Chapter 3
Mor was woken by a hand on her shoulder…
Just not the one she was hoping for.
She'd taken to sleeping in a chair beside Cassian's bed, always within easy reach if he woke up suddenly in the night. The world he'd last seen was one where Hybern triumphed and Tamlin seized Feyre, Mor didn't want him waking without having a friend at his side.
Though, if Cassian woke Mor with a vicious scream of rage and a blast from one of his siphons, she wouldn't hold it against him… at least then he'd be alive.
It was a week since she'd decided to capture the Suriel, two weeks since the disastrous attack on Hybern… and twelve days since Nuala last heard Cassian's spirit crying out for death. Both wraiths inspected him, they convinced their mother to visit on a full moon and bleed her dark magic into his body- but she reported only a hollow shell.
Even those red siphons were now dull, without even a drop of magic to light them.
He was gone, but his body survived. His heart beat, his wings healed bit by bit, and every now and then Rhys swore he saw a finger move- but Madja confirmed it was an involuntary motion, nothing more than a random pulse through the muscle. It was no sign of Cassian waking, and no promise of such.
Even so, Madja wasn't ready to admit defeat, and came in every morning and evening to check Cassian's pulse, temperature, tongue color, and eyes; she even kept careful measure of the volume of waste he was producing, looking for anything to fix.
Mor knew what else Madja had done during her visits.
She just didn't want to face the reality.
Her skin began to tingle on the tenth day as she prepared Cassian's dose of trefoil. It was both sedative and paralytic- though only to his wings. The rest of his body should have been more or less unaffected, but something in that tea woke Mor's instincts.
The next evening, that tingling sensation was stronger.
By day thirteen, her skin crawled as she measured out the dried leaves.
Truth. That was Mor's power- the ability to see pure, untarnished truth… and every fiber of her being was screaming 'lie'.
So, on the fourteenth night, Mor brewed herself a cup of the tea.
It was nothing more than peppermint, offset by jasmine and chamomile to mimic the scent of trefoil.
Bit by bit, Madja had been swapping out Cassian's medicine for harmless tea. He should have woken days before. His magic should have returned and begun to smooth over new patches of membrane, to heal him, to at least put a glow in the siphons on his hands.
Yet he was still as the grave, the siphons remained empty, and both Rhysand and the wraiths found no sign of life in that husk of a body.
Mor had dropped her tea cup and gone straight to the High Temple of Velaris. She wasn't even surprised to see Amren there, already praying. Or rather- Amren looked like she was praying. If anyone got close enough to hear her murmured words they would get a vivid (and horrifying) picture of what she planned to do to the gods of Prythian if they claimed Cassian now.
Ancient as she was- and considering all she'd seen in her eons- the pledge was no idle threat.
Mor had returned from the temple to take up her perch by Cassian's side, as she did every night. This time though… she felt worse than she had when both Cassian and Azriel were laying in the sitting room. There was no more hope that Cassian might rally and pull through. He was a shell- and the male she'd claimed first as a lover, then as a friend was nothing more than an empty body.
So no, it was not Cassian's hand on her shoulder that woke her on the fifteenth day since Hybern.
It was Rhysand's.
"Here," his voice was gentle as he handed Mor a steaming mug of strong coffee. He pulled a chair up to sit beside her, and reached out to take one of Cassian's hands. His own lingered on Mor's shoulder, as though he wasn't sure if he should let her go.
Everything inside of her went cold at the darkness in his eyes… and the resignation on his face.
He almost looked… peaceful.
"No," she whispered. "Whatever you're going to say- no." The scent of cinnamon and vanilla wafted up from the mug- it was her favorite coffee blend from Winter. Considering how utterly unwelcome Rhys was in Winter, the fact that he'd gone there to find the coffee she now held just to bring her a gift-
-there could only be one reason for it.
The worst reason.
Rhysand looked at Cassian- at the sheer absence of his friend in that body- and Mor could have sworn his face aged a thousand years, "I didn't go to any libraries in Day… I've been going to Dawn, to their hospitals. To hospitals in as many Courts as I could slip into undetected. I wanted to see how they are treating patients like Cassian- and what those patient's minds sound like."
