Chapter 3
The woman convinced the world- convinced herself- that it was an accident.
Her eldest daughter died because of the corset. A corset that every proper mother used to help mold her child into a Lady. It weakened her bones until they were too brittle, until a simple trip on the expensive rug in their tea parlor broke the rib that punctured her lung.
Not a single mention of the beating she'd delivered.
An accident- a horrible, agonizing accident. One she couldn't possibly be responsible for.
She found a physician to join her cause- to preach in every corner of the city the dangers of putting those corsets on children. She cried pretty tears to rich friends, claiming the doctor who'd delivered the girls encouraged her to put the eldest in a corset despite her youth.
The man was arrested, tried, and hanged for his role in the child's death.
Her second daughter, meanwhile, was given a doll.
It was a pretty thing, and reminded her of the sister she was told was sleeping forever. Not quite three, she hardly knew what that meant. Still, she played with the doll, brought it everywhere as her constant companion.
Loss still ate away at the girl. She was lonely now, even with the children her parents paid to occupy her time. She grew quieter.
It's for the best, she heard her parents speaking to an assembly of their friends one evening. Spied on them through the door, We ask that you respect our wishes… It's the only way she can move on from her grief.
That day her big sister died again.
No one spoke of her sibling- every memory was simply the imagination of a child. She had no sister, save for the one growing now in her mother's belly. Two years old- barely three. If the adults did their duty properly, one day she would simply forget the pain of loss.
If only her parents could do that too.
Her father came home to work, to help run the household while her mother gave birth. He loved his wife desperately, and never once questioned the story of his daughter's death.
He never saw what happened behind closed doors.
—
—
Teallaire grimaced as they watched yet another memory play out- the mother was strapping a vicious contraption to the chair of a new tea room- the other closed off ever since that horrible day.
A nursemaid held her newer child- two herself now. It was time the five-year-old learn basic etiquette. Even a damned corset would have been kinder than the tool she now used, but corsets were evil. They killed little girls, with no help whatsoever from dear, loving mothers.
Years had not been kind to her second- no, first- daughter. Her eyes were always watching, always judging. She kept her strange doll close by, but for some reason her heart burned at the sight of it. Her imaginary friend, somehow less lifelike than she'd once been.
Mother said that was because she was growing up.
She sat down in the chair when prompted, expertly hiding the wince of pain as she sat on a bruised bottom- her punishment for wetting the bed. There were other bruises to, from where she was beaten 'like the animal you insist on being'.
Her mother scooted her back until a wooden spike dug into the small of her back. Only when the child whimpered did she stop and wrap two thick leather straps around her shoulders. As her posture straightened, pressure was taken off of the spike and the pain eased somewhat.
"We shall use this tool every day, until you remember how to sit properly." She pushed something through the back of the chair and into a hole in the contraption. Another sharp spike, this one to rest between her shoulder blades.
If she hunched her shoulders, the spike would drive into her back.
If she didn't keep her hips perfectly angled, the second would pierce her spine.
"Barbaric," Tealla whispered. They didn't dare draw attention to themselves in the memory. In a previous one, Feyre sneezed and the executioner stumbled on his way to take the doctor's life in payment for that murdered child.
No one could see them, but they could hear. If the memories were listening then so too might the Slaugh.
Feyre imagined she could feel the dig of the spike as the child grew tired. She had the sense of hours passing. Weeks. Months.
The girl grew in that seat- at least somewhat. Soon her little sister was the one running around- with the elder watching her wearily. She might not remember why, but she knew such frivolity only led to dark places.
"I can't watch this anymore," Feyre pinched the sleeve of Tealla's burial shift and pulled her away from the door and back into the hallway- the only place they seemed to be free to speak.
"Which one do you think is the Slaugh?" Tealla asked, "The girl, or the mother?"
It was impossible to answer.
They'd seen memories of the girl delivering vicious kicks or pinches to servants when her parents weren't looking. She was so young- so helpless- but also angry and lost.
"Cruelty breeds cruelty," Tealla had muttered.
"Were you the girl?" Feyre asked miserably. She was sick of this strange place- of the way the walls and floors warped, the way the faces never stayed the same long enough to focus her eyes. Random things were clear- details that stood out perfectly in memory, long after the rest fell away. It made her feel like she was drunk, dizzy, and upside down.
Tealla shook her head, "My mother could be intense, and I certainly remember what that posture brace felt like, but that was more my father than anything. You know their kind- males who think women are for breeding and selling." She raised an eyebrow at Feyre's horrified look, "Dad was a dick in life. In death he's actually pretty cool. Mom might let him sleep in the house one of these centuries."
"You have a house?" Feyre blurted out.
"No, the afterlife is full of people walking around in the grass. Of course I have a house!"
"Just asking, sheesh."
"What about you?" Tealla prompted, "Before the palaces and mansions and estates, that is. What was home before Night?"
"Spring for about… I don't know, nine months or so? I was a- a guest of that High Lord."
Tealla made a face, "Eew gross, you fucked him didn't you?"
Feyre turned red- or would have if there was color in this world beyond bleeding dolls, "You're a teenager, you shouldn't be talking like that- or about that- to anyone!"
"I've been dead longer than you've been alive." Tealla crossed her arms, "I'll fucking say fuck to any-fucking-one I Cauldron-damn want."
The High Lady of Night closed her eyes and prayed for patience, "Cassian would love you."
"Of-fucking-course he would."
"Please tell me that's who you are? Some relative- past or future- of his?"
