Chapter 7
Nesta couldn't remember the last time she slept so soundly or woke so peacefully.
As a mortal she was always afraid. She was scared of losing her mother, then scared of the hunger in Elain and Feyre's eyes when the family starved. As much as she hated their father and waged war against her youngest sister, she was terrified every time Feyre entered those woods. When Feyre was taken to Spring and Nesta failed to find a path through the Wall- she thought that was what Hell must be like.
When Feyre returned only to head back into sure death, Nesta mourned. When she came home changed and brought the promise of war to their home fear made her sick. Then she and Elain were taken and changed. She suffered an eternity of drowning and being re-formed, was broken by terror at the vacancy in Elain's eyes, and then Nesta Archeron was filled with more hatred than she knew what to do with.
The last two years she'd spent in an alcohol-induced coma that buried her in rage and shame. Even the month-long trek to and from Devlon's camp was filled with spite and the fatigue of disease.
Madja sat up all night talking to her, teaching Nesta how to cool her temper when her instincts said to bite and reminding her the road back wasn't going to be easy. She had to be prepared to fail, and she had to know that failure only became permanent if she gave up. No one would forgive her easily. No one would forget the things she said and did.
As much time as she spent ruining her relationship with Feyre and the others, it could very well take as long to mend the rifts.
But Nesta went to sleep with hope and clarity. More than she'd felt in a long time.
With no windows in the chambers granted her, she had no idea how long she slept or what time of day it was. Nesta was light and warm, without demons whispering in her ears. Even as she woke, she planned to stay curled up beneath the soft comforter as long as possible- at least, until her stomach growled in warning.
Secretly, she hoped no one visited her for a couple of days yet. She wanted to focus on healing herself- and not just physically- before she faced them. It was easy to plan for a brighter future on her own, but how easy would it be with Feyre standing in front of her? If she opened her bedroom door on Cassian, would she lash out in retribution for his abandonment? Would she be able to stop herself from resuming that fight with Amren that drove her away?
So, happily alone for the moment, Nesta pulled herself from between the sheets and brushed her hair. She'd been forbidden from calling or sending for anyone- but that didn't extend to asking for food, right? The ban was to protect the others from her, not to keep her from basic necessities.
For the hell of it, Nesta changed from pajamas to a clean gray dress and opened the door to her bedroom.
'No, ' she froze halfway through the door, ' no no no no no no .'
Feyre was sitting on the couch in a shimmering obsidian gown suited for the Court of Nightmares. She'd removed the crown from her braided hair and it sat beside her, black diamonds twinkling in the faelights.
In her hands was a tall vial of opalescent liquid that Feyre watched, seemingly transfixed by the small rainbows shimmering within. It was one of ten vials in a small carrier that had been placed neatly on the coffee table along with several covered dishes of food. She was so focused on the colors in the potion that she hadn't noticed Nesta yet- or wasn't acknowledging her. The elder Archeron took a step back, perhaps to hide in her bedchamber until Feyre was gone.
Naturally, her stomach chose that precise moment to make a loud, vulgar noise.
Nesta froze. Her every instinct told her to stand up straight, raise her chin, and stare down her nose at Feyre like she always had. Her dignity bristled at the sight of her youngest sister casually invading her privacy with that crown sitting beside her like some skeleton key. She could go anywhere and do whatever she wanted, regardless of who occupied the space.
' Ten, nine, eight- ' Nesta closed her eyes and began counting, forcing herself to relax. She told herself over and over again that if she said the words bubbling up in her throat, she was the only one who would be wallowing in them whenever Feyre left.
' Do you want to feel horrible later? Then ignore your entire personality. '
"Do you want me to pretend you're not standing there?" Feyre asked, casually placing the vial back among the others. She folded her hands on her lap and looked to Nesta. "I had a shitty morning and I'm using this as a hiding place. You ignore me, I ignore you. Deal?"
"Deal," Nesta said quickly, though she made no move closer to Feyre.
' Why did she have to come here of all places? There's a huge city outside, other rooms in this palace and the one on top of the mountain- she can winnow anywhere in Prythian! Why here?'
Feyre sighed- though it sounded more like a growl, "Shields." Nesta hadn't bothered with shields for nearly a year. Part of her didn't care, the other part wanted Feyre and Rhys to hear every horrible thought that ran through her empty mind. It took some doing, but she managed to re-form her walls of ice and steel. "And I came here because it's the only place they won't look."
They were supposed to be ignoring each other, but Nesta found herself asking, "Is there any news about the army or Cauldron?"
Her stomach growled again and Feyre rolled her eyes, "Would you just eat something already?"
' I'll eat when I damn-well please, ' Nesta wanted to snap. She bit the words down and counted again, then slowly came forward into the room.
