Chapter 1

Madja was moving before the mist even cleared.

"Which one, what did Amren break, and how much life did she leave in them this time?" The ancient healer moved fast, but she wasn't rushed or hurried. Every motion was deliberate, every jar or bottle she deposited in her open medicine bag was carefully (yet quickly) placed.

"Cassian's wings were shattered, the membrane is torn, and he's lost three pints of blood so far." Rhys voice shook, but he had to stay calm. There would be time later to feel it all, "Azriel was shot in the chest with a bolt- poisoned, I think. We left it in until Mor could heal him, so he's only lost a little blood. Amren is working on Cassian right now."

"The green powder, white paste, and that entire jar of trefoil." Madja pointed to a case behind Rhys and he immediately selected what she'd asked for. The trefoil wouldn't fit in her bag, so he held the jar tight. "What happened to them?"

"We launched an attack on Hybern. He was waiting for us."

Madja's face paled a bit and she added more to the overflowing bag, "Hybern's forces used a special strain of tetrodotoxin in the War. For the sake of time, I hope he's a male of tradition. Are Cassian and Azriel conscious?"

"No. I don't know how long but- within the last five minutes they faded. Cassian kept stirring, but now he isn't- isn't-" Rhys pounced viciously on the tightness in his throat and forced himself to breathe.

"Alright," Madja said quickly, "I've got enough to get started, but do you still remember where everything is?"

"Yes," Rhysand said quickly.

As a youngling, when his mother was pregnant with his baby sister, Rhysand apprenticed Madja in secret for nearly six months. He'd winnow to her every evening after his Illyrian training and remain long after Madja retired for the night. The exhaustion was a physical pain by the time the baby was born, but he never missed a single day. Rhysand didn't want to be the kind of big brother who sat idly by when she was sick, worrying over every cough or ever twinge of discomfort from his mother. He wanted to be someone who could snap into action before the healer was even called.

Since then that training had saved countless lives, both in the War and after. Whenever Cassian and Mor forgot to fear Amren and were left in bloody heaps, Rhysand was there to help put them back together. Though, Amren never did any damage that couldn't be healed within a couple of days.

"I'm ready," Madja grabbed his wrist and Rhysand didn't hesitate. He winnowed them both to the foyer, where Mor and Amren were still trying desperately to heal Cassian and Azriel.

The females wouldn't even look at Rhysand.

"Thank you Amren, but please stop," Madja said quickly. She'd known Amren long enough that the female listened to her request without objection. Amren disagreed with Madja only once, and because she did not follow her command an Illyrian lost his wings. He'd killed himself, and though Madja never blamed Amren outright, she knew the female now understood when to bow to a healer's orders.

"I only told the blood to clot around the wounds." Amren said. With the previous Illyrian, she'd told his body to heal, which translated to his physical form permanently sealing off the damaged wings and killing the nerves within. That Illyrian was some anonymous soldier, Cassian was infinitely more precious.

Not that she would ever admit it.

Madja put a hand on Cassian's shoulder, then looked to Azriel. Mor was concentrating wholly on pouring as much power into him as his body would take.

"You look closer to the grave than either of them, Lady Morrigan. Take a break," Madja left Cassian's side and put her hands over Azriel's wounds.

"I won't just sit on my ass." Mor snapped.

Madja's hand shot out to grip Mor's chin with a strength her haggard old face hid. She was a healer, and beneath that old flesh was a female as fit as any warrior, "I don't want you to sit on your ass. I want you to go eat something so that you have some strength. If I need you to heal this boy some more, I want to know it won't kill you."

Mor said nothing, but the moment Madja's grip eased she jumped to her feet and dashed to the kitchen. She'd eat alright, but no more than perhaps a spoonful of peanut butter.

"You don't want to be here for this part," Madja opened her medicine box and quickly removed several vials.

"I don't care how bad it gets. I'm not leaving."

"Then promise me something now: If I can't cannot save them-" a shiver ran through Rhys, through all of the Night Court, "-you don't go looking for revenge until you know you can claim it. I delivered you from your blessed mother's womb personally. I've already lost one of her babies, I won't see the other fall too." Her voice wavered, more emotion than he'd ever seen her show.

