#i mean. my evidence wouldnt hold up in court. but this is another thing i just know factually to be like 90% propable..

[tears-of-boredom]

My kind-of-therapist can be so annoying like I know that I'm beating myself up for no reason, I know that, but while there isn't any evidence to suggest I suck, there isn't anything to suggest I don't suck either. I know very clearly objectively that a classmate of mine at least had a crush on me. But when you think about it...if it was a prank, per say, it would be a pretty funny one, wouldn't it? Yes, maybe a bit cruel, but I did get immideatly addicted to the slightest bit of attention I got, and isn't it kind of funny in a sadistic way to watch someone absolutely deteriorate because you simply didn't interact with them? Isn't it really enjoyable to see that you can control someone's feelings that easily?

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Chapter Six: Flashback, one of two, and also Maya’s in it

[Beginning] [Chapter Masterlist]

“Hey, Chief, question: so murder’s murder even if it’s one of the Fair F -- the fae, who’s murdered.”

“Murder is murder when a person is killed, accounting for manslaughter, accidental death, and the like -- honestly, Phoenix, you just think a person doesn’t count?”

“No! I mean, like… It just surprises me, is all, that you would let a human court arbitrate it and not just…”

“Revenge ourselves on the suspected killer with our magics in our home realm?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s always a possibility -- but it’s far too messy. That sort of thing tends to drag others who are far outside of the disagreement into the fighting, by way of networks of alliances, and before you know it there’s a full war that began because of a stupid crime of passion in a human bar. Some time before me, our Courts decided that humans and your courts and laws are the closest to fair, neutral judgment available, and that we would abide by their verdicts. Oh, certainly humanity was not consulted, but it is to your benefit to investigate the killings of fae, so as the allies of the deceased will not strike a curse down on all who were in the vicinity. And besides, you don’t think that, if humanity agreed that fae deaths won’t be tried, that rule wouldn’t be abused? That any man might claim his neighbor was one of the Fair Folk and killing him does not ‘count’ -- that any mother might throw her child in a fire because it acted just the slightest bit strange and claim that its life was forfeit on her suspicion?”

“You say that humans are fair and then list out all that. Neutral, with our lying and biases and stupid foolhardy impulsive actions--”

“Other than lies, we have the same faults, but so often magnified. We are impulsive and petty and cruel, with bias bred into our bloodlines -- it is an imperfect decision, as we are imperfect, as you are imperfect, as I have found even your laws to be. We make do with our best. It is all we have, in the end.”

-

A cold iron stake through the heart will kill anyone, not just one of the fae.

The same, Phoenix thinks, would go for an iron bullet through the forehead.

It’s not that he doesn’t know what Magnifi was -- Zak told him that from the beginning, and Pearl’s gift confirms for him that he wasn’t lying. And even without it, he could still see the lingering traces that Zak was a witch -- once. Their powers fade quickly when their patron is gone. He knows that without asking.

If it should matter, though, there is no way to prove to anyone else what Magnifi was.

Fae corpses don’t leave evidence. If they leave a corpse at all -- most do, but not all, and those deaths by their nature are never judged but in the Courts of Kurain, if the dead has the allies to bring the matter forth -- it is indistinguishable from a human’s, a last residual enchantment to make sure they cannot be ignored or dismissed.

Or to fuck with those left behind, as Phoenix comes to understand of Magnifi.

The evidence of the trial made that much obvious: one shot to the forehead; you cannot refuse, and we both know the reason why. A final cruelty to impart on those whom he bargained with -- and why wouldn’t he? If he knew he was dying -- of age, a curse from another, whatever it was -- the Gramarye witches would outlast him. And even if his death would take their powers away, the fae never like to feel that they’ve been cheated. One last indignity: don’t forget what you lost forever to make a bargain with me.

There is a lot Phoenix does not know, answers he is still seeking, but this, he understands. The nature of the fae, he understands.