He ran a shaking hand through his hair, "The ones who are being kept unconscious while they recover are shouting. They hear everything around them, and they are constantly trying to reassure their family and friends that they are still in there. Some replay the incident that led to their condition, but Mor- even the ones who haven't woken in decades at least have a whisper of presence."
"I don't want to hear it," Mor closed her eyes, but she couldn't block out the truth of Rhys' words- the truth she'd already discovered for herself.
"He's gone, Mor… I can't- I don't know what else we can do. His magic is gone, his body isn't healing on its own, and his mind- he's just gone." A silver tear fell down Rhysand's cheek and broke Mor's heart, "He fought for so long, he was brave and strong and kind, he-" Rhys locked his jaw and stared hard at Cassian's hand, still held in his. He bit his lip to keep it from trembling, and when he finally managed a deep breath, more tears slid down, "He deserves peace." His voice was barely a whisper.
Mor stared at her cousin for a long time- at the how his chin quivered and the way he tried to avoid looking at Cassian's face.
"You're giving up on him," she slammed the mug onto a side table, spilling hot coffee across her hand. "I refuse to give up on him."
"I raised a glamour and talked to doctors in Dawn- and I consulted with Madja too… if his mind was still there it'd be different but-" a shockwave of ice ripped through Mor. She could almost hear Rhysand's next words before he spoke, "-I'm sorry Mor… For his sake, it's time to let him go."
That was why Rhysand looked so pale and drawn, and why he looked like he'd found some measure of peace. The rage and frustration was gone as he exhausted every last possibility. Two weeks- he'd been going to Dawn for two weeks, just to try and find some treatment they'd missed. A sliver of hope they could hold tight… but there was none. Cassian was dead already- his body just hadn't noticed it was abandoned.
"Mor, please don't think I came to this decision lightly-"
"And don't think I'll agree to it lightly either." Mor stood and jumped back as Rhys reached for her hand, "I'm not giving up on him."
"Mor, please-"
She winnowed away without another word.
Every day for a week straight, Mor had gone out into the wilds of the Illyrian Steppes. Azriel was still too frail for more than short outings, so while he sat by Cassian's bedside, she would stand in the woods as long as she dared, waiting for a Suriel that only Feyre had ever seen.
She'd brought rich cloaks, fine gowns, jewels, and the most valuable wines she could find. There were four raw chickens- with fresh ones brought daily. Every supposed "sure-fire" summoning technique was employed, every possession laid out around a satin trap that was never sprung.
Mor went to that clearing to hide from Rhysand- from the horrible truth he'd brought. She couldn't help but feel that the moment she returned he would begin preparing for Cassian's death- that moment when Cassian's heart was deliberately stopped.
If she never went back to Velaris- if she never saw Cassian's body again- then maybe Rhys wouldn't do it. Maybe he'd wait as long as she would. A week? A month? A year? If he never found her, if he never forced her to stand by Cassian's side and say farewell, then maybe a bit of life would have time to find its way back to him.
"Yes, that is precisely how it works. If you ignore it, everything will get better. Good job, Morrigan."
Her heart skipped a beat at the voice that drifted through the trees- many and one, old and young, male and female- the voice of a species older than Prythian itself.
The voice of a Suriel.
Cassian's salvation-
-or the ruin of hope.
The Suriel had its back to her as those rotted, withered hands brushed a speck of dust carefully from the lapel of an obsidian tunic- one of Rhysand's favorites that Mor had stolen. Feyre had mentioned the Suriel seemed to like clothes- what was more valuable than those of the most powerful High Lord in history?
"Indeed, it is more precious than you can imagine, child." That voice- rough and androgynous as it was- sparked something in Mor's memory, like the echo of a dream long forgotten.
"I thought- I thought you would appreciate a soft trap instead of rope, it's satin." Her heart was pounding so hard she wasn't surprised to see the Suriel's fingers absentmindedly tapping along with its rhythm even as it studied Rhysand's shirt.
She had never seen a Suriel in her life- and this was the most important creature in the world to her.
"That is hardly true. Your friends are more important to you than I ever could be."
Mor had forgotten what Feyre said- that the Suriel seemed to be able to read those around it, "Right now, nothing is more important than you."
"I'm honored," The Suriel answered dryly.
"Then, can I ask two questions?"
"We'll have to see just what your satin trap is worth… Do you plan on standing behind me all day? Are you afraid of what you'll see?"