"No promises," Rhys growled. He closed his eyes and eased the beast back before Madja could chide him, "But… I will do what I can."

"Good enough," Madja found what she was looking for: a series of metal bars with trenches inside that could connect at dozens of angles. Splints for Illyrian wings. She set them aside and quickly filled a half dozen needles with the contents of the vials by Rhysand.

"When I give you the signal, inject these into Azriel as quickly as possible. He'll scream- and that poison will have made his magic unpredictable. Contain it without hurting him. And Rhysand- however much pain Azriel is in will be nothing compared to what Cassian is about to endure. Be prepared for that too."

Rhysand nodded and sent a shield to seal off the kitchen. He didn't want Mor to hear what was about to happen.

"One." Madja waved a hand over the metal splints and they shattered into hundreds of pieces.

"Two." She lowered them so that they gently rested over every shattered piece of bone and every hard ridge.

"Three." Light arced between each piece, connecting the metal even as it began to bind to Cassian directly. Madja looked to Rhysand, who held the needles over Azriel's chest with his magic. A shield was already around the male, ready to catch whatever power he might unleash.

"Now!" The needles plunged into Azriel's skin, and those metal splints snapped together, wrenching bone and cartilage back into place.

Rhys knew that until his dying day, he would hear those animalistic screams echoing through the townhouse.


Feyre's voice came down the mating bond distant and warped, as though she were shouting underwater, "I am safe and well. I'll tell you what I know soon… Are they alive? Hurt?"

Rhysand was in the sitting room, the only place big enough to fit both Cassian and Azriel's bodies. Madja had gone for the night, promising to return with more supplies at dawn. Mor was somewhere in the Court of Nightmares, hunting down information on Hybern's poison. Amren- she was prowling the Night Court looking for someone to kill.

If Azriel makes it to dawn, he will be alright.

Madja's words hung over Rhys like a death knell. The Shadowsinger burned with fever as poison filled his body. Angry red veins stood out across his chest, neck, and arms- radiating from the oozing black mass of bandages that marked the arrow's entry. His skin was flushed and sweat-soaked, and when Rhys tried to read his mind all he found was a chaotic and jumbled mess of images.

If Cassian makes it to dawn… you'll need a miracle.

He was on the opposite end of the room as Azriel, laying on his stomach on a special table that had a cutout for his face. His wings were strapped to linen-padded splints and pinned wholly open, which only emphasized the rips and tears in them. His skin and wings alike were white as the grave, his breathing heavy and slow, and when Rhys tried to scan his mind-

-a void. Empty. Silent. Dead.

Rhys took a long, shuddering breath and summoned an image of Feyre's face, the only thing that could chase back the darkness in his soul. With perhaps the last bit of hope he possessed, he sent a reply down the bond to give her the strength she would need in Spring:

"I love you. They are alive. They are healing."

As soon as the message was away, Rhysand buried his head in his hands and wept.


"Rhys?" Mor's soft voice woke him.

He'd fallen asleep.

Shit.

Rhysand jerked to consciousness. Something hard and cold coiled in his stomach. He saw concern on Mor's face, and his very foundations began to crumble. He couldn't breathe, couldn't speak-

"Their condition hasn't changed." Her words were somehow like a blow to the gut. They winded him, and Rhys drew a long, shuddering breath as she continued, "I gave Azriel his medicine, but I can't manage it with Cassian… Can you help?"

"Yes," he rasped and stood, "yes, of course. I'm sorry."

Four times per day Cassian was to receive a nearly fatal dose of trefoil tea. It kept his wings paralyzed, but also made his magic recoil and vanished, similar to the effects of faebane. Madja wouldn't let his natural healing interfere with her rebuilding his wings, and the comatose state gave his body a chance to heal that it wouldn't have if Cassian was anywhere near conscious. Azriel was on a quarter the dose half as often- only enough to make it difficult to move his wings without knocking much of his magic down. They wanted to discourage Azriel from moving, not stop him from healing himself.

Rhysand forced sleep back and went to Cassian's side. He used his power to raise the male a bit, careful to tilt his ruined wings in time with his body. He looked worse, not better. The exposed membrane was black and each vein was swollen and purple. His body was in a similar condition- bruised, broken, and bleeding. He needed a miracle, just as Madja had said.