Feyre didn't bother moving from the sofa, though she did pick up the crown and deposit it on a side table, "It isn't the Cauldron. Azriel says that's still with Miryam and Drakon. We didn't get a chance to ask about it this morning either."
Nesta frowned as she sat, "What does that mean?"
While her sister winced at the sharp bite of her own tone, Feyre just shook her head, "The leaders of that army came to pay us a visit over breakfast."
"Isn't that a good thing?"
"It should have been."
Feyre had an infuriating habit of chewing on her words, so Nesta didn't push. Instead, she started lifting the lids from her food. Diced chicken in a pale cream sauce, brown rice, and a mixture of steamed vegetables. Madja had warned her she would be put on a diet of bland foods that were easy for her body to digest while the medicines helped repair her body.
It was only once Nesta finished scooping chicken and sauce over her rice that Feyre continued, "They came from the same world as Amren. One of her brothers and- apparently- a god of some sort."
Nesta almost asked again if that was a good thing- even though everything in Feyre's demeanor said otherwise.
"The entire thing- army and all- was a rescue mission for some goddess… but Amren claims to have killed her after arriving here."
"You don't believe her," Nesta asked between bites of food. Once she smelled the chicken it was impossible to resist. A hot meal after so long in the forest was a revelation.
Feyre shrugged, "She could be telling the truth. During the war with Hybern she supposedly told me about her arrival in Prythian, but I guess she might have just lied. Either that or she decided to lie today and might have just ignited another war for fun."
There was a bite to her tone and Nesta found a sliver of pity creeping into her heart even as the sick fear she'd lived with for weeks flared.
' Feyre's always been such a trusting little tw- ' Nesta shut down the line of thought immediately. That poison was what landed her in such an awful situation in the first place. ' Feyre puts more faith in people than I do. That's it.'
Amren didn't confide in people, that was why Nesta got along with her so well for so long. If Feyre thought Amren trusted her enough to share a bit of her past only to find out it was some fiction, it would hurt her sister.
"Amren's been in Prythian for thousands of years, and from what I know she changed a lot since Rhysand made her part of his Inner Circle," that exclusive, preppy little club Nesta both despised and wanted to be a part of with every fiber of her being.
Feyre shrugged, "If we're lucky her brother will convince Hades of that. He didn't seem surprised, more disappointed at the news. I think he understands… but if I have to go to war to protect Amren, I will." Feyre sighed again and slumped further into the couch, "It's guaranteed neither Kier nor the Illyrians will raise a finger to help though."
The last part was said more to herself than to Nesta.
Silence stretched between them as Nesta left her sister to her thoughts. It was hardly a comfortable silence, but for the first time in ages the eldest Archeron wasn't at fault.
' This might be the longest we've ever spoken without fighting, ' she thought as she ate her lunch. Part of her was still annoyed with Feyre's very presence and hated her for the crown so casually dumped on her side table, but Madja said that poisonous envy would be drawn out in time.
'I was going to leave forever,' she reminded herself, just to see what that felt like. She was so sure when she walked into those mountains, but ever since she saw that army- the threat of war pulled her back somehow.
Killing Hybern ripped out a piece of her soul the Cauldron had already left ravaged. Having something to do though- having a mission- it gave her purpose. Something to work towards. She felt grounded and awake, not adrift and asleep.
"It was the same for me," Feyre said quietly. "I was drowning until Rhys made me a part of something." She saw Nesta recoil slightly out of the corner of her eye and added, "Sorry, shields."
Nesta pulled them up again quickly. Her cheeks burned red at the piece of her soul Feyre saw. She knew her sister was capable of locking out the minds of everyone around her, she had to be eavesdropping on Nesta's thoughts. In respect of that, Nesta decided she wouldn't feel guilty if Feyre was angry with anything she'd heard. It was hard enough keeping herself from saying the horrible things racing through her heart and mind.
Feyre tapped her knee silently until Nesta finished the potions and returned to her food. When no fight broke out over her intrusion, she sighed, "We had to change the orders given to your guards. They were told to keep you here for the foreseeable future."
"So I'm a prisoner?" Nesta snapped before she could stop herself. Indignation was her biggest weakness, it could very well make her forget her desire to be kind.
"For a little bit, I think you might be. If that army somehow gets ahold of you it would be a complication I'd rather avoid."
' And I'm already enough of a complication on my own. ' She caught Feyre watching her, "What?"
"Nothing, sorry. I thought you were going to say something."
"I'm trying to be nicer," now she was just daring Feyre to comment.
Her sister watched her a moment before shrugging, "I appreciate that."
But there was no fondness in her voice, no warming sisterly bond. Nesta had broken the trust of the trusting High Lady too often. Besides, showing basic courtesy wasn't anything special- even if it was unique for her.