Mor swallowed hard and walked around to face the Suriel at last. It held still for her, as though it knew she would need a moment to adjust.
Feyre called it a 'creature', but Mor wasn't as blissfully innocent as she was.
She had seen mummified corpses.
That wrinkled, leathery skin stretched far too tightly across bone, the opaque eyes, the way brown-black gums pulled back from the teeth- there was no mistaking it for anything else. It was a body… Human, judging by the ears. Maybe even Illyrian if the wings rotted away.
"I am older than Prythian, child." The bones of the Suriel's fingers clicked against one another as it continued to examine Rhysand's tunic, "That means Illyrians and humans too."
"Are you? Or is your species? I heard an old housewives tail once- it said Suriel were the honored dead. Those who died with so many regrets that they crawled back from death itself to return to rotted bodies… but they bring with them the knowledge of the world beyond… Is it true?"
The Suriel clicked its tongue at her, "Is it true? When I say I am older than Prythian do I really mean 'we'? Keep up the good work and you will find out soon enough."
"What do you-" Mor's heart sank. "Cassian…"
"You hold him too tightly. There is no soul in that body- but the door remains open. Who knows what might crawl in from the other side? There is dedication, love, and holding to hope until the end- but there is also insanity. If you don't let him go, his spirit will go mad and the City of Starlight will find itself with a new monster. If you're lucky, whatever claims his body will be devoured by the beast Cassian becomes before it takes more of those you love. Suriel are rather violent when we first awaken. Especially if we died violent deaths."
If you don't let him go… Mor hardly heard anything beyond those words.
"There has to be another option- a way to save him. Feyre said her blood saved Rhysand before-"
"-that trick only works for her mate. Tell Cassian's it's time to say goodbye."
"I won't lose him," Mor summoned every last ounce of her power- let the Suriel feel the pure might in her that was greater than some High Lords. "Tell me how to save him. Do you understand love? You must- you came back for something."
The Suriel seemed utterly unimpressed with Mor's display, "I came back because there was something I needed to do. Someone I needed to meet. I need to see them before I can go back where I came from." That voice- it snagged at Mor's memory once again.
"You're in Velaris- somewhere safe, somewhere worthy of your light. Please Morrigan, you have to keep fighting so that you can see it." A voice from another lifetime echoed back to Mor- a piece of her history she'd deliberately blocked out.
"Tell me how to save him," Mor said, slightly breathless. A horrific panic was rising in her chest, drawn forth by the memory she refused to see. It pushed against the door to the vault she'd contained it in.
"Let him go." The Suriel hissed, frustrated. "His mate is holding on too tightly-"
"Hold on!" The voice echoing in Mor's ears suddenly clarified, "Hold on just a little bit longer child! Please- don't leave us! You're in Velaris- somewhere safe, somewhere worthy of your light. Please Morrigan, you have to keep fighting so that you can see it."
Mor's eyes fell to the Suriel's hands- those hands that held her wrists tightly as she'd thrashed. Back then, her wirsts were the only part of her body that wasn't left broken or bleeding- the area where Kier's manacles had been fixed. Her fingers had been shattered, her body was mutilated beyond recognition, and Madja needed Mor awake until her ravaged mind realized she was no longer in danger- until she found the strength to hold on.
The female who'd held her as Madja worked-
"A Suriel is created when life returns to a rotting body… We are unnatural, unholy, and unable to just leave things be." The Suriel's voice softened as tears streamed down Mor's cheeks. Her legs gave out and she fell to her knees in the grass, "My work is done soon, and I'm going to stay with an ancient friend far away before I go. Ask your question, Morrigan… then forget what you know of me. Don't torture them with what you saw today."
She tried desperately to compose herself, but the tears wouldn't stop, "You came back to meet her- you always came when she called. You- all this time? All this time you were-"
The Suriel took a hand off of Rhysand's tunic and brushed back the tears that fell on Mor's cheeks, "I could not go to him. It would violate very fundamental rules of nature. Even being here now with you- ask your question, Mor… Before the Cauldron senses I violated its law."
Mor swallowed and fought against the shaking in her hands, "H-how many of u-us will f-fall in the war?" She didn't want to ask, not if it meant she would leave again… but she had to know.