The Bar Association suspends his badge pending inquiry, the hearing scheduled for one short week after the trial. News travels fast about Phoenix, ever since von Karma, ever since Gant, two pillars of the legal system he brought crumbling down, and the prosecution already had done half of their inquiry for them, placing Drew Misham in the courtroom with a speed that made Phoenix’s head spin. His memories of the trial are patchy, direly so, when it comes to the diary page -- how he got it, why he didn’t find it too suspicious to present -- and that will be his own inquiry: who fooled him, and how. It probably wasn’t Zak; it very likely could have been Gavin, a prodigy looking to make a name for himself, with enough enchantments and glamours to make it happen. He is human at the core and nowhere else, but the old adage, foot in each world, doesn’t seem so true, not when he drapes himself in iron jewelry like he thinks it can ground him firmly on this side of the veil.

Phoenix doesn’t trust him -- Phoenix has five people whom he personally trusts -- but he can’t condemn him, not yet. Not without more evidence.

The first lead he chases down is the forger himself, Drew Misham. (No, not himself.) The forger is his daughter, Vera, a shy, sickly little girl, and a changeling besides. Drew seems to know, but he won’t say it outright -- Vera is “exceptionally talented”, “a genius”, and he never makes eye contact with Phoenix. She was the only one to see the client’s face, and whoever it was has done a good job of convincing her to clam up. A gentle smile, she says. Like an angel, but for the briefest of moments -- a slip in the upkeep of a glamour? -- Vera saw the devil.

Not exactly helpful, and definitely worrying when compounded with the secret charm that she won’t show, but she does tell him that she lays an enchantment on all of her forgeries -- not in those exact words. Phoenix isn’t even sure that she realizes what she is, that her powers are not human.

Valant is the second he speaks with, at the detention center where he has been interred for trying to pin the murder on Zak. Talking to him -- or maybe it’s that Phoenix retrieved the magatama to keep with him on this investigation -- brings one memory into sharper focus -- the girl, the little girl, Zak’s daughter, as human as her father but draped in magic even when it was fading from Magnifi’s two pupils. And that is definitely worrying, too; Phoenix has stumbled sightlessly into the dark, and something monstrous is lurking in it.

He nearly misses his hearing -- an unnecessary formality because there wasn’t one among them, except apparently Kristoph Gavin, who hadn’t decided that Phoenix’s badge would be gone at the end of it -- trying to track down Trucy. The Gramaryes were an elusive coven -- Valant tried to make a cursory protest on the terminology, “Troupe! We were not…”, and Phoenix broke the single lock by just staring him down until he rescinded his words -- who were never found by those desperate enough to seek them out, but instead would appear to them in the midst of their search. If they had a home base, Valant won’t say, and no one else in the world knows. Zak’s daughter, Trucy is her name, could be anywhere in the city, anywhere beyond the city, out to the mountains of Kurain, and Phoenix might never find her.

Getting an answer from her about who she received the diary page from would be a bonus; Phoenix is more concerned for her sake. He was only able to briefly See her, but he didn’t like the glimpse.

This is going to take some assistance.

The first thing he can unearth in his apartment that can make a circular shape is an extension cord; he drags it out to the kitchen and sets a cold half of a ground beef patty on a plate in the center. The fake candles are back at the office, but that is an unneeded trifle -- funny, but unnecessary. “Maya,” he says, stepping back from the circle and closing his eyes, “there is someone I need your help to find.”

A cold gust of wind batters against his face. When he opens his eyes, the room has filled with a slowly-dispersing purple mist, twisting in strands around the fae standing in the circle. She has gained an extra pair of eyes since he last saw her, smaller slits right along the browbone, all four glowing red. The remaining mist settles about her head like hair or the headdress of royalty, not quite blending with the void-black tendrils that frame her face. One of them extends, almost like an extra arm made of shadow, down to the floor, snatching up the burger and tossing it into her mouth. She grins, the truest cheshire smile Phoenix has ever seen, stretching literally from pointed ear to ear, displaying dozens of huge sharp fangs. “Hey Nick!”