"Oh Cauldron not these questions again." Tealla said her own prayer for patience, "I am Teallaire. I am here to help you because I was bored. Not everything has to have a deeper meaning, you know."
Feyre opened her mouth to snap back when Tealla flicked Feyre's sleeve- not enough to touch her and ignite that horrible pain as life met death, but to remind her she could do it if she tried. "Before you were doing the nasty with the High Dick of Spring, what was your house like?"
"It was a hovel," Feyre grumbled. "We didn't have any food, we nearly died every winter, and I took care of everyone by myself. Happy?"
"Who's 'everyone'?"
"My father and two older sisters."
"Why didn't they take care of you?"
Feyre felt a sour tang on the back of her throat, "It wasn't their job, and they certainly weren't willing to help. I did all the hunting, cleaned the kills, prepared the meat- even cut the firewood more often than not and my sisters treated me like shit."
Once she started, she couldn't make herself stop. She thought she'd forgiven them, but being trapped in these horrible memories- it cracked the door to that vault. "I hadn't even started my monthly bleed yet when I went into those woods. Every pelt I sold, every bit of coin I earned- it went to my sisters. My clothes were rags while theirs were at least warm. My stomach would growl when they ate their fill. My arms ached and they- they took everything. Every last thing."
Tealla hesitated, then tore a strip of cloth from the bottom of her dress and held it out to Feyre to wipe her eyes with. No skin-to-skin contact, no pain save that on Feyre's face.
"Why didn't you leave them? Run away?"
"You don't leave family," Feyre said, her voice low. "You endure them… You find some way to love them, no matter how much you hate them."
You harden your heart, and accept that if you drown, no one is coming to save you.
—
—
Azriel arrived from the House of Wind with a simple black satchel in his hand.
Elain took one look at it and ripped the thing away.
"Give it back," Azriel warned, his face grim.
She threw it to Lucien, and when she turned back to the Illyrian Spymaster, hate twisted her face, "You aren't going near her."
"We need a name," Azriel turned his attention to Lucien. "Elain thinks with her heart, which is an admirable quality, but right now logic has to win. Feyre loses to the Slaugh, Rhys dies. I get that name out of the Slaugh, and maybe one day Feyre will forgive me for what she's going to wake up to."
Torture.
Azriel wanted to- no, not 'wanted to'. Feyre was one of his closest, deepest friends. He'd taught her to fly and to fight. He saw her grow from that broken female into the sort of High Lady who protected her people over all else. She was the evening star that guided them all as they fought to forge a better world.
To keep that star in their sky, he would turn it red.
It would kill him, he knew it would, but his sanity was a worthy trade for her and Rhysand's lives. For the future of Night.
"We aren't that desperate yet." Lucien vanished in a blast of black smoke. Wherever he was hiding Azriel's tools, the Spymaster didn't have time to find them again before Feyre's time was truly up.
He pulled out Truthteller.
"If you touch her, I will break every single bone in your body," Nesta stood in the doorway to the dining room, blocking Rhysand from seeing what his friend had in mind.
"I want to save her," silver lined Azriel's eyes.
"I appreciate that," Nesta's voice held no menace, but the promise of violence dripped from every word. "For once- and hopefully only this once- I agree with Lucien. We aren't that desperate. Not yet."
Azriel flicked his wrist and Truthteller was replaced with a black book. He threw it at Nesta, "Figure it out, then."
Inside was a list of names, locations, and descriptions. Everyone he knew who spoke against Feyre enough that they were deemed a threat. Tamlin, Beron, mortal queens- even Nesta's name was on his list.
"The ones crossed out in red are no longer living. Blue means I don't think they're a genuine threat." Tarquin, Cresseida, Varian- their names were all in blue. Tamlin's had a blue dot beside it- as if Azriel couldn't make himself cross it out.
Nesta threw the book back without turning any more pages, "This is useless to me. I don't give a shit who hated Ferye, I need to know who she hated."
Rhys at last appeared over her shoulder, drawn away from the now-silent Slaugh, weary and on edge, "I would know if there was anyone besides Amarantha she was afraid of. I've tried a dozen names already- anyone who was Under the Mountain, even friends of her in Spring who might have died in the War. It won't talk. It won't give us any clues. It's running out the clock."
He flinched as it struck ten. Two hours left.
They imprisoned the Slaugh at eight. It was a simple enough game.
"Cassian went to her studio with Mor to try and find something," Rhys told Azriel. "Maybe she painted something." His tone was utterly defeated. The mating bond was hardly there, and he felt a tug on his mind, beckoning him into the darkness.
He tried raging, screaming, throwing anything he could reach and destroying furniture. The Slaugh now stood on a pile of ash- the remains of the table and chairs. Rhys' only comfort was that the salt shaker exploded, combining with debris to limit the Slaugh's movement further.
"Hybern!" Elain pleaded, "Brannagh, Dagdan-"
"I tried all of those." Rhys looked down at his hand. It was caked with dried blood, and shook with weariness that he'd never known before. Blood to write the names. Power to feed the papers into a fire. Infinitely more strength to endure the glimmer of satisfaction in the Slaugh's eyes each time he named the wrong person.
He even tried his own father's name, in case the male was haunting him from beyond the grave. Cursebreaker or not- he would never have approved of a once-mortal bride.
Nesta looked back at the book in Azriel's hand, "Elain?"
"Yeah?"
"Did Feyre ever write it?" Her story. She'd mentioned once she wanted to put her story to paper, something she could hold and re-read on the harder days. Nesta knew the real reason she'd written it though- to remind herself in case her immortal mind forgot where she came from, and all she'd endured.