Madja had told her to expect that. She reminded Nesta time and again that they wouldn't respond to her in any meaningful way. Not after everything she put them through. It was the old healer's way of managing her expectations. Nesta would have to prove herself until she was sick of them all and ready to give up- even then she was likely only halfway there.
Nesta was the one who decided to stay and fix things. Destruction was easy, healing took time. She repeated it over and over again.
' Destruction is easy. Healing takes time. '
Maybe her shields slipped. Maybe it was a concession Feyre intended to make with the news that Nesta was stuck in that suite like a prisoner, "In the Hewn City they use paintings to tell time. I've ordered one brought here for you so you can tell if it's day or night outside. I know you're not used to being underground… if it becomes too much, your guards have been informed that you have permission to take up residence on one of the lower levels of the Palace of Nightmares. There are no balconies and the windows are narrow, but you can see outside."
"Thank you."
"You still can't contact anyone. It's up to them to come to you if they want, but… at least there's sunlight."
A soft knock sounded at the door. Feyre looked over as it swung inward, "Can I borrow you?" It was Azriel who stood on the other side. He was wearing full armor and there was cold death in his eyes. He looked… angry. Whatever his purpose, Azriel came for Feyre, and didn't even spare a glance in Nesta's direction.
"Fine," Feyre replied brusquely. Whatever Rhysand did to piss her off, she held Azriel responsible by association. She stood to gather her crown and leave.
"Azriel?" Nesta said. He answered with a raised eyebrow, "I just wanted to say thank you for everything you did yesterday. And thank you for bringing Madja."
The cruel glare in his eyes softened and Azriel nodded as Feyre gathered her crown and made her way across the room to him.
She hesitated at the door, "Give your guards a list of things you may want to pass the time. If a book or craft cannot be found in the Court of Nightmares, I will authorize Nuala and Cerridwen to bring something from Velaris."
"Thank you," Nesta said. Feyre didn't look at her as she headed out into the hall and Azriel closed the door.
Nesta slumped into the couch cushions and let out the breath she'd been holding. It was far from a perfect encounter but… the best they'd had in years.
' Maybe I can do this after all… '
-o-
-o-
Feyre followed Azriel in silence through the Hewn Palace. He didn't speak to her, and those walls around his mind stayed expertly in place.
Long after she lost track of where in the castle's labyrinthine halls they were, Azriel stopped in front of an old portrait of a male tied to four horses pulling in opposite directions. Feyre winced at the agony expertly rendered on the male's face.
Black mist exploded from Azriel, racing around Feyre and back down the hallway in either direction. She didn't see anyone following them, but he wasn't taking any chances as he tapped on knots in the gilded frame. With a soft click it swung outwards, revealing a hole nearly as large as the painting.
"What is this?" Feyre asked as Azriel reached into the darkness and pulled out a web of thick black cords.
He said nothing as he climbed up the netting and disappeared into the hole. His hand shot back out of the darkness, inviting her inside.
Feyre cursed under her breath. Rhys taught her how to change her clothes magically, but she still only got it right half the time. It just wasn't something she'd bothered practicing. That was why she was still wandering around in the black dress and diamond crown he'd put on her when Hades arrived.
"Don't look."
"I'm not."
She focused on what she wanted to be wearing and where in her wardrobe it might be. In a flash her dress and crown were gone (hopefully they'd appeared on her bed) and an icy draft kissed her skin. The clothes she'd wanted- a peach top, loose pants, and magenta slippers- fell to the floor in front of her.
Azriel waited with his hand outstretched and his face turned inward to the hidden passage. Once Feyre was ready to climb up the netting she grabbed his hand and he hauled her up into the passage.
"Pull up the net and hold the door closed until you hear a click," Azriel said. The entrance to the tunnel was comprised of a high, narrow ledge with gradual drops behind it. He crawled forward into the darkness, guided by whispers only he could hear. Once it was safe to stand, he waited for the sound of the locks re-setting before throwing up a fae light.
"What is this place?" Feyre whispered as she crawled into the tunnel after him.
Azriel didn't answer. Instead he held out his hand once more and waited for Feyre to take it. Once she did, he pulled her along behind him, "I know you don't like being underground, but we have a ways to walk." The hand was a reminder that she wasn't alone, and a gesture of sympathy even as he dragged her further into the twisting passage.
"I'm okay," she said, though Azriel could probably feel the shudder that wracked her body as they approached a spiral staircase. While they descended, she peeked over the edge of the rail and sent a fae light of her own down into the pit.
It disappeared from sight before reaching the bottom.