Immediately she turns to face the refrigerator right behind her. “Are you holding out on me? That was a lame burger just now.”

“Cut me some slack. I just lost my badge. I’m trying not to burn my savings on food too quickly.”

She cocks her head, still staring at the fridge. The mist doesn’t move with her like something part of her should. “Where’d you have it last?” she asks. “If you lost it at the office, Sis will probably have it on your desk in the next couple days.”

Ah. Literalism. The main weapon and weakness both of the fae. “No, I mean -- I was disbarred. I am no longer allowed to work as a lawyer--”

He stops when he sees Maya’s face. She has finally looked at him and her expression, however hard to parse it can be, shifts rapidly, the briefest flash of something like horror that twists into fury, a contorted, monstrous rage. “Who did this to you?” she snarls, and he didn’t know he looked, physically, that bad, or that she knew how to read the depths of his exhaustion and despair from his aura. “You want my help to hunt them down and eat their hearts?”

“No! No, that’s not what I want!”

“Oh.” She frowns. “I would throw it in for free.”

“No!” He bends down to break the circle and stops. “On the condition of not eating any part of a person, I let you leave.”

“For the duration of this summoning, you have my word,” she replies. He could -- should -- argue that, try and make it a blanket deal for eternity, but he decides they can negotiate that some other time. For now, he has what he needs, and he unwinds the extension cord.

When Maya steps forth, the glamour settles over her in a wave, the mist hanging over her settling into glossy black hair, her two smallest eyes vanishing and the others whitening and gaining dark irises, her mouth shrinking, and the four small glowing orbs that drift lazily about her face sink down to become four large beads of a necklace. And then she looks like an ordinary girl, late teens or early twenties, her hair done up in a topknot and her smile small but still toothy and just a little too sharp. “So who is it that you want to find?” she asks. She frowns, but it seems like such a minute motion compared to moments ago. “Is your prosecutor in trouble again, too?”

“No; that was last month.”

And he leaves her hanging on that one and they sit at the kitchen table while he instead begins to explain his own case, his own worst situation, and the Gramaryes. She repeats Magnifi’s name to herself after he says it, again and again until her voice loses its human quality, sounding instead like the clatter of bells or a windchime, until suddenly she snaps back. “This fae you call Magnifi -- he was banished, many years ago, stripped of his power with his name and cursed to never return.”

“Why?”

“He strove for power and made those who had that power very mad,” she answers. “And so -- ouch.” She picks at some stain on the table and Phoenix winces, anticipating her leaving claw marks gouged into the wood. “He had a daughter. No other allies besides her -- she left with him, naturally.”

“Thalassa,” Phoenix says. Maya nods. “It was a far fall for him, huh, to end up where he did. Probably all he had left was the power trip over Zak and Valant, and all they had was pretending that they weren’t witches sworn to some bastard.”

“That’s the funny part of it, kinda,” Maya says. “They didn’t even credit him, when they were saying they can perform spells for whatever sorry suckers show up hoping for a miracle -- they were just like ‘yeah, no fae involved, ignore that guy, we won’t screw you out of a deal’. And they by being like that probably screwed him out of dozens more deals with sad desperate humans. No wonder he decided his death should be one last one-over on them.”

Sitting cross-legged in her chair, her hands in her lap, she leans it back to balance impossibly on two legs. She likes to cause the double-take, to force Edgeworth or Franziska or whoever else to look twice at the way she twists the world around her. “And you’re looking for his granddaughter?” she asks. “Not his daughter?”

“Thalassa is dead,” Phoenix says. “And Trucy isn’t, yet, so yes, I’m looking for Trucy.”