The most powerful Illyrian on the continent, the most powerful High Lord in history, and Rhys couldn't do anything. None of them could.

Cassian was laying on his stomach, so Rhys seized his mind, all too aware of the overwhelming silence within. He made Cassian tip his head up, then nodded to Mor. She came forward with a goblet filled with cooled tea and a straw. Rhysand made Cassian's body swallow every last drop of the tea, even though his own instincts screamed for him to spit out the poison.

"I'm sorry Mor," he said quietly as they finished.

"You'd do the same thing again." Her tone was completely flat. Conversation over.

Rhys wasn't done trying just yet, "We didn't want you treating her differently on the mission, yes, but it was also because she wanted to tell you when we could celebrate. Not when we were plotting."

"And now Tamlin is doing Cauldron-knows-what to her." Mor snapped. "My best friend, and for all I know she was forced to spend the night in his bed like-" she bit her own tongue.

"Like me and… and her."

"I'm scared Rhys," Mor softened her tone. She pulled the straw from Cassian's mouth and wiped at the edges before letting Rhys lower him back down. "Tamlin's reputation, their history- what if he's the same as Amarantha? They were always far too similar; mates- more likely than not."

"Feyre is smarter than him. If anything goes wrong… she'll kill him and get the hell out of Spring." Rhys had to be Mor's strength. If he let on that the same fear made him feel as though he was about to vomit, she'd lose all hope.

Mor loosed a shuddering breath, "I know. I know Feyre can take care of herself, but-"

"Me too." A tear slipped down Rhysand's cheek, "She sent word while you were gone. It wasn't much- she said that she is safe and well, that she'll report on Hybern soon… and she asked about Cassian and Azriel."

"What did you tell her?"

Rhysand looked from Cassian to the Shadowsinger, still fighting for every breath, "I told her they were alive and healing."

He waited for Mor to make some crack about his and Feyre's penchant for secrets, but instead she nodded, "Good. She doesn't need to know, not until she's home. If-" Mor put a hand over her heart to contain the sob that tried to break free. When she could speak, it was in a broken whisper, "If the worst happens, don't tell her. We- we'll hold off on the goodbyes until she's back. Understood?"

"Understood." That freezing, heavy pain rippled through him once more. If Cassian or Azriel succumbed… He didn't know if he was strong enough to bear the sight of Feyre crying over their bodies.

"Rhys?" Mor looked at him one more time, "What you're feeling? That is exactly how we felt all those years you trapped us here."

"I don't care if this lasts fifty years or five hundred, as long as we all make it through."

The front bell rang and Mor sighed, "I don't think I can survive another fifty years of this." She walked around Rhys and out of the foyer, closing the doors tight behind her while she saw to the visitor outside.

Rhysand crossed the room to Azriel's bed and laid a palm across his forehead. He was dangerously hot and shivered violently- but a tendril of shadow wafted across Rhys' fingers. He wasn't done fighting. Not yet.

Cassian though…

"He wants to die," a soft, female voice said. Rhysand whirled to see Nuala leaning over Cassian, inspecting him with her silver mist. The power of a wraith. "He knows what happened to his wings, and he knows everyone is safe, but- he's in so much pain. He's ready to let go. He wants to let go."

"Then why hasn't he?" Rhys whispered.

"Because she won't let him."

"Why should Nesta Archeron have any say in what happens to Cassian?" Rhys' words came out sharper than he intended.

Nuala sighed, "Why did you have any say in what happened to Feyre Under the Mountain?" Her tone wasn't one of insolence, but resignation. As though she too couldn't stand the thought of Nesta and Cassian as-

"Do you love him?" Rhys asked. "I wouldn't be angry, just- do you love him?" Nuala, with her quiet strength and soft demeanor, would be an excellent match for Cassian's white-hot fire.

"I do… as much as I love you, or Mor, or Amren even." Nuala's eyes were sad when she finally raised them from Cassian's face, "He made a point to find the difference between Cerridwen and I so that he never mixed our names up… He always gave us separate birthday and solstice cards, remembered our favorite perfumes or foods- he's a good male, and if she keeps him here… then so be it. I would rather learn to love Nesta Archeron for his sake than learn to live in a Prythian without his laughter."

