Sparing with Rhysand usually is a challenge, but today I am badly breaking a sweat. Rhys hasn't been the same science Under the Mountain, and I don't just mean his personality or the way everything Feyre speaks his eyes sparkle with either false hope, then turn to carefully disguised heartache. Or unwavering affection. But Rhysand is horribly out of shape.

And it doesn't help that his concentration is faltering, as his eyes are beginning to wonder, with Feyre only yards away practicing and learning fighting techniques with Cassian.

Cassian has been working Feyre to the bone recently. Not sucha; nice, lighthearted and easy going guy now , is he Feyre? But truly I don't think she minds , it's a distraction. And we all need a distraction every now and then to hide , if only for a minuet or two , from the demons that are relentlessly chasing us all right now. Come to think of it , even before now , they were just easier to hide from then.

I notice Rhys has began slowing down and I grant him a long glance , thinking he might be tiring. But no. He seems to be stearing , and I look over at Feyre and Cassian. They have stopped sparing and are having a conversation that looks to be unsettling Feyre. Rhys I'd trying to listen to thier conversation, and it is becoming increasingly clear why Rhys began slowing down. Through brail between our blades was interrupting his esdropping. Even with our fae hearing it was hard to hear their hushed tones over the noise of battling sounds all around us.

But I do manage to pick up bits and pieces...

'Tamlin' and 'Mor' and the words 'I'm fine' are circling in my mind, and must be driving Rhys mad. Feyre has just begun making her way back into the sparing ring. Me and Rhys are in such a daze following the Beauly followed conversation , that I only realise we are both stearing when Feyre sneaks a glance in our direction. We instantly bounce back into battle before she can question anything incriminating. Though I'm sure she knows we were at least looking at her. And I'm certain she will know when she talks to Rhys later when he is stumbling over sentences trying to get her to tell him what was wrong. Without telling her he was listening.

Me and Rhys lock eyes and his hold questions I'm sure the Surial can't even answer. But I understand the signal, and we both, far to synchronised dropour weapons and take a break.

I watch Rhys steal glance after glance but always ending in frustration as he , yet again , hits a brick wall with the maddening puzzle that is Feyre. So he eventually just settles with watching her.

What do you think they were talking about?" Rhys questions as I'm sure he is only a few moments away from pacing. "I don't know , but I wouldn't bring it up. What ever it was about seemed to upset her." My answer doesn't seem to calm him down.

That's when I smell it!

Burning... burning. Why should anything be burning ? And Feyres hands are on fire as she hits Cassians hands as thought they are trying to kill her. And he's letting her do it. Why are Feyres hands on fire? WHY ARE FEYRES HANDS ON FIRE?

Subconsciously I look down at my scared hands and feel the blood drain from my face as the flashbacks start.

I can smell the damp walls and mud, sense them lingering in the doorway with wicked grins of spoiled brats accompanying them. Even with my back turned.

My breathing is becoming tight and enclosed, just like this cell.

And the full day terror comes into focus and I'm eight years old again with 'weakness' threatening to spill from my eyes. I am wishing... wishing with all my heart that begging could appeal to them. But it won't, and I know that. My back is to them , but I know they are there , they just like to torment me with their games of control and pain.

My older brothers.

"Come on. We just want to play. Do a little experiment." I can hear the smile in his voice as he and I remember all their past 'experiments' on the 'freak'. I try to say no but all that escapes my throat is a labour sob as I think of all the ways they plan to hurt me today. They laugh at my 'weakness' and realising they have won, walk slowly into my cell and stand in the light that is shining through my bard window. I drop to my knees as I cry and cry and cry. And they watch with delight as my small body peels it's self of the ground. To face my torturers before they break me.

"Done being weak yet?" They spit the sentence at me as though I've disappointed them, when really they love watching me panic and beg and cry for then to stop. To get out! To go away! To kill me!

I feel my head throb with the pressure of my weakness and I know the face my brothers are looking at is pale and malnourished. Scrawny and tear stained. But I will not give them the satisfaction of listening to me beg. Not again.

My eldest brother doesn't seem to like my new found strength. He said with an amusement free , stone cold voice "Pin him to the floor."

I try to wrestle my way away from them. I used to do this to try and convince them I was strong but now I don't need their approval. I am strong! I feel his weight against my back as he is humming a song I've never heard. "Father says you heal fast. But just how fast do you heal?" I murder under my breath for him to go to he'll. For both of them to go to he'll as my other brother pins my hands in front of me and watches me squirm. Then the oils surface hits my hands and my lips begin to quiver but I silence it with a bite.

I hear him strike the match against the box and brasenose myself for the pain.

I don't feel anything at first as the fire burns the oil. And then the pain hits.

And I scream.

And scream

And scream

My father comes barging through my door and the weight immediately lifts from me. There's a panicked scream "he's not healing!" But it's not that that scares me the most, not even my father's future punishment for being to weak to stop this. But the sight of mangled and melting flesh.

I come back to reality just in time to see Feyre inclosed in Rhysands wings and Cassian okay but looking at me with a worried expression. But there is no longer any fire

"C