Prologue

She had no idea what woke her.

Feyre was warm, her blankets were soft, and her mattress as comfortable as ever. Her body felt light and relaxed- yet the exhaustion clinging to her mind said that she wasn't ready to get up yet. Her bladder wasn't full, her mouth didn't seem dry- so why was she awake?

The memory of a sound came to her foggy mind. One she'd heard and not heard at the same time. An echo that had startled her awake, yet soon enough was forgotten.

A low, strained breath sounded by her ear- the final gasp of one succumbing to a slow death. It was so near, as if the one who made that sound was right beside her- but Rhys slept on her right, and the sound came from her left.

Feyre's eyes snapped open, but her body stayed locked in place. Rhys' arm was across her chest, holding her as he slept. Another death-gasp sounded in her ear, so close that she could have sworn she felt breath.

It's all in your head, she told herself. There's nothing else here.

But then her eyes realized what they were seeing.

In the corner of their bedroom, illuminated by its own power, was the figure of a female dressed all in black.

Her features were impossible to focus on. They warped and shifted constantly, but somehow her eyes were immune. They were opaque, covered in a thick film, and sunk deep into her skull.

The eyes of one long dead.

Feyre didn't dare move. If she moved, the creature watching her might as well. Death-gasps filled her ears and she longed to wake the male next to her, to not face this terror alone. More and more of the ghosts' face came into focus as it gathered its strength. She had to break the stalemate before it gained too much strength.

She tensed, ready to move.

That ghostly breath against her ear hitched-

-and the Gray Lady's face broke into a wide, rotted grin.


Chapter 1

For the first time in a decade, the Feast of Souls was delayed because of weather.

A steady, soaking rain clung to the mountains around Velaris, bringing not only unseasonably cold temperatures, but what felt like an endless supply of water. Rhys' careful attention kept the Sidra from overflowing its banks, but after hours of discussion with school and community leaders, he agreed to postpone the usual treat-giving until the clouds broke.

Feyre didn't bother hiding her glee.

Mor was visiting from the Continent, Cassian from the Illyrian Steppes, and even Lucien accepted an invitation to gather in Velaris for a traditional harvest feast. Sure they would all be together again for Solstice in just a couple months' time, but Feyre had an important announcement to make.

"Feyre's not pregnant," Mor yelled from the staircase as Rhys opened the front door to admit a dripping-wet Cassian.

He raised an eyebrow to Rhys, "Is that a trendy new greeting on the Continent or something?"

Mor shrugged and came down to give her old friend a welcoming hug, "No, it's just when Feyre said we all had to be here, I figured it meant a baby." She swatted moisture from her skin.

"Same," Lucien called from the sitting room. He'd arrived before even breakfast, ladened with herbs and spices from Dawn's world-famous markets. When he offered to pick them up on his way north, he had underestimated just how long of a list Elain would give Feyre. It felt (and looked) like he'd carried half the spice market with him.

Cassian snored, "Screw Feyre, I'm more interested in you saying you'll come back for good."

Rhys lightly swatted Cassian's head and wandered away. Mor was the one who decided when she was ready to return to Night. She needed a vacation from her Court.

"I'll come back when I come back." Only Feyre knew that Mor had met someone on the Continent- a beautiful fae woman who might very well prove to be her mate. Mor's place was in Night, and it was to Night she would return one day, but Feyre advised her long ago to stay until she was ready to love her female openly. No more hiding, and no more horrible secrets to eat away at her heart.

Cassian might not know anything about the source of Mor's happiness, but he could see that she was brighter and more at ease than she'd been in centuries. Mor took lovers just like any other member of the Inner Circle, but there was a distinct glow that came from long-term romance and she was radiant with it.

"Where's Feyre? I should have a fireball in the face by now for the 'screw her' comment," Cassian rested his elbow on Mor's shoulder and leaned on her until she winnowed away. He fell in a wet thwack of furs and laughed.

Rhys couldn't force himself to take the same jovial tone, "She's taking a nap, she hasn't been sleeping well."

"Is she alright?" Cassian brushed off his leathers as he stood. It was late afternoon outside- if Feyre was still asleep either she intended to be up all night or she was beyond exhausted.

Rhys sighed, "I don't know."

"I'm tired," a voice called from upstairs, "not dying."

With a burst of black mist and a clap of thunder, Rhys winnowed to his wife's side. She was wearing a dark blue gown with silver embroidery- which only highlighted how pale she was. Her hair was neatly pinned and twisted through a diadem heavy with star sapphires, and not a single strand escaped her control. A matching necklace and earring set completed her ridiculously formal attire.

When Cassian met her on the stairs he moved to hug her- and Feyre stepped back, "Wet." She eyed his drenched clothing.