"Yes but- Nesta, she was incredibly thorough. It's thousands of pages long. We don't have time."
"We don't have any better options, either." Nesta stepped forward, "Take me to it."
"She made me swear not to read it without her permission." Elain's mark of that oath was hidden in the small of her back where even she couldn't see it, a kindness for the Archeron who didn't wish for such tattoos on her skin.
"She made all of us swear," Rhys confirmed, "but you weren't here… and she didn't make us promise not to show you." He sighed, "I hope Feyre's around to kill me for this later but- second floor, turn right, and when you reach the end of the hall… keep walking."
Feyre's glamour was so thickly woven he had no idea how to break it.
"The one on the right," Elain added, as if that were helpful. She wouldn't leave her spot between Azriel and the door. Even bare handed, he was a master torturer.
Nesta hurried past Azriel and Elain to the staircase, then followed Rhys' directions to the letter.
At the top of the steps, she turned right until the angles of the house forced her to turn left. That hallway was one she vaguely remembered from her half-drunk tour a lifetime ago. Five guest rooms, all neatly laid out with their friends in mind and not a single picture of Nesta to be found upon the walls.
I earned this, she thought as she marched bast the portraits. I deserved to be erased. Every day of her life, I earned it.
Nesta reached the end of the hall. The room she and Cassian had bathed in was the second door on the left. She hadn't even paid the wall any attention as they followed Elain inside. Before that, the last time she'd seen this part of the house was on her tour, while she was half-drunk, surly, and lost in her own personal Hell.
Now, with a clear mind and a keen eye, she saw a flicker from one corner. Always the corner- small bursts of light that no one else could ever notice.
A glamour.
Nesta squared her shoulders and marched forward, not even wincing as she collided with marble-
-and walked straight through it.
A sixth room, one Nesta wasn't supposed to see, stood against the left wall.
She knew what it was. Knew why Feyre hid it- to prevent that miserable drunkard of a sibling from saying something else nasty and hurtful. To preserve her own heart, she'd hidden Nesta's room.
It was Feyre's way of wincing before a blow.
There was another door on the right, probably the one that Elain told her to go through. Nesta wanted nothing more than to open the left-hand door to that hidden room- her room- and see what was inside.
But that room only meant something if the female who created it was there to show her in.
Nesta turned right, towards a door of stained glass lilies- her favorite flower. It was a kindness to put that image on the door across from her own, that she might see it every time she left the room.
The door opened on a library. Another kindness Nesta had not yet earned.
A large section of the first floor was devoted to books and reading, but this upstairs library held row after row of adventure, romance, and intrigue. They were books Nesta would have loved, books Elain utterly devoured.
Blankets were casually tossed over soft blue couches. Pillows were squished into corners or the backs of seats, extra padding for whoever preferred to be there. Apart from it all, in a corner that overlooked the garden, was a desk piled high with paper and ink.
Feyre's story.
Faelights woke as she approached the desk and read the last words Feyre had written- something about what she and Rhys had done after a battle with Hybern that made Nesta's cheeks redden. But that time wouldn't yield any answers, and Feyre was still telling the tale from the very beginning, there would be no insights into what she was thinking about now, two years later.
Still, something nagged at her, kept her rooted to the desk.
Nesta cursed at her own stupidity and flipped the hefty stack of papers over- as Elain promised, two thousand hand-written papers in neat stacks, divided by some chaptering system her sister had decided on.
She found page one-
The forest had become a labyrinth of snow and ice.
Nesta read, fascinated by the story of the wolf, the memory of that meal real enough that she could still taste it on her tongue.
She kept reading, even as her heart shattered.
She read her deepest shame and felt the burning ache as every dark thought in her mind was confirmed. How she'd rationalized it back then- the horrible words she spoke to Feyre. Her own dark satisfaction at the anguish, cold, and bitterness in Feyre's eyes.
Nesta pulled up a corner of her skirts to hold against her cheek- keeping her tears from ruining those pages as she cried.
Her torture ended on the sixteenth page. She couldn't force herself to go any further.
And there was no need for it either. She knew who the Slaugh was. Had known… had known and refused to believe it.
Feyre was blameless in summoning that beast.
It came because of Nesta.
—
—
"What's your favorite color?"
"Blue."
"Favorite food?"
"Roast chicken with rosemary and garlic."
"If you were stranded on a desert island all alone, what would be the one thing you brought with you?"
"A raft."
Tealla huffed, "OTHER than that."
Feyre had endured the girl's questions for what felt like hours as they walked the endless corridor. The Slaugh's memories of abuse- either as victim or abuser- grew more and more insidious against the five and three year old children. The new-eldest burned with hate and loathing, accepted her mother's rules and orders, and became a miniature of that hated woman.
"Music."
"Wait- really?" Tealla raised an eyebrow.
Feyre hesitated to expand on that answer, but she didn't care anymore if the girl was somehow trying to study her, perhaps replace her too as the Slaugh had done. Her heart ached for the abused girls, and she was tired of seeing their mother succeed when someone- anyone- should have stopped it.
Where was the children's father?
"I was a prisoner for a time. Before you make any of your smart-ass comments, I didn't do anything wrong. The one who kept me prisoner was worse than any creature I've ever heard of or known. You lived in Velaris?" she glanced back and saw Tealla's nod, "Bryaxis never scared me half as much as she did… Amarantha." The name was poison on her tongue. "My husband was forced to play her pet. I thought he was my enemy, even though he was doing everything he could to get us out alive."