The Suriel seemed almost relieved to hear the question at last, as though it always knew what she would ask, "Nothing is certain in the coming months, but there is a path through this crucible that you can walk together. Trust your family, protect one another, arm your seer with truth, and when Night falls, make sure Feyre Archeron is in his arms."
Satisfied with what it told Mor all she needed to know, the Suriel stood and held Rhysand's tunic to its nose, as though it were memorizing his scent- or remembering it. Mor didn't know when it had freed itself from her snare- but it stood wholly unbound.
Perhaps she'd never been caught at all.
"Wait- please don't go," Mor's voice broke as the Suriel turned its back and she saw two wounds barely visible- the marks of wings that had been sawed off.
Proof of who stood before her.
The Suriel set Rhysand's tunic down neatly on a pile of rich silks. Her long, boney fingers lingered on the fabric. She didn't want to leave it- but she wouldn't take it with her.
"Feyre recovered the ring-" Mor blurted out. She was stalling, but she couldn't help it. She wouldn't let her go.
"I knew she would, that's why I went to her each time she needed me… and why I will go to her once more, no matter what fate waits for me in those woods."
"Don't go- not again. Please!"
The Suriel faced her one last time, and Mor could see the tremor in her chin, "Tell Cassian's mate that it is time for her to let go. And-" it took several deep breaths, "-and swear to me you will make sure Feyre is holding him as tightly as he once held her. Only then will you have all you ever wanted. Goodbye Morrigan… I love you."
The Suriel vanished into the trees, fleeing the Illyrian Steppes once and for all.
All Mor could do was stare at that tunic it held with such care as it picked away each individual speck of dust.
It was no wonder Feyre had such luck capturing the Suriel when all others failed. She'd wanted to be caught, just so she might meet that special child- the star that brightened Rhysand's night. She wanted to meet the girl- then the female- who was destined to sit by his side as equal in all things.
Rhysand's mother crawled back from death itself just to meet her son's mate.
—
—
Mor went to the Suriel looking for some way to save Cassian.
She found nothing but old grief and the promise of new loss.
Rhysand would fall on the battlefield against Hybern, his only hope of survival was Feyre but even then-
-he would fall.
Cassian though- he would fall much, much sooner.
Let him go.
Would Rhys find it comforting to know he and his mother were in agreement? The certainty of what they now had to do to Cassian- forCassian- didn't make Mor feel any better. He would die, and while that might stop the creation of a new Suriel or prevent Cassian's lost soul from turning into something dark and violent, it didn't change the fact that he was her friend…
No, Cassian was more than just Mor's friend.
He was the male she chose to bed, her only way to be free of Eris. He'd been her lover- seen and tasted every inch of her body- and after those initial months of awkwardness and yes, even passive hostility, they'd managed to grow close in an entirely different way. He knew her better than any friend, and never once did he treat her as anything lesser because of their past. He respected her, and he loved her as dearly as he loved him.
How could she lose that?
How could she lose the male who convinced her to train- to turn herself into a weapon against males like her father? How could she let go of someone who helped her take those fires that burned through every nerve in her body and turn them into something she could wield to forge a new Prythian? Because of Cassian she'd fought in the War, because of him and the training he gave her she was more confident and more grounded than she'd ever been.
Mor couldn't let Cassian go, he meant far too much for her to simply stand aside as Rhys or some priestess effectively killed him. He'd survived the brutality of his race when all others turned their backs on him. He'd survived his training, survived the War, survived fifty years of agony trapped in Velaris while everything Illyrian in his blood screamed for him to fight. He'd survived-
-he'd survived it all.
Her heart sank.
Cassian survived more brutality than even she'd known, and some days it was still difficult to force herself out of bed. Not only was he a mighty Illyrian commander, but he was a bastard shunned for his birth, a lesser fae shunned for his blood, and a member of the Night Court- shunned for sins more imaginary than real.
Yet he'd lived with a smile on his lips and laughter in his eyes.
The last anyone heard of that old soldier's mind was him screaming,begging for them to let him go. If he was in pain and there really was no path home-
Mor couldn't let Cassian die…
… but maybe she could let him have his hard-earned rest.
It wasn't abandoning or giving up on him- it was the only way they could respect the horrors he'd been through, and the centuries of friendship and love he'd offered to all who were worthy.