Elain must have been hovering because she appeared in an instant with a steaming mug of spiced tea for her little sister, "Caffeinated tea, as requested."

"Thank you Elain." Feyre eyed the oversized and lumpy mug with some distaste, but accepted it anyways.

The mug was made for her by one of the children from her studio. He'd been blinded during the attack on Velaris and so she'd worked with a potter from the Rainbow so that he could sit beside his twin sister and still create. The look she gave it now- it was like she was forcing herself to even touch it.

"Bad dreams messing with your sleep schedule?" Cassian kissed Elain's forehead as a greeting and slipped her a folded square of paper- he was a notorious smuggler of letters from Nesta. This one was incredibly short, but Elain dashed back into the kitchen to read all the same.

Feyre had no contact with her older sister, beyond vague reports Cassian sent each of the six months she'd been training. The last thing Nesta needed was to feel like she was being studied day and night. Cassian let her read his reports and remove anything she wasn't comfortable with her family knowing (really anything about her mental health) and had taken to adding little notes for Elain and Amren. She was mending bridges as best she could- but her relationship with Feyre was never on solid ground. Nesta didn't want to send her notes. She wanted to speak to her face-to-face.

"A busy mind doesn't rest easily," Feyre pretended she didn't see the note.

"If there's anything I can do, let me know." Cassian offered Feyre a hopeful smile, "I'll send Nesta on another hunter-tracker mission and you can spend some time in the Steppes, get out of the city and clear your head."

"That won't be necessary. Don't torture Nesta on my account," Feyre said.

Illyrian hunter-tracker missions could last for weeks, according to one of Cassian's reports. Nesta was training in fighting and weapons with a unit of younglings- the only Illyrians at her ability level. When her troop was off on flying training, Cassian taught her some of the more instinctual Illyrian arts. She was obsessed with mastering hunting and tracking, if only to have something in common with her youngest sister.

"I leave the torture wholly at her discretion," Cassian laughed. "More often than not I'm the one holding her back after she decides she's ready."

A knock sounded at the door and interrupted any further discussion. Feyre's eyes narrowed at the door. Everyone who should be there already was.

Amren would spend the holiday in Summer with Varian, and Feyre had sent Azriel to the Court of Nightmares with Nuala and Cerridwen to do final inspections of prisoners set to be executed during the Feast of Souls. Rhys had already intervened on behalf of those whose guilt Azriel deemed suspect, but Feyre was adamant he go all the same. None of them would return until well after midnight.

Cassian glanced back to feyre, verifying once again that she was unarmed, before nodding to Rhys.

The door opened, and the room froze.

Feyre stared at the female who stepped in from the rain. Confusion gave way to hostility in seconds.

Nesta was soaked to the bone, covered in mud, and carried a heavy-looking leather pack on her back. Her hair was done up in five long braids woven with leather and metal bands. There was nothing delicate about her appearance, nothing imperious or aloof either. She wasn't the Nesta who first came to Velaris, or the half-drunk one who'd been banished in Feyre's intervention.

She was exhausted, dirty, and frozen to the bone, but she was still happy and at peace.

Nesta met Feyre's gaze and for the first time in memory looked at her sister, not through her, "Is it alright if I-"

"Yes." Emotion welled in Feyre's eyes, but it was shoved down quickly. Rhys closed the door behind Nesta and watched the Archerons face one another.

"Are you- you look well?"

"I am," Feyre looked Nesta over. She allowed a flicker of disapproval to crack the mask on her face, "And you- you look… wet."

"Feyre," Mor stepped over to elbow her friend. Even Rhys frowned.

A squeal sounded from the kitchen- Elain reading Nesta's note (which simply said 'I'm on the porch'). A second later a blur of pink shot through the doors and aimed straight for Nesta.

Feyre reached out and snatched the back of Elain's dress as she passed, ripping off a chunk of fabric and taking her sister's legs out from under her in the process. Lucien was up in an instant to catch Elain as she fell.

"Feyre!" It was the most common exclamation as everyone shouted at once.

Rhys, Cassian, Lucien, Mor, and even Nesta were incredulous. Elain was more stunned than anything. Her cheeks burned red and Mor quickly came to hold the torn back of her dress closed as she and Lucien helped the female to stand.

"My apologies," Feyre's voice was cold as she dropped the scrap of cloth. "I didn't want Elain to ruin her dress. Sometimes I forget how strong fae are."

Lucien released Elain so that Nesta could take his place. He didn't plant himself between the heavily armed warrior and her sister, but he did pull the tie from his hair and bind the scraps of dress Mor was holding, giving Elain at least something resembling modesty.

His end of the mating bond roared, but the snarl Lucien aimed at Feyre had nothing to do with those primal fae instincts. It was the reaction of any decent fae who saw another harmed. Hell, it was the same snarl that lit Cassian's face.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Nesta snapped.