Feyre swallowed hard, "I broke. Shattered as wholly and completely as you can. I was alone in the world, without a single friend to even sit by my side while I cried. Rhys felt my despair and he sent me music. Something impossible in that hell, something that made me see a world beyond my cell- made me see Velaris." Feyre closed her eyes and a sliver of tension eased from her shoulders as she remembered that vision, "It wasn't a desert island, but I was trapped and alone, and the music saved me."
Tealla was quiet for a long moment, "I loved the harp. My family- we had a lot of old junk just laying around and one day I found this crappy wooden instrument as tall as my father hidden beneath a blanket. I holed up in the basement as often as possible. I found a tunnel that led there from behind a statue a few halls down from my bedroom. I hid from the world, and I taught myself how to play."
The teenager shuddered and her story ended. She'd learned to play, but her life ended before she could share her talent with anyone.
Even in the next world she hadn't gone searching for a new harp to play. Her dreams were useless. She didn't want to play in a death-orchestra. She'd wanted to play in one of the theaters along the Sidra.
"I'm sorry," Feyre offered.
"Me too, for what happened to you."
"I know who the Slaugh is," Feyre said quietly. "At least- I think I do."
"Why aren't you fighting it then?" Tealla didn't seem surprised in the least. Maybe that was what the rambling questions were for- her way of soothing the High Lady's mind as she struggled to make sense of what was happening.
It was an evil she never knew she'd escaped… and the spark that ignited a hatred she finally understood.
"The only way to fight it is to apologize."
"To the Slaugh?"
Feyre shook her head, "To my sisters."
Tealla might have replied, if there wasn't a soft growl from behind them.
Feyre turned slowly, heart pounding-
-and came face-to-face with the Gray Lady.
—
—
Cassian and Mor were back by the time Nesta came downstairs.
Her eyes were red-rimmed and bright with tears. Her steps labored, hollow. Cassian said something to her as she passed, but she didn't hear him. Didn't answer.
I don't need to listen to language like that from a half-wild beast.
Nesta hated that creature… she never realized she'd turned into her.
She'd rationalized and told herself that Feyre knew she was the golden child, knew she was infuriatingly superior to her siblings-
-but they'd never told her. Never gave her a kind word or a gesture of thanks. Never made her feel loved and appreciated for keeping them alive.
Rhys was speaking.
Again, she heard nothing.
Nesta grabbed Azriel's knife from its sheath as she passed. She slashed her palm and dropped the knife on the cold stone floor.
She didn't look at Feyre as she entered the dining room. She grabbed one of Rhys' papers and wrote a name out in her own blood. A name she'd sworn never to speak again. A name she now remembered, if only for the sake of the sister she'd failed so completely.
Nesta held the paper into a fire, not caring if the flames singed her skin, and looked up at the Slaugh. It hissed as the paper burned, and she knew she was right.
Nesta released the final bits of paper to burn in the flame and sagged back against the wall. She slid down until her hands came to rest on her knees. Her eyes never left those of the Slaugh. Only hatred was left in Feyre's gaze- all that was left after Hell burned away the rest.
Nesta took a deep breath and just prayed she wasn't too late to save her sister.
Her fourth sister.
"Marion was real, and I remember what you did to her."
—
—
Tealla tackled the Gray Lady before she could touch Feyre.
The teenager drove her to the hall floor in a tangle of limbs and blows. Feyre took a step forward-
-a shockwave went through the Slaugh, through the world.
It brought back color and light, settled the face of the beast that snarled at Tealla with feral wrath. That pulse of light and clarity showed Feyre the truth she'd been running from ever since the madness started.
The Gray Lady hissed and grabbed Tealla around the throat. Feyre wasn't sure if one ghost could kill another, but she wasn't going to find out. She launched herself at the Gray Lady, braced herself for the pain and the cold.
Her body collided with the mother she'd lost so long ago.
—
—
"Stay together, and look after them." Nesta shook her head in disgust, "You made Feyre swear that oath, but I'm the one who turned that into an anchor and dragged her down."
Nesta read enough of the book to know that oath had been first and foremost in Feyre's mind back then, in her final human months. Maybe she forgot it after becoming fae. Maybe she figured she'd already done her duty in bringing them all to Night…
But if Nesta knew her sister, she knew those words would haunt her again the moment Feyre banished her from Velaris.
"That oath- it's how you found her."
"So worried she'd disappointed my memory," the Slaugh hissed. "Who would have thought my most disappointing child would become my most brilliant?" It waved a hand to the crown atop Feyre's head, "I thought I could make you into a good enough lady- but look at you. Sleeping in the mud and rutting with some bastard nobody. Meanwhile that stupid little imp is a Queen."
"Prythian doesn't have Queens and Kings."
"Prythian deluded itself into thinking that. Why else do the High Lords have palaces, thrones, and crowns?"
Nesta conceded the point, "Fine, maybe Feyre is a Queen… but that doesn't change anything. You're still a murderer. You're still dead, and it's good to know that the vale holds your kind to account."
"Marion wasn't my fault!" The Slaugh hissed.
"Yes she was. You're the one who hit her until she stopped breathing."
"It wasn't my fault!" Her mother's denial would continue then, even in death.
Nesta shrugged, "You spent all that time in Hell, and you still can't admit you fucked up?"
"DON'T YOU DARE USE THAT LANGUAGE IN MY PRESENCE!"