Rhys said nothing, but he sighed and joined Nuala by Cassian's side. He sent another flicker of power into his friend, looking for any trace of Cassian buried inside.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

"Madja said it will take a miracle to bring him back," he said quietly.

"A human woman brought down Amarantha, died, and was reborn to become your mate and our High Lady of Night. Her sisters entered the Cauldron itself and emerged as high fae… We live in an age of miracles, High Lord. Perhaps saving Cassian is easier than we think."

Rhysand hung his head and sighed. He wanted to believe her words, but dread still gnawed at his heart. "How are they?"

"Elain's condition is the same as Feyre's was when she first came to Velaris. Nesta… we're mostly trying to keep out of her way."

"Thank you," he murmured. "What time is it?" the curtains were drawn tight.

"Ten in the morning. Madja has been sitting in the dining room for the past four hours, mixing potions and tonics. She didn't want to disturb you."

Rhys swore, "Alright. I'll visit the Archerons by lunch." Nuala nodded, and began to fade. "Wait." He jerked his chin to Azriel, "What about him?"

Nuala finally looked to Azriel's body, the one she'd avoided seeing at all. Her face paled as she took in his obvious signs of suffering. A small suspicion creeping at the back of Rhysand's mind was confirmed.

When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper, "He will be alright. Nothing else is acceptable." She vanished before Rhys could ask another question.

If Azriel makes it to dawn, he will be alright.

Then why did he look so much worse?

Mor knocked softly on the foyer door and opened it just a crack, "Rhysand? You might want to come out here."

He didn't want to leave. A part of him was afraid that if he left, his brothers would take the opportunity to slip away forever… But Rhysand tore himself from Cassian and Azriel all the same and slipped out into the hallway.

Or was it a garden?

Flowers of every kind lined the floors- roses, tulips, hydrangea, dahlia- more types than Rhysand even knew the name for flooded the hallway with their heady scents. Greenery was draped here and there, as though the florists ran out of flowers and sent whatever they could. Pies, pastries, and various dishes of food mixed with gift baskets filled with fruits, not to mention the cards- thousands perhaps- that sat in a fat sack by the door.

And faeries were still bringing them in.

Mor clutched Rhysand's hand tightly as the hallway filled and workers carried more out to the balcony, "People saw Madja rush in yesterday, and this morning she was buying rare herbs in such massive quantities- word spread that someone was hurt. They don't know if it's you, me, Cassian, Azriel, or Feyre- but they wanted to show their support all the same." Tears threatened to spill over at the sheer display of love from Velaris to those who watched over it so faithfully.

Rhys had forgotten just how large his family truly was.

"An age of miracles," he whispered, echoing Nuala's words. Cassian needed one to survive, but with all of Velaris showing their support-

Rhysand closed his eyes, breathed in the scents filling the townhouse, and dared to let a sliver of hope into his heart.


"Oh good, Feyre's whore remembers we exist." Nesta spat the moment Rhysand was in sight.

He stiffened at that word, at all the memories it conjured. Red flashed in his vision, and a roaring filled his ears that was difficult to stomp down. Rhys put a shield around Nesta, not that she could tell, just in case he couldn't force that sudden, blinding rage down.

The way his eyes glazed over- the tremor that ran through his hand- angry as Nesta was, she knew she'd gone too far with that particular insult. So she stayed quiet, and waited for Rhysand to make the first move. He had the look of a dangerous predator preparing to strike, and she wasn't going to be the thing that drew his focus.

"I apologize for my delay in coming here." Rhysand's voice was pure ice, but a modicum of focus returned to his eyes, "I had things to take care of in Velaris."

"Where the hell is my sister? I have some very choice words for that little-"

"Be careful," Rhysand snapped. His voice shook with barely contained rage as the male in him growled at any who would dare insult his mate. Feyre was in Spring, but that didn't change the fact that the mating frenzy still had a tight grasp on his heart. He was desperately protective of her, even against her own vile sister. "Feyre is more to me than what you would even consider a 'wife', and she is a High Lady of Prythian. Insulting her in my domain is begging for death."

