leaving her, Nesta unhooked her finger but remained staring blankly at the dark wooden table.

‘A moment only,’ came Eris’ sharp reply.

Light streamed into the corridor but it seemed to shrink away from Rhys. He took up a position beside Cassian, reminding him that if Tamlin were to act then it was Cassian’s duty to protect his high lord, no matter how much his soul yearned to be back beside Nesta.

‘If I can be so bold, Nesta needs sleeping draughts for the time being. I would wager you too, Eris. Koschei cannot leave his lake but he is finding a way through to Nesta in her dreams.’

Eris mulled it over, but said nothing.

‘Koschei cannot take Nesta while Eris lives – or while their deal remains. He will seek you out, Eris.’

‘Do not tell Nesta the latter,’ Eris said firmly. ‘She will call off the deal to protect me.’

Cassian knew Nesta would too. That she was likely already planning to pack her bags and flee to not expose the people of Spring to the risk that accompanied her now.

‘We need to meet with Vassa and Lucien to understand what deal Feyre’s father struck.’ Rhys’ violet eyes turned to Tamlin. The high lord still paced a distance away from them. ‘Do you want to be part of the meeting?’ The words cut out of Rhys like jagged shards.

‘No. I want no part of this. Nesta can remain here if she wishes. I appreciate what she has done for my people – but if she becomes too much of a risk, I cannot expose my people to more harm.’

The retort that Tamlin had brought the first wave of harm upon them himself dissolved on Rhys’ tongue as he fought to remain civil. Rhys’ father had been in this house and killed Tamlin’s mother. That the two of them hadn’t already started brawling was a feat not to be scoffed at.

‘Thank you,’ Rhys ground out. ‘The Night Court will pay for the damage done to your home.’

‘I don’t want your charity.’

A flare of power brushed against Cassian as Rhys’ own temper began to slip. Eris eyed the space between the two high lords and took a step back so he was pressed into the wall.

‘But you will have it all the same. I will dump it in the grounds if I have to. Give it to your people if you do not want it.’

‘Don’t be too proud, Tamlin. Rhys has too much money, he doesn’t know what to spend it on anymore,’ said Eris, voice bordering into teasing territory.

‘Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I’m sure your father will be keen to learn how his eldest has quick access to the Night Court. Or why he speaks to its high lord with familiarity. Will Rhys be as accommodating as I was when the high lord of the Autumn Court exiles another son?’

Eris pushed off from the wall, recognising the greatest threat in his life would always by Beron Vanserra. ‘I think we’re done here. Give Nesta my best wishes.’

Without another word, Eris departed through the front doors. As it swung closed, they caught sight of him winnowing into nothing. Tamlin gave them both a flat, bored stare. ‘You have five more minutes then I want you gone.’

Once the high lord had departed for the grounds, Rhys turned to him. Softly, he said, ‘I’ve never seen you so quiet.’

‘I should have been here.’

A shake of the head. ‘Tamlin only survived because he has the magic of a high lord. The blast likely would have killed you, Cass. I saw more in her mind and it was… Fuck. It was a lot to deal with. Her mother. The grandmother. The Cauldron. A boy from their village. Nesta has not had an easy life.’ A broad hand settled on his shoulder. ‘And I have not made it any easier for her. Or for you. I presume you will stay even if Tamlin won’t allow it. Ensure he has sentries on duty. I’ll contact later – and I’ll have Madja brew a strong sleeping draught for Nesta to ensure a dreamless sleep. If I can, I’ll have Lucien come by in case you need to be winnowed to safety.’

@a-court-of-valkyries @sv0430 @mis-lil-red @nesquik-arccheron @emily-gsh @sunsetsofanemoia @swankii-art-teacher @moodymelanist @nestaarcher0n @my-fan-side @c-e-d-dreamer @nestaspegasus @champanheandluxxury @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @lyzriel @dustjacketmusings @sugardoll22 @gwynethhberdara @embersofwildfire @witchsouth

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