"So what? You're a ghost of etiquette now?" Nesta said. "You're pathetic. I would have hoped the mother of a Queen would at least be an interesting demon."
The Slaugh growled and Nesta stood. She faced down the mother who was far too similar to her for comfort, "You know any good Lady loves small-talk, but seeing as we've established I'm no longer aproper Lady, I think it's fine to cut to the point. What do you want?"
"No," her mother actually laughed, "you're not talking me out of this body. Feyre's father spoiled her, ruined her as a Lady-"
"He saved her from you."
"-she doesn't deserve the throne, and I don't deserve to spend eternity in that place!"
"No," Nesta agreed, "you deserve to burn there."
Nesta finally looked to the door, to where Elain stood beside Rhysand, a hand to her mouth, "What's next?"
Rhys shook his head slowly, "You gave it a name… It's up to Feyre now."
The Slaugh laughed again, "That fool and her little friend won't last another minute."
"Friend?" Nesta's attention snapped back, "What friend?"
It was Elain who answered Nesta's question, "The one I asked Nuala and Cerridwen to find."
—
—
It was impossible for Feyre to hold onto her mother's throat long enough to strangle her.
Mercifully, the reverse was true as well.
Blinding agony shot through both females each time life and death touched, but whatever happened on the outside gave her hope. The Slaugh didn't seem able to keep her hold on Feyre's mind anymore, and in the hallway it was forced to concede ground foot by foot. They'd spent hours wandering the endless hall, but Feyre knew that the door she wanted would be close by- if Tealla could get it open.
The girl had at least some training to fight. She knew how to take a blow and how to block most, but overall her style was sloppy. Tealla herded Feyre and her mother down the hallway, and whenever she wanted to adjust their trajectory she'd simply wait for Feyre to untangle herself from the latest attempt at physical battle and then promptly dive for the Slaugh's knees, knocking her to her back.
Feyre tried ripping a chunk off of her burial shroud and wrapping it around her mother's throat the next time they connected, but the thin fabric wasn't strong enough to withstand the strain of suffocating someone.
She'd sworn to that creature- that child-killer- that she would keep the family together. Feyre always knew her mother was cold and aloof, but a murderess? What did she owe a monster like that? Her mother should have been thrown into the deepest, darkest cell and left to starve to death. She didn't deserve the life she'd lived after that little girl perished- a life of comfort and ease.
For a brief moment Feyre considered sentencing her mother's soul to The Prison. It would serve her right- but even if the guards of that horrible place came they would likely take Feyre's body with them.
Feyre drew her strength and lunged for her mother- but Tealla beat her there. She tackled the woman, and sunk her teeth into the Slaugh's throat.
It hissed and flung her aside- hard enough to crack her skull against the wall. Tealla slumped, dazed. Her eyes flickered and her hands grasped at nothing, but Feyre just yelled "STAY DOWN!"
As soon as the Slaugh faced Feyre, Tealla's eyes focused and she grinned a savage, bloody grin.
She was behind the beast.
Feyre ignored every flash of pain as she renewed her attack on her mother. Her blows grew sloppy as her arms tired, but she didn't give an inch, she only took step after step forward, pushing the Slaugh back every time until-
Tealla grabbed it by the neck- precisely where she'd bitten the damned woman- and twisted her as Feyre slammed her foot into the creature's stomach.
The Slaugh flew backwards into the dusty parlor that could never be opened.
One a young Feyre was forced to swear never to enter.
Her mother charged the door, but a web of magic held her in place. She struck it hard and fell back, stunned, "What is this?!"
"Look down, bitch." Tealla grinned.
The doll was at her feet. Fear crept into the Slaugh's eyes.
"Fun fact about totems- they actually take on more power after you die." Tealla smiled pleasantly. "For example, if you think something might bring you a little luck, it will bring that luck to someone else. If you tell a little girl her dead sister is a doll-"
A whisper of silk against the parlor floor. The Slaugh turned.
A six year old stood there free of the absurd gown, free of the hairstyle that would have taken torturous hours to complete- hours any child should have been outside playing.
She looked up at her mother with bright, calm eyes, her burial gown flowing on an unknown breeze. The child curtseyed, "Good evening mother."
"Marion," the name was barely a breath on the wind.
The little girl looked past her to Feyre and Tealla and dropped into another deep curtsey, "My deepest apologies," she said in a voice that was young and old at the same time, "I must have a word with my mother in private. Thank you for bringing her to me, dear Feyre. And thank you for your assistance, Lady."
The child reached out and gently pushed the door closed. The latch clicked-
-and the agonized screams of the Slaugh filled the hall..
Feyre could feel the void devour her mother. That tug at her back faded and vanished as the world around them began to disappear.
"Congratulations," Tealla reached out to punch Feyre's arm, but stopped just before contact. Obligingly, Feyre jostled as if she'd touched. Neither was eager to feel any more of that pain.
"Do you think she's really gone?" The door disappeared, and with it the final echo of the Slaugh's screams.
"I think that's your answer. Though- might have to have a word with little Marion there about calling me 'Lady'. That's just insulting to my memory."
Feyre looked to the teenager, uncertain, "You- you actually helped me."
"I told you I would. I don't lie."
"Why?" Feyre needed to know. She needed to understand why someone she never met would go out of their way to help her- to perhaps risk even their place in the afterlife to do battle with the Slaugh and help her reclaim her own mind.