Tears ran down Mor's cheeks until her eyes at last dried and there was nothing left but resignation.
That was when he came.
"Mor?" Azriel stood a respectful distance away, giving her as much space as she needed to come to terms with what waited in Velaris. "I saw you from the townhouse… do you want to talk about it?"
"No," she whispered. "I'll go along with it but… no." She couldn't talk about it, and she wouldn't be able to for a long, long time.
Azriel sat down beside Mor on the balcony and pulled her to tip gently on his shoulder. He was winded- he absolutely was notsupposed to fly yet- but standing on the roof of the townhouse, trying to breathe through the weight on his heart, he'd looked up at the House of Wind and seen her sitting up there alone.
Mor wasn't even sure when she'd gone back to Velaris, or how she got from the gates of the House of Wind- the only part she could winnow to- all the way up to the balcony nearest the Archeron rooms.
Some piece of her had realized that it was time to let Cassian rest.
As the Suriel told Mor- his mate had to let go along with the rest of them.
"Feyre should be here," Mor whispered.
Azriel rested his cheek on Mor's head, offering as much comfort as he could. Rhys had been debating with himself for days if Feyre should be retrieved from Spring or not. Would she ever forgive him for letting Cassian die without her there?
It was Azriel who convinced him to leave Feyre be. From a cold, calculating perspective they needed the information on Hybern's attack strategy to prevent even more from falling in battle. What Feyre might find in Spring before she chose to return could very well be the key to saving Mor's life, or even Azriel's one day.
Rhysand agreed with Azriel's assessment… and the High Lord felt every inch the monster Mor had seen him as that morning. He couldn't stand the thought of Feyre looking at him like that as he ended whatever shadow of life was in Cassian's body.
"Madja and the Priestess are there, if you'd like to talk to either of them. They're with Rhysand now, helping him make peace with all of this." Azriel's voice was soft. "They won't do anything until we all say we're ready. When we let him go, he'll be surrounded by his family. Rhys will preserve him until Feyre returns, then Velaris will grant him a funeral befitting a-" a soft sound escaped from Azriel- a sob, "-a hero."
Mor wiped at the tears staining her own cheeks and sat up, "I'll be down in a bit. There's something I need to do first."
Azriel hid his disappointment as best he could. Part of this was about him comforting a friend- but even though it was too difficult for him to ever say outright, Azriel needed to share his grief too. He needed a shoulder to lean on as much as she did- but both of them were stretched far too thin to offer much strength to the other.
Mor waited for Azriel to stand as well before she pulled him into a tight hug, both an apology for her brusqueness and the only comfort she could offer. When she pulled away and entered the House of Wind, Azriel waited until the doors closed before jumping off the edge of the balcony and gliding back towards the townhouse on exhausted wings.
Part of Mor felt wretched for sending Azriel off so soon when he was so obviously in need of a friend, but she didn't know what else to do. There would be time before the end to make it up to Azriel…
She just had to endure Nesta Archeron first.
Mor walked through the House, her pace quickening with every passing second. The Suriel said everyone had to let him go- but as far as Nesta had been told, Cassian was still fighting for his life.
Before she was even sure what she would say, Mor knocked on the door to the Archeron chambers.
Maybe she'd had some witty snipe prepared for the first victim of the day, but when Nesta opened those golden doors and took in the sight of Mor- uncharacteristically disheveled, pale, and with red bags beneath her tear-stained eyes- the scowl eased back from her face and she stepped aside, giving Mor silent permission to enter.
"Come," Nesta had been practicing walking as Fae, but she still kept her movements slow as she led Mor from the door to a little tea table.
That entire first week of their confinement at the House of Wind, Nesta refused to open the curtains as though she were denying the existence of Prythian beyond. Now the windows were open, and Elain sat beside one to stare vacantly out across the mountains.
Mor was guided to a red velvet chair, where she slumped without a word as Nesta quickly poured two strong cups of tea. With another glance at Mor's face, she picked up a crystal decanter and added some whiskey that was likely older than her grandmother.
"Here," when she handed the tea to Mor, she did so with more care than the female knew Nesta possessed.
It was a testament to the Archeron. As much as she hated her circumstances, and as much as she hated the fae her youngest sister associated with, she could see how much pain Mor was in- and so she cared for her. She would not pick a fight with Mor while she was already defeated by the world outside.