Sane, Rhysand would never have threatened his mate's sister. Sane, he would have simply found an excuse to be anywhere else. But with Cassian and Azriel barely clinging to life, and considering Nesta was the only thing keeping Cassian from death, he was on edge to say the least.

"Oh, so you're not bothering with manners anymore, I see." Nesta snarled.

"You don't, why should I?"

Silence hung between them before the last bit of tension from Nesta's first remarks finally left his body. Rhys loosed a long breath, "This isn't how I intended to begin our conversation."

"Yet here we are." She snapped.

Rhysand counted slowly to ten, looking around the room all the while. If he could gauge how Nesta and Elain were doing from that alone, perhaps he could go back to pretending they didn't exist.

They were in a large suite on one end of the House of Wind which offered a spectacular view of Velaris through one set of windows and the endless sea of mountains through another. Despite that, the curtains were all drawn, as if Nesta were determined to ignore even the existence of Prythian, in complete denial of where she was and what she'd become.

She wore a simple blue dress, but it was wrinkled at the edges, as though she'd been sitting uncomfortably for a long time. Her hair was expertly done by Nuala and Cerridwen, yet pins appeared to have been pulled out here and there, leaving tendrils to fall unbidden. It looked as if she were trying her best not to move, to the point where she let the twins do her hair for her, even though Feyre had once told Rhysand that Nesta hated others helping her dress or groom.

There were no books to be found in the sitting room, nothing to show what Nesta may have been doing before Rhysand arrived. Elain was in direct sight to her elder sister, but she was laying in bed with the sheets pulled up to hide herself from the world.

"I think what Feyre struggled with the most was learning to move in this form," Rhysand said quietly when his gaze fell back to Nesta. "Your limbs are longer, your fingers are longer, and everything looks different." He didn't read her mind, though she was broadcasting loud and clear. Her less-than-meticulous appearance, the way she'd positioned herself to watch Elain and nothing else- it made her condition clear enough.

"Maybe she had trouble, but I most certainly am not." Nesta snapped.

"Have you eaten? Are you hungry?"

"We don't need any of your pathetic excuses for food," she growled. "Just take us home."

"That isn't happening, and it isn't up for negotiation." Rhysand's tone made it clear he wasn't budging on that. "If you return home, Hybern will torture the both of you to death just to prove a point. He knows now that you don't give half a shit about Feyre, but Elain is your weakness. He'll make sure you're the one begging him to kill her before the end."

Nesta's snarl very nearly gave Rhysand pause. Something mighty and dangerous lit her eyes- a power Rhys had seen for only a second in that throne room, "Don't you dare pretend you know how I feel about Feyre."

"Oh, you've made that clear enough," he said. "She kept you ingrates alive for years while you stomped all over her. You couldn't even be bothered to teach her to read- which nearly got her killed, by the way. You sent her off to Prythian to die and actually looked disappointed when we all came knocking. Do you want to know what happened yesterday? She saved your lives and sold herself to a male who facilitated the slaughter of my family- and that was when I was friends with him. Your thanks for her sacrifice are 'very choice words', which I'm willing to bet are not, in fact, an expression of gratitude."

"I will not be talked down to by -"

"Someone older, wiser, and more powerful than yourself?"

"She's been through something horrific," he could almost hear Feyre's admonishment, though the voice in his ear was nothing more than his own conscience. "She is angry and afraid, and you just keep taking your own fear and frustrations out on her. If you're truly older and wiser, put that damned power to use instead of bullying a traumatized female."

"I owe you an apology, Nesta." Rhysand cut her off before she could say something that would no doubt cause him to escalate their argument further. "Feyre is gone, and I can't protect her. My friends are gravely injured, and I haven't slept properly in days… I don't want to fight, and I don't want to treat my mate's family this way… Is there anything you or Elain need?"

Nesta wasn't as ready to simply forgive and move on, "Get out, you prick."

He wanted to be the mature one, but he couldn't resist, "You're too kind, thinking of my wellbeing at a time like this. But you don't have to use my pet name to cheer me up."