“I’m vaguely flattered that you think I’m powerful enough that I can just find her, just like that,” Maya says. She doesn’t wobble. “It’s not so easy, not here in this realm, not without knowing her true name.” “Trucy Enigmar,” Phoenix says. “Or Trucy Gramarye.” Maya rolls her eyes. “I need to know which, Nick.” Names have more power in the Twilight Realm. It’s why Mia, even trying to be human, stumbled on names that weren’t Phoenix, the human whose life she owned, and Dahlia, the fae she defeated. It’s why Iris only ever called him Feenie. It was the kindest gesture she could make. In the same fashion, Maya calls him Nick. They don’t own him, not entirely, though they could. “It’s only two choices. You can’t guess?” “No. I need to know.” Half of magic is certainty, Maya and Dahlia so certain they have the world at their fingertips, Iris so much meeker and weaker than her sister, Vera knowing little about herself but knowing that once instructed she can create anything and that is all she needs to know. And Valant, weaker, because he was so sure he was second-best, a self-fulfilling prophecy, the only kind of prophecy that Phoenix ever sees. A spell can’t be cast on a guess. “Is there anything you can do if you go back to the Twilight Realm?” Phoenix asks. “Hm.” Maya holds her hands up, palms facing each other, and a purple glow begins to form around them. Then she claps them together and the light vanishes, her eyes glinting red for a moment in the sterile light of his kitchen. “I’ll ask Sis for help, first.” It has started to rain when they leave Phoenix’s apartment. Biking in this weather is unfortunate enough, but Maya insists on balancing herself on the handlebars, right in Phoenix’s line of sight, and this would be the most embarrassing way for Phoenix to die after everything he has been through. They are both soaked through to the skin but only fell once by the time they arrive at the office. The lights are already on and the heat is blasting a literal warm welcome. “Hey, Sis!” Maya calls into the silence. No answer comes forth, of course, but the smile on Maya’s face is one that shows her to be more at ease than in a long time. “I could use some help! Nick’s trying to steal a kid.” “I’m trying to help her,” Phoenix objects. “Honestly, Maya.” “Yeah, yeah.” Maya twirls through the office and her hair doesn’t move like it is heavy with water, or even like it has the weight of that much hair. She stops at the shelves of law books that Phoenix has meant to read for two and a half years and never did, running her fingers down the spines but not stopping at any of them and proceeding on to the binders and file folders full of Mia’s case references and research materials that Phoenix hasn’t known how to sort and get rid of. “Somewhere here,” she mutters, “maybe there’s something.” Phoenix gives her a moment to offer one before he asks for an explanation. “After our mother left,” she says, “Sis at some point moved some of the royal records out of the Twilight Realm. I think she was worried about our aunt getting her hands on them.” The pages turn without Maya touching them. Her bangs and the hair framing her face sway as though there is a gentle wind to tousle them. “But… nope.” She stops on a page and squints down at it, only to resume flipping a few seconds later. “This Magnifi of yours, his true name – it wasn’t just taken, but erased. There’s not even an echo for me to work from.” The binder slams shut and is tossed over her shoulder without her moving her hand. “If these witches were well-enough known, how did people usually find them?” “They didn’t,” Phoenix says. “Anyone who went looking for them, they would eventually appear to.” “Huh,” Maya says. “Well, we’ve got two options, now!” Phoenix is already bracing himself to hear them. “We can go out and wander until I find us a likely trail, or you can put up some – uh, wanted posters.” “Wanted? For the Old West, maybe, but—” “Then, a ‘lost kid’ kinda thing. You do that, right? With the description, and the phone number, and the reward money.” “That’s for pets.” “It could be for kids. Don’t let your narrow-minded cultural assumptions box you in.” “Ah.” Sometimes, Phoenix has no idea what the hell she is talking about. “If we’ve got to make a grid search of the city, we’d better get started.” Maya hops up onto the couch and pushes the curtains aside to look out at the rain. “Maya, do you know how big Los Angeles is?” She looks back at him with her head cocked. “No,” she says. “How big?” Again they set out, on foot this time. “We’re helping her by stealing her,” Maya says, jumping squarely into a puddle and splashing muddy streetwater up Phoenix’s jeans. “It’s not either-or.” She tilts her head back, face to the clouds that are darkening from gray to black as night falls. “I bet Sis can save her, like she did you.”