"Like I said, boredom is a powerful motivator," Tealla winked, "and I wanted to see what all the fuss was about- Feyre Cursebreaker and all." She stiffened and looked over her shoulder, to a shining white door that opened slowly, "My time's almost up too. It must be near midnight." She hesitated, and uncertainty crept into her eyes, "Feyre? Can I ask a favor?"
"What?"
The teenager shuffled her feet. There was something she wanted to ask but she wasn't sure how to do it, or even if it was her place to make the request, "When we die, we maintain some connections to your world. I'm not in some grand valley with everyone and everything who ever lived- I'm only with those who are buried nearest me. It's possible to visit others without too much trouble but…"
"You want me to move your body? What about your parents?"
Tealla waved her words away, "No, not for me. I still have family of flesh and blood who visit my gravestone. Marion- she might never have had a visitor." The teenager looked to Feyre with bright, pleading eyes, "Would you please at least consider going to the mortal lands and bringing her back? No one cares about fae or human beyond the veil, and I think she'd really love Velaris. Especially since her family is here."
Feyre swallowed hard as a tear slipped down her cheek. A sister only Nesta knew as some doll and a dream, "Moving her wouldn't… I don't know, make her angry?"
Tealla laughed sadly, "She's probably buried near your mother somewhere. I think she'd appreciate being elsewhere. Spirits aren't isolated from your world. I'm sure Marion watched you and Elain grow up- protected you, as best she could. Go to her grave and ask her permission, she'll find a way to tell you what she wants."
"Alright," Feyre couldn't touch Tealla, but she put a hand over her own heart, "I swear."
"Thank you." Tealla turned to the white door- her return to her realm.
"Are you buried in Velaris?" Feyre blurted out. She wasn't entirely ready to let the girl go, she felt a kinship somehow, "I want to visit- and bring my mate so he can thank you for helping me."
The teenager's grin was bright, "After you bury Marion, wander through the Velaris cemetery. My grave will find you. Oh- and do you know a business in the Rainbow called 'The Goblin's Dessert'?" Feyre nodded, she and Elain visited the old cafe often, "Bring a slice of triple-chocolate mousse cake for me. It's better than anything in your world or mine."
"I will," Feyre grinned, "thank you again."
Tealla put her hand on the door and lightly pushed it open, "Thank you, Feyre. You were everything I'd hoped you'd be and more."
—
—
When Feyre's body fell, Rhys shattered the circle.
He and Nesta pulled her from the room into the entryway- somewhere open and not filled with debris and the stench of burning paper. Azriel and Lucien both took up positions around Elain to protect her should anything happen. Mor and Cassian each unsheathed weapons. Just in case.
Rhys didn't trust the mating bond to tell him if Feyre was alright, he just held her while she took deep, even breaths.
The clock kept moving, crawling towards a midnight that would either kill them both or save the female he loved.
Feyre's eyes opened just before the chime struck. She didn't say anything, wasn't sure she could yet, but she managed to lift her shaking hand to grasp Rhysand's. Her body felt disjointed and strange, every muscle was aching with exhaustion, and yet she squeezed his fingers and offered a weak smile.
"You have no idea how much I've missed you," Rhys whispered as he bent over and kissed Feyre's forehead. He sent a flicker of love and strength down their mating bond, and Feyre's tired soul answered in kind.
Unmistakably her. Unmistakably alive.
Feyre's eyes looked around the room until she saw Nesta. Her fingers twitched, and her sister came closer.
"She figured out what was wrong," Rhys said. It wasn't entirely true, but he didn't know how much Feyre knew about what had happened. The minute she woke up didn't seem like the time to tell her that it was her own mother who tried to take her body and trade her soul away.
Nesta couched by Feyre and, when she didn't move, Feyre's arm slowly found its way to the hand that was resting against the floor. A long, slow blink and a squeeze of the fingers conveyed her message well enough-
I know.
The eldest sister swallowed and looked up at the faces around her. Cassian, Azriel, Elain, Lucien, Mor- each of them wanted to see Feyre. They needed to see her face and communicate in some way to convince themselves she was alright.
"When you're all done, if it's alright, I'd like to speak to Feyre privately." Not Elain. Not yet. Nesta would explain the missing piece of their family to her later.
Mor was the first one to Feyre's side after Nesta stepped back. Rhys adjusted how he was sitting so that Feyre could lean against his back and hold Mor's hand more comfortably. Next was Cassian, who surprisingly refrained from any snarky or sarcastic remarks. Then it was Azriel's shadows, moving ahead of their master to read Feyre and reassure him that there was no long-lasting damage. Lucien came after Azriel. Even if she didn't believe it in those early days, he was one of her first friends in Prythian. He kissed the back of her hand as she offered a wan smile and a nod of her head.
To her credit, Elain waited until the others spoke to Feyre before practically throwing herself on her sister (and Rhys in the process). She was the one who noticed something was wrong, and for most of the past week had been hunting through the library on her own mission to find the cause. Seeing her whole and well made Elain's heart ache.
"You need to build up your strength again, I'm going to make you some broth," she vowed.
"Mor and I set aside the food you made for dinner when we glamoured the table," Lucien looked to Azriel, "want to help reheat it?"
Azriel nodded, and the males departed. Mor pulled Cassian towards the dining room to begin cleaning up the mess there, and Elain tore herself away from Feyre to see to her promise in the kitchen. It was all an excuse to busy themselves and give Nesta her time.
"There's a chaise in the sitting room," Rhys told Nesta. He kissed Feyre's head once more and scooped her up into his arms. Rhysand led the way with his mate secure. She nuzzled into his chest to listen to his heartbeat as he walked.