"Cassian is-" Mor's throat tightened unbearably. She took a long drink of her tea-and-whiskey. It was meant to help ease the agony in her heart, but all it did was make Mor think about Cassian.
He'd been the one to introduce her to spiked tea. If you let him, he would go on for hours about what liquor blended best with which tea.
"He's gone, isn't he?" Nesta's hands were in her lap, but Mor could tell from the tension in the girl's arms that she was white-knuckled beneath the table.
Not yet, but he won't be here much longer.
She couldn't say it. It was one thing to accept it, to listen to Azriel speak so openly about letting go, but Nesta was a stranger. She was being kind for once- but she wasn't part of their family. Besides- a sliver of pity entered Mor's heart for Rhysand, forced to make such a horrific decision and then play the enemy to tell both her and Azriel it was time.
So she took the burden this time and lied.
"Yes." Mor's chin quivered, "This morning."
Nesta- the female who hated everyone on the planet save Elain- looked at Mor with only carefully veiled sorrow in her eyes, "I'm sorry for your loss." She didn't know how to lie as a fae yet, and Mor could almost see Nesta's stone heart crack.
Mor couldn't speak again.
"He seemed like a good man- male," Nesta offered. "A bit rakish, but… kind, beneath it all."
"He is," Mor whispered. She swallowed hard before correcting herself, "-was."
Her words felt poisonous and entirely wrong- to speak of Cassian as though he were gone. It wasn't just the lie, it was the mere concept of having to refer to him in past tense. It was that her brother and best friend would very soon be a 'was', no longer an 'is'.
"It was- I mean… Was it peaceful?" Nesta's voice was quiet, she was reining in her emotions as best she could but Mor could tell she wanted desperately to wake up from this nightmare.
"No. His last conscious moments were pain and fear and-" tears fell again, and Mor quickly wiped them away. "No… Nothing about that was peaceful… but now it doesn't matter. Now he's somewhere good. He's warm and happy and with his mother and-" a bit of a laugh escaped from Mor as a new thought occurred to her, "-and Rhys' sister is there."
Mor looked out at Velaris below and lost herself in the memory, "She and Cassian- he loved play-fighting with her. We were all in our thirties when she was born, so Cassian was as much her brother as Rhysand. They- they turned this entire House into two rival camps once and made the servants pick sides. Their little war lasted for a full week before peace talks began- all that was started by a debate on the merits of pillow versus blanket forts! He was forty-three, a child, and she was still in infancy, only twelve. She was the little brother he never had."
Nesta listened to the little story and found a soft smile touching her lips, even though she was blinking hard to fight back her tears, "Were they- could they have been mates?"
She thought it was a reasonable question, but Mor managed more of a laugh this time, "Cauldron no. Illyrians aren't allowed to be children. Their training begins at ten, but before that they serve the camp. There are few games, and something like fun isn't allowed. To this day he-" the light dimmed in Mor's eyes again and she looked down.
Not 'to this day'. This day Cassian was suffering. This day he would die.
"He still played with them?" Nesta prompted.
"Yeah," that glow faded from Mor completely. "Catch, wrestling, races- he always lets them win but… He never turned down anyone who needed a friend to play with. Rhysand's sister was so lonely, growing up with her father treating her as some valuable piece on a chessboard while the males were off training. She had me- I've lived in Velaris since I was eighteen," since her father skinned her alive for sleeping with Cassian, "I tried to be a big sister for her… but Cassian was always better around children than I am."
Silence stretched around them. Eventually, Nesta nudged Mor's forgotten tea cup closer to her, "Tell me more stories, please."
Nesta was helping her, in the only way that sometimes-viper knew how. She was giving Mor a chance to remember only the happy moments with Cassian, a welcome reprieve from grief and anguish.
Mor stayed for another cup as Nesta gently prompted her to share more and more stories, then offered her another refill (without alcohol this time). Nesta was as distant as she could be, and it was by no means a marker of change in her cold exterior, but she showed a capacity for kindness that Mor would never have thought possible.
Only then, only that one time, did Mor look at Nesta Archeron and see a female worthy enough to be Cassian's mate.