Streetlamps flicker as they pass, and in those brief spurts of shadow, Maya’s shape flickers too.

She leads him down streets he didn’t know existed, past storefronts that look long-abandoned, with neon signs still glowing in the windows but not the puddles they should be reflected in. “You definitely were enchanted, by the way,” she adds. “I can still see the residue.”

“It’s been a week,” Phoenix says.

“Well, double-layered enchantments are harder to shake off and take longer to fade.” She shakes her head. “You were doomed as soon as you took that paper, without anyone to help you. You’re only human, after all.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I know.” A cheap, sad ball bounced back and forth between players of a game whose rules he doesn’t understand, then as in now, a pawn dragged to the other side of the board to be crowned a knight and turned back again.

“What did you say this coven called themselves, again?” Maya asks, when they’ve been out for a little more than an hour, Phoenix soaked through to the bone, Maya having given up the illusion that weather affects her the way it does mere mortals. Her skin does not shine wet in the light. Her hair still flutters like a ribbon with the breeze of passing cars.

“Gramarye.”

“The name itself might be an invocation,” she says.

“What, like ‘Bloody Mary’ three times in the mirror and she’ll--”

Maya squints at him. “I don’t know anyone who uses that moniker,” she says, very seriously. “Is that a meme?”

Phoenix regrets teaching her about memes, for many more reasons than this, but also specifically for this. “The -- the belief is that you say her name three times and she’ll appear behind you in the mirror.” He turns to his reflection, staring back at him out of the dark window of a closed-down ramen shop. “Gramarye,” he says firmly, despite feeling a little silly, and doubting that the reflection is even necessary. “Gramarye, Gramarye.”

“That’s not a mirror,” Maya says.

“I don’t wear makeup so I’m not going to just have one in my pocket--” Something flashes in the storefront window and Phoenix glances back. Something is glowing, a small pink light, and he figures that some neon sign in the shop has sputtered back to life until it moves, flitting about like a moth thumping up against a lamp. He looks back over his shoulder. There, down at the end of the block, the light is dancing up above the street. “Maya, look,” he says, nudging her, not even sure why he’s pointing it out but compelled to. “What’s that? We should go look—”

“Nope!” She grabs his arm and yanks him back. He hadn’t realized he ha started walking, toward it, until she stopped him. “What’d we just talk about, Nick?”

“Bloody Mary? Or that I’m only human?” The light pulses, brighter and softer, but never too bright that the glare is jarring in the dark and the rain.

“Yes! That without me you walk right into enchantments!”

“An enchantment?” He looks again at the light, really looks, but nothing about its shape or color changes and he takes another step forward. The edges of his vision are blurry, like he is staring through a sheet of falling water, and he should be able to see something—

He didn’t see anything suspicious about the diary page, either. Glancing over at Maya, his stomach momentarily turns over at the sight of the pale claws on his arm. “It’s trying to lead you astray,” she says, and even when she isn’t grinning, her full shark’s mouth of several rows of teeth is made visible, and she tugs at his arm again. “Back this way.”

The light bobs back and forth, sashaying forward as Phoenix moves away from it. “A will o’ the wisp?” he asks.