"I don't need to listen to language like that from a half-wild beast." Feyre dismissed Nesta and Cassian both with snort, "Elain can show you both where to clean up. Elain- I'll replace the dress. Just remember how dangerous it is to fling yourself at others."

Nothing in her face or tone showed remorse.

Elain tore herself from Nesta and Mor's grip and ran up the stairs, her face buried in her hands. Cassian growled at Feyre before he and Nesta followed without a single damn care for the muddy prints they left across the floor.

"I understand that Nesta puts you on edge, but WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!" Rhys rounded on his mate.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME SHE WAS COMING?!" Feyre screamed before slumping back onto the couch and bursting into tears, "I know you needed someone to be the bad guy and I'm the easiest target, but do you know how hard it is to have everyone blame me for her decisions?! You all bully me like it's my fault she isn't in this city, then you just throw her at my feet and expect me to be grateful?!"

Rhys opened his mouth, but Feyre cut him off, "Don't you dare say you didn't know they were coming. DON'T YOU DARE, RHYS! YOU'RE MY HUSBAND, YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO SUPPORT ME, NOT UNDERMINE ME!"

"I'm not going to watch this little pity-party," Lucien spat as he stormed off into the kitchen. He couldn't go see if Elain was alright, but he could at least make sure the food she'd worked so hard on didn't burn.

Rhys threw his arms up and winnowed away, leaving Mor to glare at Feyre with as much wrath as she possessed.

"I need a friend here, Morrigan," Feyre sniffled.

"Then don't treat your family like shit." Mor followed Lucien, if only to put some space between her and her best friend.

Feyre just rolled her now-dry eyes and crossed one leg over the other. Her slippered toes hit the mug, sending it across the room where it shattered against the stone walls.

"Oops."


Rhys winnowed directly into the guest room where Elain had led Nesta and Cassian, "Elain, are you alright?" The words were out before he was fully formed.

"I'm fine," Elain looked scared more than anything.

Nesta and Cassian hid their fear better than most, but they were standing together in the marble bathroom and arguing in hushed tones. Rhys kicked the bathroom door closed and put a hand over his eyes, "Ready?"

"Yeah."

With a wave of his free hand, Elain's dress vanished. Before she could feel any embarrassment, he snapped his fingers. The lilac dress that replaced her ruined one was part of a set Feyre had ordered for that night's intended announcement. Lucien's hair-tie fell to the ground, and Elain picked it up as Rhys uncovered his eyes.

"Well?" He opened the bathroom door.

Nesta came to hold Elain's hand. She sighed and nodded, "I think Elain and Azriel are right… That's not Feyre."

"So where the fuck is my mate?"

He had no way of knowing that Feyre was already halfway through the vale.


It came on gradually.

Feyre reaching for her Illyrian leathers only to decide she didn't feel like wearing them anymore. A gentle prod to sit straighter at dinner. A new appreciation for her crowns.

The blackouts were only a few seconds long, and didn't seem to cause any harm, so she didn't bring them up. Though- maybe that was the will of The Other.

As the days crawled by, things began to change. Feyre lost more and more time, until it wasn't seconds missing, but rather seconds remembered. Short bursts of life in an otherwise clouded world.

Initially the presence only came when she was about to do something it didn't want, now she was the one fading in and out of existence.

It was sedating her, pushing her mind down gradually, until Feyre didn't even have enough strength to fight it. It infected her mating bond, captured the messages Rhys sent to her and used her to reply as it desired.

Once, it tried to bed Rhys in Feyre's place. The shock and rage brought her roaring back to life for a few moments- but then the creature learned its lesson. It never accepted more than a chaste kiss on the cheek from her husband.

Her last clear thought was to send Azriel away, just in case he saw… well, whatever the shadows might tell him. The Other was uncomfortable with him, and hated his pet wraiths. If she didn't send them away, Feyre had an awful feeling that they would die.

There was a stirring of Feyre's mind when The Other met Nesta's eyes for the first time- but it wasn't enough to bring her back. The sound of Elain's dress ripping registered, as did the crash of her favorite mug against the wall, but she'd already lost her fight. Now she was The Other, and the creature would be Feyre in her place.

She clung to the mating bond with every ounce of strength she possessed, but Feyre was losing to the tug at her back. It would be so easy to just let go and fade into the abyss that called her. An abyss made of fire, rage, and darkness.

The Other had crawled its way out of Hell itself to return to the land of the living. For one week it wove a web around Feyre's body to anchor itself on that side of the veil.

By midnight, Death would either reclaim The Other, or take Feyre Archeron in its place.

And there was nothing the others could do to stop it.