—
—
Though it was barely four in the afternoon when Mor left the House of Wind and returned to the Townhouse, the streets outside were silent. No children played, no couples passed the High Lord's house on their stroll, and not even merchants peddling pre-dinner sweets to children called out. It was as if that one street held its breath out of respect for what was about to happen.
They'd all seen Madja arrive with the priestess.
Knowing how deeply the people of Velaris loved Cassian, and the way gossip spread through the city like wildfire, Mor had a feeling everyone already knew the end had arrived.
She winnowed from the entryway at the House of Wind straight to the townhouse foyer. Today the house had apparently been inundated with white roses, carnations, and lilies.
If there was any doubt in Mor's mind that the people knew Cassian would die, those white flowers chased it away.
Madja came out of the dining room in an instant, "Mor? Can we speak?" A temple priestess came to stand by Madja, but did not crowd the healer and offered only a comforting, sad smile. She exuded sincerity and sympathy in equal measures.
"No… I've come to terms with this, but please- just… just no." She felt a sick dread in her heart. Mor both needed to see Cassian and wanted nothing more than to run screaming from the house.
"I understand," the priestess said in a soft, soothing voice. "Know that if you change your mind now- or even after the prayers- I will stop and listen. No matter when you wish to speak with me, I will always be available to you, Lady Morrigan."
Mor only nodded.
"The High Lord and Azriel are with him now. Why don't you go sit with them? We'll stay out here until called."
Again, she could only nod.
It felt like every nightmare she'd ever had, that walk to Cassian's room.
Everything moved too slowly, it was as if Mor was trying to push her way through a swamp. Her footsteps took far too much effort, each breath was too loud in her ears, and her vision blurred as those damned tears started again. Her dizziness had little to do with the fact that she hadn't eaten all day, and it couldn't be blamed on the alcohol either.
This was to be the worst moment of her life. What Kier did to her- she'd recovered, she'd survived. Cassian's death wouldn't end with him waking back up and cracking some dumb joke.
Before she was ready and what felt like years after she started the walk down the hall, Mor's hand was on the doorknob.
When the door opened though, all the fear and strain vanished as Mor saw Rhysand and Amren on one side of Cassian's body with Azriel on the other. The males each held one of Cassian's hands as they too found a way to accept what was coming. Whatever Amren felt- she masked it far too well.
Seeing Cassian like that- gone and lost already- somehow it made time flow properly, and her breath was no longer louder than a scream.
When she looked at him on that bed, it just felt… right.
They weren't killing him.
They weren't abandoning him.
They were letting him go on to something happier.
Something better.
They were sending their friend off to rest.
It was a death Cassian would never have thought he'd be granted- not screaming on a battlefield, but laying on a bed in Velaris, surrounded by family.
Mor didn't think about how he ended up here or what happened two weeks ago. She didn't think about her earlier words to Nesta- saying his death was not peaceful at all… She only thought about Cassian, and the mocking warmth he brought into her life every single day.
Rhys looked up at her, a question too painful to ask in his eyes.
Mor nodded, and went to stand by Azriel.
Madja and the priestess entered moments later, and as they did, Nuala and Cerridwen appeared in the darkest corner of the room to lend their own support and say their own farewells.
"Cassian, my brother… die with honor and dignity, knowing you served your High Lord more heroically than any before you." Rhysand muttered the old blessing as he lifted Cassian's sheathed sword and laid it across his chest. Both he and Azriel folded Cassian's hands over the hilt of the sword, that he may carry it with him into the next life.
The priestess raised her arms to begin the final blessings. Everyone bowed their heads and closed their eyes as she spoke- even Amren. Only at Cassian's death would she show reverence to the traditions of Prythian, "Cauldron save you. Mother hold you…"
Mor stopped hearing her words as that awful sense of wrong settled over her again. Too soon the end would come, but it also felt as though the priestess' words were somehow too slow.
Dread threatened to cripple her and break her resolve.
Azriel's cold hand found hers. There was no strength in his grip as he squeezed her fingers, but Mor appreciated it more than words would ever express. She reached down with her own hand to warm his and offer a bit of strength in return.
"…Fear no evil. Feel no pain. Go, and enter eternity." The priestess finished the first prayer and moved on to the Illyrian blessing.