Maya nods. “A distraction,” she says, very seriously. “This is all very clever, actually.” One hand still closed around his upper arm -- he blinks and wills her claws to look like stubby nails and blunt fingertips again -- she pulls him back toward the storefront. “The doorway appears where there is a need, then the wisp distracts for the witch to step forth and seem to have just appeared from nowhere.” She reaches forward, touching a finger to the glass, and it wobbles and ripples like water, opening wider and wider a circle big enough to step through. “Because you can’t just teleport like that. There always has to be a door, but it adds to the illusion if it doesn’t look like there’s one.” Stepping to the side, she waves to usher Phoenix in first. He can see a stained wooden stairs descending, before they are swallowed up entirely by darkness. “Age before beauty!”

Even in the most human of her grins, he is reminded what she is.

Beneath his feet, the steps creak at every movement, the walls closing tighter and tighter as he descends, brushing against both of his shoulders at the same time. He fumbles forward, one hand stretched out groping blindly for an exit or a wall. Maya is prodding him in the back as they go -- “C’mon, Nick, you’re so slow!”

“I can’t see,” he protests, right as he walks straight into something solid, the impact of his hand against it jarring his entire body. “Ah.”

Maya’s hand brushes past his ear to reach over and tap the wall. With a loud scraping sound, a thin crack of light slowly spreads wider and wider, shifting aside to reveal the interior of a gaudy gilded room. It isn’t the decrepit shack he expected, no rats or exposed wires or broken furniture, but it still disgusts what slight aesthetic sense he has. Everything is gold, or red, or black, a collection of clashing decorative styles, Victorian-looking couches with abstract modernist tables and shelves, and a few implements that look like something from a circus, strange boxes and colorful flags and hula hoops.

Stage magic. Phoenix snorts.

Sitting on the couch, a blue plastic bowl in her hands, a spoonful of mac-and-cheese on its way to her mouth, is Zak’s daughter. “Oh!” she says brightly, through a mouthful of noodles. “Hi, Mr Lawyer! If I had known it was you I wouldn’t have let Mr Hat lead you away.”

Mr Hat? Phoenix mouths it at Maya, even though reasonably there is no way she will know what that means. She shrugs. “Hi Trucy,” he says, looking around for a place to sit and deciding he doesn’t trust anything in this place. “Your daddy hasn’t come back, has he?”

Her face falls. “No,” she says. “He hasn’t. But he told me I could trust you, Mr Lawyer!”

Why, Phoenix so desperately wants to ask, but he is trying to keep that trust and that question will not do him any good. “I did some digging to find out if you have any other family,” he says, trying to keep eye contact with her while also watching where he puts his feet. “And it didn’t seem like it, so I wondered if you wanted to stay with me for a little while -- until your daddy comes back.”

She nearly overturns her bowl trying to set it down. “So if I stay with you,” she says, “does that mean we’ll be family?”

“I, uh… I guess so?”

Maya is laughing quietly as she circles the room, plucking up the decorations on the mantles and setting them back down. “Who is she?” Trucy asks. “Will she be my new mommy?”

“Er -- no. No, no.”

Trucy’s face falls. “Oh,” she says. “Since my mommy disappeared years ago, I thought I might get a new one now too.”

“No,” Phoenix says, “she’s just -- a friend.” Sort of. As much as human and fae can ever be friends, without the tangle of deals and magic and curses that always litter those relationships. He’s heard of romantic couplings of fae and human -- ones genuinely built on love, he means -- but that was not his experience and he has no intention of repeating anything close to that situation.

“I’m Maya,” she says. “Nick and I have known each other for a few years now. You can trust him.” She grins. Trucy hasn’t recoiled from horror from her; it doesn’t appear that she has the Sight, and another quick glance over her confirms that. Phoenix hadn’t paid attention to that last time, distracted as he was by everything else that was going on, with her, and in general. Now he can see that her eyes don’t change, but marked around them is a teal glow, in the shape of a diamond, over each of her eyes like a variation on a domino mask. He can’t quite tell what it means; curses are always easier to read, a red slash across the throat only really meaning one thing.