"I SAID-"

The smile abruptly vanished from Rhysand's face as he beheld something over Nesta's shoulder, "Did we wake you? I apologize." His voice was infinitely softer.

Nesta whirled, only to find Elain standing there with hollow eyes and wearing the frankly ridiculous bedclothes Nuala and Cerridwen had provided them with- ones that didn't even cover the stomach properly.

"I was supposed to be married in six weeks," she said quietly.

Rhysand didn't know how to respond. She was engaged to a faerie-hating bigot, and now she was faerie herself. "I will ask if there is some way to reverse what happened, but I can't promise anything." He knew there was no way to make her human again, but Elain nodded as though the lie in his words wasn't obvious.

"Are you hungry Elain?" Nesta turned her back wholly to Rhysand.

Elain said nothing, but Rhys dared to reach out with his mind and read both sisters. They were famished, they just didn't realize it.

"Here, you can eat in your rooms if you'd like," Rhysand waved a hand, summoning food from the kitchens below. Roast lamb and potatoes with fresh summer greens covered a small table in the corner of the room. The scent earned an audible growl from Nesta's stomach that turned her cheeks bright red.

"I'll ask Nuala and Cerridwen to bring up some hot tea. Nesta, when you're ready to try using those fae limbs, Nuala can show you to the House library. Elain- if you're feeling up to it, Cerridwen can walk you through the garden. It isn't much to see, but if you can think of improvements I'd be more than willing to fund a renovation."

He turned, but Nesta's voice stopped him in his tracks, "So we're prisoners here now?"

"You are free to come and go from this House as you please, but for the time being you are confined to this place and the city below. If you venture from the House you will be escorted by Mor, Amren, or myself. We don't know if Hybern will come looking for you, and I won't risk him claiming prisoners."

"What about that puffed-up errand boy of yours?" Nesta tried to conceal the hint of worry in her voice, but she spoke too quickly to feign casual interest. "Why hasn't that pig Cassian come up to meet me yet?"

He wants to let go.

Then why hasn't he?

Because she won't let him.

Rhysand heard Nuala's words again. He didn't want to tell her the truth, that horrible female would probably just say something disgusting in response… But if she was what held Cassian to this world…

"He's not going to make it," Rhys said quietly, hating every word. "The healer has done everything she can… but the damage is too extensive."

He needed a miracle, and if Nuala was right, that meant Nesta Archeron.

"He's not going to die." Her voice was quieter than he'd ever heard, "He isn't allowed to die. He swore an oath to me, he isn't going to just die and get out of it like that."

Rhysand didn't say anything as he walked out of the room and into the darkness of the hallway. He hadn't lied, but he'd manipulated Nesta's perception of the situation, all to force her to hold tighter to whatever force bonded her and Cassian. He wanted to die, he was trying to let go and pass on, but if there was one thing Rhysand and Nesta could agree on it was that Cassian actually had no say in the matter.

He was going to survive, whether he liked it or not.


Mor checked the clock in the foyer, "Wow, fifteen minutes. You lasted longer than I would have thought." She'd moved flowers to clear a spot on one of the low benches that lined the hallway.

Rhys sighed and took the bottle of wine from her hand. He chugged half of it before returning it to his cousin.

"How did it go?"

"Both a triumph and an embarrassment."

"How so?"

He closed his eyes a moment and considered taking the bottle back again, "I shouldn't have lost my temper like that… and I shouldn't have threatened her."

"So what's the triumph?"

"I resisted the urge to kill her."

Mor huffed a laugh and took a swig of wine, "Congratulations. I'm not sure I'd have that kind of strength."

Rhys looked from Mor to the closed foyer doors. He pulled the wine out of her hand once more and wet his lips with it, "Am I a horrible mate if I hate her sisters?"

"If you liked them I'd say you were horrible in general," Mor huffed. "You want to know what I've been picturing to help me through this?"

"What's that?"

"Instead of Lucien Vanserra declaring Elain was his mate, Tamlin."

For the first time in nearly a day, Rhysand felt a smile tug at his face. What Nesta would do to that beast if he tried to so much as touch Elain… It was a wonderful picture.