Her mind felt more alert as her soul settled back into its body. Strength would return in time, but Feyre wondered how long it would be before she could sleep again. That nightmare haunted her- how many other Slaughs would she accidentally summon? Could Amarantha truly come back? Could Hybern?
She sent the question down the bond to Rhysand.
"I'll find out," he murmured as he set Feyre down on the long chair. It would keep her propped up in his absence, enough that she could eat and look at Nesta comfortably when they spoke. Feyre tried again and sent one more impulse down the bond. She didn't have all the words to express what she felt, but he smiled all the same, "Of course."
Nesta waited in the doorway while Rhysand removed pins and ties from Feyre's hair, untangled the sapphire crown from it, and then gently removed her necklace and heavy earrings. He even ran his fingers against her scalp, scratching out the itches and aches from her mother's brutal style preferences.
"Alright, she's all yours," Rhys smiled at Nesta. He kissed Feyre once more, gathered up all of her jewelry and hair supplies, and walked to the door. "I'm going to be summoning Nuala and Cerridwen's mother to ask her to release the hostages-" Feyre tried to turn her head, "-and ask about warding against anymore Slaughs, yes. If you hear any voices in the hallway don't try to look. I'll let you know when it's safe."
"Thank you, Rhys." Nesta said on both her and Feyre's behalf.
She walked over to her little sister, and the moment Nesta took a seat on the edge of the chaise, Feyre's hand found hers once more.
Nesta didn't meet her eyes. She didn't want to see whatever message her sister wanted to convey. There was something else she had to say first. Something Feyre needed to hear.
"The forest had become a labyrinth of snow and ice." Feyre took a long, shuddering breath. Nesta held her hand tight, "I'm mad at myself. Not you. I was cruel and vindictive and- and I don't dispute a single word you wrote. If anything, you were kind in your depiction. I said horrible things to you, I treated you like dirt, and you never stopped trying to take care of us."
Nesta slid off the chaise to her knees, still holding Feyre's hand, "As the oldest living Archeron, I hereby relieve you of your oath. Don't worry ever again about keeping our family together. That's my job, from today until my last. I swear to you that as long as I live I will do everything in my power to make sure you know how grateful I am for everything you've done for us. You didn't fail me, I failed you."
Feyre tried to protest, but Nesta shook her head.
"I know you don't blame me for the last couple of years. Fine. Blame me for the years before that, for twenty years of bullying and failure. Feyre, you were our hero before you ever set foot in Prythian. I'm sorry I ever made you feel otherwise. I was barely better than our mother, and there's no excuse for it."
That's what she'd been practicing with Cassian over and over again- an excuse. She'd planned to explain to Feyre that the reason she fell so far was out of shock and horror at what she did to Hybern. She was raised to be a Lady, she shouldn't have felt the way she did holding that severed head. She should have been disgusted, not proud. It broke her in ways she still didn't entirely understand-
-but now that felt a bit too much like giving herself peace. She would find a way to explain it all to Feyre one day, but for now she wanted to earn forgiveness for twenty years of sins, then they could tackle the two years since Hybern's downfall.
"I'll protect this family," Nesta said again. "You just worry about being happy. You deserve it a thousand times over for everything you did for us… and don't be kind anymore- write every ugly truth. When people read your story in a thousand years I want them to know how strong you were. We earned our roles, and it's up to us to prove we can be better."
Silver lined Feyre's eyes as she nodded. Nesta slid back onto the chair and stared deep into her sister's eyes, "Whatever you saw when she possessed you, if you ever need to talk about it, I will always be there to listen. I don't care if I have to run all the way back here from the Steppes in the middle of winter."
Nesta felt Feyre's mind brush against hers and she lowered her shield. Feyre just sent one short vision- brief and yet crystal clear: A child barely old enough to walk laughing and running after her big sister through a long hallway.
The vision ended before they entered the parlor where Marion was to die. It was the most precious gift Feyre could have given Nesta- not the memory of a doll, but the memory of her sister.
Feyre swallowed hard and tried using the words that were flickering back into her mind, "I want… her here… in Velaris."
Nesta squeezed Feyre's hand once more, her face wet with tears, "I think that's a wonderful idea."
—
—
Azriel sent agents into the remains of the human city Feyre had grown up in.
Most of it was destroyed by Hybern during the War, but even Hybern didn't care about the cemeteries. They found the keepers of the burial records, and those keepers pointed them to a stone mausoleum bearing the Archeron name. Feyre's father built it when their fortunes were high, or so she thought. Her mother was supposed to be the only body inside.
Feyre, Nesta, and Elain waited outside in the chilly November air while Azriel and Rhys searched the mausoleum for Marion's unmarked grave. They weren't allowed in when their mother's coffin was sealed beneath a stone lid in a tomb befitting a queen… so that was where Rhys and Azriel would check first.
Sure enough, beside the withered corpse of a withered soul, Rhys and Azriel found a second coffin.
They didn't touch it. Didn't disturb that child's rest. All Rhys did was go to the door and nod to his wife. Nesta was the one who went inside.
"We want to take you to a new resting place," she set her hand on the coffin as she spoke. Azriel blanketed her mother's remains in deep shadow, hiding the damned woman. "Would you like to go home with your sisters?"
An unseasonably warm breeze drifted through the graveyard, caressed Elain and Feyre's cheeks, and brought to the crypt the scent of lilacs.
It was all the answer they needed.