In the meantime, until he can ask Maya out-of-earshot, he decides he should stop staring and instead deal directly with the situation he has invited upon himself. “Oh, Trucy? You don’t have to call me ‘Mr Wright’ or ‘Mr Lawyer’ or anything. You can just call me Nick if you want.” He scratches his head, as the depth of this is beginning to weigh on him. “Or even ‘Daddy’ someday, but not now if you don’t want to--”

“Okay, Daddy!”

Oh. Okay.

“I have to get my stuff, if I’m going to be living with you,” Trucy says. “I’ll be right back!”

She springs to her feet and runs off into the next room. Phoenix moves to follow her, not sure if this place won’t swallow them both up, never to be spat back out into the world. “It’s truth, if you’re wondering,” Maya says, opening an ancient-looking wooden cupboard and rifling around in it. “The blessing on her,” she adds, emerging with a pack of microwave mac-and-cheese that for some reason was stashed there, and tearing open the pack of cheese powder and shaking it into her mouth. “It probably doesn’t look quite the same as Pearly gave you, but I wouldn’t recommend lying to her.”

“I see,” he says.

“No, you didn’t See. You were wondering.” She grins again, and she swallows the package of pasta, plastic and all. Once she told him that she can unhinge her jaw like a snake to swallow anything as big as her head; he wishes that she could lie. He wishes that her sense of humor could extend beyond literalism into exaggerated falseholds.

He steps into the hall that Trucy disappeared down, just far enough to see her running from room to room, with the clattering of objects upended and tossed aside. “Do you need help carrying things?” he calls.

Trucy sticks her head back into the hall, beaming. “Nope!” she says proudly. “I have this!” She waves at him a huge pair of frilly pink bloomers, and part of him -- most of him -- does not want to ask, but he also does not want to trek back into this hideout when he finds out she didn’t bring any of her clothes. “My magic panties are better than any suitcase!”

“Can you… elaborate?”

She reaches in through the top of the bloomers and pulls forth a pink cape. “Oh,” he says, but she drops the cape in a heap on the floor and reaches again to bring out a t-shirt. “Okay, I see. Thank you.”

Maya has wandered into the kitchen area and is continuing to devour everything she can find in the cabinets. Phoenix decides against asking her to leave him some of it to bring home for him and Trucy now. “This really isn’t a liminal space, is it?” Phoenix asks. He would be able to see if it were, the way magic hangs in the very air in his office, the way Mia herself and the last traces of her life linger.

Maya shakes her head and sinks her teeth into three donuts stacked together like a hamburger. “Hidden by magic, but no closer to the Twilight Realm than anywhere else. She’d have at least a bit of the Sight if it were.” She leans up against the wall, watching Phoenix with eyes that glamour doesn’t quite have a hold over, flickering as they do to red. “But even then, she might still be too young to know to be afraid.”

[rayonfrozenwings]

Hello! I love you fan theories about ACOTAR universe. After I've read ACOWAR, there were something bugging me. Do you think Rhys might have lost his powers? I mean, he died, right?! Wasn't supposed to have another High Lord crowned while he was dead? So... he doesn't have children, could that be Mor?. Or did he gave all his powers to reconstruct the Cauldron? I wanted to hear you opinion on that!

So ok, man. I never really looked too deeply into this because it was brushed over and appeared to make sense… but now… you have made me think… which is good… and i have no evidence, just ramblings, so hope that’s ok.

I just went and re-read ch 76-78 of ACOWAR  to re-familiarise myself with what happened.I think to know how Rhys power worked I need to look at the cauldron.

I always viewed the Cauldron as being a containment vessel for the universe/void/nothing/everything/Thestuff that everything is made from. Kind of like a bag of holding for the universe, the maker/mother/whoever so they can just pull out what they want if they know the right words. So the cauldron holds the void and the mother uses the words to bring things forth. Kinda an origin story thing. So for existence you need something to contain everything and then someone to say let it be, make it so… yadda yadda, a good ol’ creation myth/story.So if that’s the case I don’t think a “mere high lord” would be able to seal/fix the cauldron, unless all other high-lords were present. We know that all 7 are needed to bring someone back from death. they cannot do it on their own. 