"So, if you're not a horrible mate for hating her sisters, am I a horrible friend if I say… I needed a break?" The light vanished from Mor's face and she stared unblinking at the doors to the sitting room, "I avoided it all night… and I think I've spent all of half an hour in there today."

"It's hard to see them like that," Rhys agreed. "Especially since we can't do anything to help them."

"And yet… being out here hurts just as much, because if they're alone they might-"

"I know." Rhysand put a hand on her shoulder. "Mor, I'm sorry- I'm so so sorry for trapping you here all those years ago. I can't imagine what kind of strength it took to-"

Mor stood and glared at Rhysand, "Don't you dare, Rhysand. Don't you dare stand there and say that you can't imagine what we went through. What you went through was worse- infinitely worse."

"It isn't a contest."

"Then why do you keep playing to lose? At least we had one another to lean on."

"I had Nuala and Cerridwen, they kept me as sane as they could." Rhys felt that dread settling over him once more. It was a different kind of pain- standing helplessly aside while his friends fought for their lives versus the sick dread of being dragged back to Amarantha's bedchamber… But the crushing weight on his soul was familiar.

The door slid open, and Rhysand braced himself as he looked to Madja's face. She controlled her expressions so carefully, but this time a soft smile lit her lips.

"High Lord? Morrigan? Someone wants to see you." She stepped aside- but even running was too slow. Rhys grabbed Mor and simply winnowed into the room. "Impatient little-" Madja grumbled to herself as she slid the door closed behind her and went back to her concoctions in the kitchen.

Azriel's fever was broken. His breathing was slow and even, and when Mor ran from Rhysand's arms to put a hand on his brow, his eyes began to flicker beneath the lids.

"Slowly," Rhys was breathless as Azriel opened his eyes and an incredible relief washed over him.

Azriel blinked unevenly, and nearly lost the battle to remain conscious. His eyes focused on Mor first, on the love and concern shining in her eyes. They drifted to Rhysand, and he swallowed hard, "We got out?"

"We got out," Mor said.

"Cassian?"

"He's- he's got a long way to go," Rhys put a hand on Azriel's arm and gave it a light squeeze.

Azriel's eyes flickered and he looked between Rhys and Mor- all the way across the room to where Cassian's body was propped up. Anguish flickered across his eyes as he scented blood, but he only swallowed once more and settled back into his pillows, "He'll be alright."

"Your shadows tell you that?" Rhys asked.

"No… because if he dies I'll walk into the veil and drag him back myself." Azriel closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "I've saved his damn ass too many times for him to throw it all away now."

"How are you feeling?" Mor didn't want Azriel dwelling on such darkness, not while he was still so near death himself.

"Like someone shot me in the chest with a poison arrow," Azriel answered dryly. "Where's Feyre?"

"The High Lady of the Night Court?" Mor looked to Rhys, "She's in Spring. With Tamlin. Playing spy."

Azriel frowned as he tried to make sense of the words, "Madja gave me something really strong, but did she just say… High Lady?"

Rhysand nodded.

"And she's a spy in Spring now?"

Again, he nodded.

Azriel considered it about four times as long as usual before nodding, "That's a good plan. I hate it, but it makes sense." He tapped Rhys' hand, "Tell Nuala to activate Scour. She's a spy I keep in Spring. She'll keep an eye on Feyre for us."

"'Scour'?" Mor raised an eyebrow.

"She washes pots in the kitchens," Azriel did his best to shrug. "She thinks she's a spy for an ambitious little courtier, she doesn't know it's me. Even if Hybern personally interrogates her, it's little more than idle court intrigue."

"Do you ever stop scheming?"

Azriel couldn't even keep his eyes open anymore, "I'll stop scheming when you two let me get some sleep for once."

"You've been unconscious for most of a day," Mor chided him with a soft voice, barely above a whisper.

"Liar," Azriel mumbled. "Rhys?"

"Yes?"

"When I'm better… and Cassian's better… and Feyre's home safe… I'm going to kick your ass." His words were slurred, and by the time he finished he was more asleep than awake.

Rhysand smiled softly and patted Azriel's hand as his friend slipped into unconsciousness, "I'll look forward to it."