"The steps will retract into the walls once we reach the bottom," Azriel murmured. "It was meant as a security feature- to make it impossible to leave unless the guards above allow. This works in our favor though- they weren't concerned with flying fae. I can carry you out." Feyre wasn't trained to fly in such narrow spaces.
She was about to say they could just winnow to the surface, but then she felt something pressing in from the walls. Ancient wards older than even those around Velaris. Winnowing would be impossible.
It felt like the stairs stretched all the way down into hell itself- and even then their journey was only halfway done. By the time they reached the bottom of the pit Feyre had released Azriel's hand so that both could walk more comfortably.
If there was any doubt in her mind as to the purpose of the strange space, it disappeared at the sight of a rough cave with ancient steel bars sealing off one end.
A prison built for one.
There were manacles attached directly to the wall, and between them the open maw of neck irons. Two long chains stretched from the walls and ended in cuffs. Ankle restraints.
Azriel stared into the cell, clenching and unclenching his fists. His shadows roiled around him. As promised, the stairs retracted back into the walls the moment Feyre stepped onto the floor of the prison. Within moments, they were trapped.
"I need you to do something, Feyre," Azriel whispered.
"I'll do it," Feyre said immediately. She felt an ancient, horrible ache in the black walls. Something terrible had happened in that prison. Something that had to do with Rhys' secrets.
"It will hurt-"
"I said I'll do it."
"Fine… you should sit down," Azriel turned back to face her. There was no kindness in his eyes. No friendship. He hated Feyre for making him reveal whatever he'd brought her there to see.
She obeyed, sitting against the curved wall of the missing staircase.
"You'll take five oaths. After each, the mark of your oath will be carved on the inside wall of your spinal cord."
"Understood," she shivered and for a moment wondered if she really wanted to know what Azriel had to say.
"On your life- do you swear to never repeat what I'm about to tell you, save in my presence without any trickery, imprisonment, or impediment to my freedom of any kind?"
"I swear." Feyre gasped as something sharp and vicious raced up her back. It felt like a knife blade dragged along her skin from the inside out. As quickly as it faded, a burning itch remained.
"On your life- do you swear that in word, thought, writing, or deed you will never allow to be known what I'm about to tell you, and will never conspire against me or my blood?"
"I don't understand-" Feyre swallowed her words and took a deep breath before saying, "I swear."
The pain was twice as strong and lasted twice as long this time. Now it felt like fire burned through her body. She whimpered as she fought back against it.
"On your life- swear that if confronted with the names 'Persephone' or 'Night Mother', you will deny their existence in Prythian."
Azriel demanded the oath before the pain had even faded. She hadn't processed the names before saying, "I swear."
He kneeled and took Feyre's hands as she cried out and writhed against the agony in her back. Azriel held her up when her legs spasmed and threatened to knock her over, but he did not relent, "On your life- do you swear that if an answer is forced, you will say she died her first day in Prythian?"
Shaking, Feyre stared up at Azriel, and at the complete lack of mercy in his eyes. Amren told Hades she'd died. Did she lie to Feyre, or to him?
" On your life do you swear that if an answer is forced -"
"I swear," she whimpered.
When her screams faded, Azriel was beside her rather than in front. He held her tightly, protecting her from her own agony, "Last one, I promise. On your life- do you swear to never let it be known that you swore these oaths?"
Feyre took several deep breaths before nodding.
"I need you to say it."
"I-I swear."
The whole world vanished in an explosion of pain that ripped through Feyre's body. Her own screams echoed around her. Azriel kept her pinned to his chest as she tried to do something to escape the agony. It was a deeper, more profound pain than when Amarantha killed her, and yet part of her mind went back to that awful day. She could hear Rhysand's screams, Tamlin's roars- she could see Amarantha snarling as she broke every bone in Feyre's body and ripped the muscles to shreds.
But then it all disappeared. The pain vanished, her screams turned to sobs, and Feyre felt something press against her lips. She opened her mouth and a strong, sweet liquor burned her tongue and throat. Feyre choked even as she grabbed blindly at Azriel's wrist and tipped more into her mouth.
He disappeared from her side once she was done, leaving Feyre to find her way back from the pain of her oaths. She was afraid to move too much, in case it returned.
Slowly, she raised her head until it was pressed against the rock. When that didn't set off any new spasms she flexed her back slightly. Other than an odd looseness in her bones, there was nothing left of the agony she'd just endured.
Feyre wiped the tears from her eyes with a shaking hand. Azriel sat across from her. Hate still burned in his eyes, but there was pity now too.
"Tell me why I had to go through that. Now ," she hissed.
He stared at her for a long time, "When the High Lord Leith first set out to capture Amren, he found Persephone instead. This was her prison."
"She's alive?"
Azriel nodded.
"How do you know?" Feyre had to be sure, for Amren's sake.
"Because… she's my mother."