Mor, Cassian, and Lucien waited in the Velaris graveyard for their return, dressed in mourning black as the Archerons and the males appeared. Azriel and Rhys each held the coffin, and as Mor went to Feyre's side, she looped an arm around her friend's shoulders.
No one gave a eulogy or performed a service, but they each took a moment alone with the coffin. Marion would be reburied on a hill that overlooked Velaris- complete with a view of the estate far across the city. It was the closest graveyard to their home.
Nesta was the last to the coffin, and the only one not to whisper some prayer to the child within. She just stood there, staring at her own big sister. A sister her heart never stopped loving or missing, even as the girl herself faded into distant memory.
"Come on," Cassian murmured to the others, "she doesn't do well with an audience."
Mor retrieved a small bag from behind the tombstone and handed it to Feyre, then followed Cassian off on some winding path through the graves. Elain, Lucien, and Azriel likewise found a way to make themselves scarce. Elain wasn't sure how to feel about the lost sister, or the truth about their mother. Until she sorted it all out the steady friendship of the males by her side would offer strength.
Feyre leaned on Rhysand's shoulder as they walked. Four days after the Slaugh's defeat, and she was finally starting to feel like herself.
The graveyard held an odd mix of peace and sadness. So many tombstones, so many souls who loved and lost- and now perhaps even looked back at their world from beyond.
Will that be us someday? Feyre wondered. Will Rhys and I be on the other side of the veil watching our children's lives? Their children's? Will I get to see Marion then?
"Feyre?" Rhys pinched the back of her sweater to stop his wife as they neared twin monuments engraved with the Night Court emblem, "I'd like you to meet my mother and my sister."
Feyre smiled at the graves of those females she could never meet… ones Rhysand had told her countless stories of already. She knew he, Cassian, and Azriel came to clean the tombstones on the anniversary of their passing. It was a rite even Mor didn't participate in. They were the ones who called Rhysand's mother their own. After they finished, Mor would step forward to place flowers over their graves.
"I wish I could have known them." She'd come to the graves once on her own, to pay her respects in silence. Even Rhys didn't know.
"Me too," Rhys smiled sadly before stepping up to the foot of his mother's grave. "Is breá liom duit, a mháthair." I love you, mother.
It was an ancient High Fae tongue, one Rhys' father made him learn as a form of punishment. Feyre was learning it on her own, though she'd mostly abandoned her studies in favor of learning the Illyrian tongue for now.
As Feyre bowed to Rhys' mother, he moved on to rest a hand on his sister's grave. His words for her were softer, especially today when they buried another child taken far too early, "Airím uaim thú, Teallaire." I miss you, brat.
Feyre's chest grew unbearably tight as she stepped up to that grave.
Rhys' sister?
Yes.
Really?!
Sure.
Are you just saying that so I'll stop trying to guess?
Of course.
Not a lie at all, just a truth hidden in sarcasm.
The questions Tealla pestered her with, the ridiculous scenarios she came up with to see how Feyre thought and what she treasured most- not a ghost trying to glean information at all. A sister trying to get to know her brother's mate.
You were everything I'd hoped you'd be and more.
Feyre smiled as she stepped forward and set the parcel Mor brought her at the base of the tombstone. Rhys didn't ask, he just pulled his wife in close and held her against the November chill.
When she looked back at the grave, the cake was gone.
—
—
The house reeked of sage.
Nuala and Cerridwen went overboard cleansing each room of any dark energies that might lurk after the Slaugh's defeat. No more demons from the past. No more nightmares.
Nesta was laying awake, curled on her side as she looked across the room to a painting she caught Feyre throwing out hours before. The painting of Feyre and Elain with their father.
After she'd gone back into the house, Nesta slipped out to rescue the portrait. In its place downstairs was one of all Archeron sisters, with a smiling little Marion in the center. This painting- Nesta knew why Feyre wanted it gone. Why she wouldn't even dare paint over the smiling trio, as if the canvas itself were tainted.
It brought Nesta no joy to know that her little sister finally hated their father.
He'd loved his wife so blindly that he didn't challenge what she was doing to their children. Nesta knew he suspected something more was behind Marion's death- that was why he moved his business into the house and refused to go away on any more long trips. But… he never asked what happened. The only time he stood up to her was when he took young Feyre into his study and taught her trade- not manners.
One day Feyre would figure out how she felt, and only then would Nesta give the painting back to her to destroy or preserve as she saw fit.
A whisper of a breeze came through the open window and Nesta felt something settle behind her on the bed.
She heard a baby crying off in the distance, punctuated with the wild crash of thunder and the roar of falling rain. The infant was terrified as a storm raged so far away, and so long ago.
'Ssh,' a soft voice murmured against her ear as strong arms lifted her, 'I'm here. Your big sister is here.' She remembered being carried through a world that was too big and wild for her to understand, until she was set down in a nest of warm blankets on the floor. 'Don't cry Nessie, it's alright. Just the rain. I won't let anything hurt you, I promise.'
It was an impossible memory from her childhood- one she should have been too young to retain. She remembered Marion struggling to lift her from her crib- the strength of the then-four-year-old flagging. She remembered being held warm and safe and loved. Back then Nesta believed nothing was strong enough to defeat Marion. She was the best big sister in the whole wide world, especially in the eyes of the infant who loved her.
'It's okay Nessie,' the voice repeated and Nesta could have sworn she felt arms wrap around her. 'I'm right here with you, and I always will be.'
When Nesta woke the next morning, there was an imprint of a child's head on the pillow behind her and the scent of lilacs hanging in the air.
Marion was finally at peace, and so was Nesta.