When that was finished, Rhys would let them each say goodbye once more before he used his power to destroy what life lingered in Cassian. It would be quick and painless, but only for the one who was dying. For the rest of them it would be a Hell they would never escape.
Mor's resolve flickered and she grabbed Azriel's hand tighter. She stroked the back of it, trying to offer him the comfort she needed for herself. He didn't release her hand as her fingers traced over the smooth skin of-
s-smooth skin?
Mor began to tremble.
The priestess continued her prayer, but Mor stroked the back of that hand again, feeling further up towards the wrist.
Smooth skin.
And the angle- Azriel would have to be laying down.
Mor was shaking as she opened her eyes and looked at the hand that found its way into hers.
At the fingers that were still gently squeezing.
At the arm that was raised just barely off the bed.
Mor followed that arm up to the shoulder, to the neck, to the head. She looked into those warm, hazel eyes that were unfocused, but undeniably alert.
A shuddering sob broke the holy silence in the room. Rhysand, Azriel, and Amren opened their eyes to check on Mor- then followed her gaze down.
Azriel's cry was no more than a high whimper when Cassian's eyes met his.
The priestess stopped her prayer as soon as she realized what was happening.
Cassian looked at everyone in turn, then down at the Illyrian sword on his chest.
"I just woke up," he managed to turn the hilt of the sword towards Rhysand, "go kill it is yourself, princess." His voice was weak and rough, but there was a flicker of that mischief there again.
His siphons slowly began to glow as magic began to seep back into that ravaged body, and when Rhys- sure he must be hallucinating- reached for Cassian's mind, he felt his brother filling the void bit by bit.
Rhys loosed a sob of his own and quickly threw himself down to embrace Cassian, that snarky, obnoxious little asshole he was blessed to call 'brother'.
"Never scare us like that again," Rhys whispered as Mor pushed him out of the way to bury her face in Cassian's chest.
"I love you too, prick." Cassian smoothed Mor's hair and looked up at Azriel, paralyzed. "You can blink, I won't disappear."
Azriel took the hand from Mor's head and held it tight in his. He felt the strength returning and Cassian squeezed his hand in response.
When Mor moved, still sobbing, Azriel bent down to embrace his brother just as Rhys had. Even Amren hastily wiped at the moisture in her eyes before offering Cassian a hug of her own.
She wouldn't have to slaughter the Gods of Prythian. At least, not tonight.
—
—
Two Weeks Ago
There was nothing in Cassian's world but pain, desperation, and agony.
His wings were shattered, he felt more than any living creature should be allowed to feel, and yet that torment never ended. It was as if every nerve in his body were melting and burning- but didn't have the decency to just die.
He was trapped in darkness, surrounded by only the sounds of his own wretched screaming.
There had been a path through it all once- a path that ended in an evergreen land of peace and love. He could feel his mother on the other side, waiting to be reunited with the child she'd loved and protected as long as she was able. A female stood beside her- his sister in all but blood, ready to organize the camps of honored dead into armies for their next pillow-versus-blanket-fort war.
But before he could go to them, that path vanished.
He felt something wrap around him, a presence that both held him captive and protected him.
Years passed- or at least that was how it seemed- and bit by bit the presence chased away his pain. It was something warm- something he instinctively knew could be cold as ice if it chose. Soft and kind and genuine- yet only when given the chance.
That presence was his home, and to Cassian it became something greater than the world at the end of that path. It made him want to stay, to hold on and see what that miracle might bring.
But as he lost all semblance of time in the endless dark, he became lost.
The presence that held him was all consuming, as though it were preventing him from finding any escape to that other world. He couldn't figure out how to tell it he would return to his home- his body- and endure any pain to find that which held him tight in the living world.
He wasn't leaving, he was staying.
But it wouldn't let him go.
She wouldn't let him go.
Not until Mor told her there was nothing left to hold on to.
It was like swimming up from the deepest ocean. Cassian found himself drowning suddenly, and he swam with everything in his heart and soul for that glimmering light far above.
His eyes opened slowly upon his own deathbed service.
He saw Mor trembling, her composure cracking.
He reached out, and felt himself click into place within his body at last. The endless, ageless dark behind him faded away like morning fog, and Cassian's spirit settled into his legs, his arms, his chest, and his wings.
Against all odds, against all hope, Cassian came home.