It has been hinted at before that Rhysand is more than the other high lords (at the high lord meeting in ACOWAR explicitly). The reader is supposed to infer that this is because he is half Illyrian half high fae. But what if he is more than that?I’m not sure what at this point in time, but @propshophannah has also been pondering if Rhysand is more than he appears to be. (There is a post with the quote from the high lords meeting here).I’m going to throw out there… that maybe… he has something more. And by combining his power with Feyre’s they have enough original essence or whatever they need to seal the cauldron back up. Like the coming together of two halves to make a whole type of thing. I’ve mentioned that I have thought archeron ancestry links back to the night court before in my post on “speculation on the archeron mother”.

I’m getting a little off topic here, but I do think this is important.

When Feyre realised Rhysand was gone (around pg 666- haha), she tries to grab at the wisps of their mating bond. This is the only thing left of him. No high lord power. No other essence - Just the Mating bond. She is hysterical because that is all she can find.

I think Rhysand gave up his “other/extra/special/secret” power combined with Feyre’s to the cauldron and it wasn’t enough. Feyre wouldnt know any of this because he had his shields up until he died.So he had to give all his power including his high lord power. Then because this power was split and the night court had a high lord and a high lady I think that if there was any remaining power then this power would have passed into Feyre not Mor or anyone else (but I don’t think he had any power left to give). He had spent it all - everything he had, and that’s why she could only pull Strands of the mating bond to her. Rhysand was gone. He has entered the void- shed his mortal self… shall we say- including anything that bonded him to that world in Prythian.

So during the time Rhysand was dead 💀 there was nothing left to pass on… no powers to give anyway, because we know Feyre didn’t feel anything. And from stories told of high lord power passing on to others - we know that other people notice or feel something too - an example would be when Rhysand and Tamlin both became high lords - realised what was happening and fled.

The real question should be where did his power come from once he came back from the void!

Amren has clearly spent all her power and in order to come back has had to essentially become less than what she was. She is now only high fae. Rhysand came back and appeared to have given up nothing! How?!?!He even says his power is all his own! So where did his power go when he died? and did it come back with him? or does he have some new power?Is Rhys a Shell??? What is going on here?

This could be where ACOFAS is heading (and omg that would be so cool because I love this sort of stuff). It’s mentioned that Rhysand has some healing to do in the hints we have for ACOFAS and maybe it’s all to do with the time he has spent in the cauldron and what came back or didn’t come back. I’m sure I’ve gone off on a tangent…….. I think I have more questions now too. 

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Basically I don’t think Rhysand as a “high lord” would be able repair the cauldron on his own. 

If Rhysand is a close descendant to the mother then I think he would have some sway over the cauldron - but not without help (aka Feyre, another descendant from the mother). So that is one possibility. 

If he is only a high lord - then he would need the essence of the other high lords to fix it. We know that by themselves they cannot “remake” a human or high fae because it is beyond them. We need 7 to bring back Feyre, and 7 to bring back Rhys. I think this would make mending the cauldron beyond them also. And definitely beyond one or two highlords/ladys.

So Rhysand either way - must be more than just a high lord.

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I think I have repeated myself. But Rhysand is definitely more than he appears. I hope I kind of answered a question? Maybe? Sorry if I haven’t. 

I’m now more concerned about how his power got back to him to be honest….

Its all a little suspicious - and something I didn’t really pay much attention to when I read it…but now…. I dont think we will have any answers until ACOFAS… but if anyone else has insight, feel free to jump in!

Thank you nonnie for this - it has been so fun trying to solve for you - maybe just give you more questions haha! I love looking into this stuff - and sometimes I work best jumping from questions or things I need answers too.

My ask box is always open. 

Renee