Hiya everyone.

Huge chapter here for you. I hope you enjoy it, this one was super fun to write... I can't wait for what's to come.

As usual, enjoy and please review!

P.S. Sorry for any typos, I really wanted to get this one out before I head back to work this week.


The lights inside The House of Wind were dimmer than Rhysand remembered but he supposed that it added to ambiance. Cassian and Morrigan were having an epic thumb battle at the far end of the table, Morrigan's blonde hair falling out of the wide-braid trickling down her back. She wore one of the dresses Rhysand had 'bought' for her, a gown of deep-navy with a suspiciously long slit down one side. Honestly, some of the dresses his mother had tailored would have made even the most scandalous of his Court blush. Cassian wore his fighting leathers, only two siphons on tonight. One siphon of course was being covered by Morrigan's own hand all the while Cassian lifting his elbow off the table.

"Oh stop it, you big buffoon!"

"What are you talking about? You keep accusing me of cheating when I clearly am not. It is perfectly regulation-"

"No, it's not!"

Amren sat a few feet down their farmhouse style table, her back against the wall and feet up on the table. She clutched a silver goblet in one hand, her eyes sparkling as they gleamed off the polished surface of the cup. Her mouth was open in a smirk as she watched them argue, her teeth stained dark. Her mind was a fortress, the strongest Rhysand had ever encountered but he had no doubt she enjoyed their arguing. Her loose grey pants were sliding down her legs exposing her tiny ankles, and her tank top revealed no small amount of pale skin. Rhysand knew better than to let his eyes linge,r he had learned that lesson-

"Amren! You're supposed to be our referee!"

"Oh no, I never agreed to such a thing." She muttered, raising her eyebrows at them.

Azriel was sitting at the end of the table, his shadows crawling up and down his arms, curling around his ears as they whispered to him. Rhysand had thought he ruled the darkness, being High lord and what not, but he knew better than that. While Rhysand ruled the night, he could not control it, he could not so much as stop the sun from rising as he could make the sea disappear but Azriel… he could control the shadows, whisper to them, make them. He had hardly seen anything like Azriel in all his years.

Tonight, Azriel had his hands poised gently over the pianoforte in the far end of the room, something that was rare enough to hurt. Azriel was an excellent player, though the songs he played were often ballads that left tears in your eyes as opposed to jilting tunes that lifted the room. But tonight, he was smiling, his hazel eyes flickering up from the keys.

"Any requests tonight, Feyre?" His lips were pressed together in a small smile, a shadow flickering on his shoulder.

Rhysand's heart stuttered. His eyes followed Azriel's gaze to a woman, no, a faerie who was lounging in an armchair only a few feet from the pianoforte.

She was wearing a dress of white gossamer, loosely cut and jeweled bands laying across her shoulders. Her arms were bear, revealed matching Illyrian tattoo's that slithered up her arms to rest just above her elbows. Tattoo's that matched Rhysand's own. Her right hand was resting on her stomach, revealing a small bump. She caressed her abdomen mindlessly, as she smiled softly back at Azriel.

Her starlight eyes flickered once before turning her head towards where Rhysand stood between them. "Oh, I don't know… what was that song that male played last weekend, Rhys? At Sevenda's?"

Rhys? She tilted her head, pushing herself to sit up in the armchair. Her hair fell back to reveal delicately pointed ears. On her head sat a tiara of silver, a single star resting above her brow. Livana's crown.

Feyre… she was fae. Rhysand stared at her incredulous- she was so beautiful, her beauty only amplified by her immortal grace- and she was pregnant, at least she looked like she was and- she was wearing a crown-

"Rhys?" Feyre called quietly.

Rhysand's heart was pounding. Where was he? This couldn't be the House of Wind, no he couldn't be in Velaris… that was a fool's hope, this must be game of Amarantha's…

Feyre stood, approaching him slowly. Azriel looked up from his piano, Cassian and Mor ceasing their fighting nearby-

"Are you okay, love?" Feyre reached to touch his face, her tattooed hand revealing a feline eye in the middle of her palm-

Rhysand sat up, his wings spread behind him, the bedsheets wrapped around his legs. It was dark, so dark in his room. He stared forward in panic, holding his hand in front of his face but, no, he couldn't see it-

Breathe. Rhysand. Breathe.

He did, he listened to the small part of his mind. The darkness is yours Rhysand. The darkness is your own. The voice in his head was his fathers, deep. Soothing.

He had said those words too many times for Rhysand to remember. As he had grown, his power had grown… the power was too much at first. It overpowered him, smothered him. He would be trapped in the darkness for hours at a time, unable to see, to hear anything but his own misery.

But then his father had taken the darkness, had absorbed it. Had shown him to control it… how there were different types of night, of darkness. Not just the darkness of dreams.

The darkness is your own. Breathe, and will it away. All you must do is wish it gone… and it will be.

So he breathed, just like he had done all those years ago.

The worst part of this was that this wasn't even a bad dream- it was good. He didn't understand it, why Feyre was there, why she was no longer human in his imagination… but he couldn't deny that she fit in. She looked like one of them, lounging away in that arm chair in the House of Wind.

Those tattoos… they were Illyrian warrior tattoos, ones earned after hours in battle. After the Blood Rite...

His imagination was running away from him. There were too many impossibilities in that dream.

As his breathing slowed, he flapped his wings once before willing them back to the in-between. He lay back in his bed and rubbed a slow hand over his face.

What a mess.

Their fate, their very freedom… depends on a human girl. A human girl that Rhysand had strange, unexplainable attraction to.

A human girl that Rhysand had tried to save, to protect form Amarantha for no reason but his own desires. Rhysand had tried and failed to protect her.

He thought of the way Azriel had looked at her, asking her what song she wanted… he looked at her like she belonged there, like she was an old friend. And they had all looked so real. Rhysand hadn't seen his friends in near a half-century, only passing notes between the twin wraiths and his circle but- they seemed to real. He hadn't even been able to picture their faces after the first few years but-

Strange. It was too strange to dwell on. It was just a dream, Rhys. Just a dream.

Rhysand turned his head, wondered what time it was. His fire had burned low. He was still tired but Amarantha had kept him late that night, taking a particularly long time to torture Tamlin. She wanted to know about the girl, about what she feared, what she did, who she was… All dangerous information.

As usual, Amarantha didn't like to get information the easy way. Rhysand could have extracted the information from Tamlin's mind, filtering what he wanted to. Learned about the girl named Feyre. Instead, she settled on pouncing on Tamlin, making Tamlin watch, taunting him.

Tamlin, impressively, had not wavered a second. Perhaps he did care about the girl, in the sick way a male who tried to use an innocent teenage human to free his people could… not that Rhys had much room to judge him.

He was hopeful she would save his people too.

Amarantha was unhappy, the only information she had to go on with the human girl was that she loved Tamlin, was a huntress who killed one of the Spring Court's sentries and apparently, wasn't good at riddles.

Rhysand had managed to keep any more information about the girl from her thus far.

Rhysand huffed as he sat up, decided to bathe and be on with his day. If his calculations were correct today would be the day of the first task… an event he would not miss for the world.

And he had something to take care of before things went too far.


As Rhysand spelled away the stubble on his chin, chewing on a few mint leaves in front of his sink a shadow creeped out from behind his mirror.

It crawled along the stone wall, creeping downward until all at once it rose from the floor to become a female made of little more than dust and darkness.

Rhysand smiled at her, meeting his wraith's eyes as the twin appeared smoothly on the other side of his sink. He waved a hand, spelling the bathroom to quiet their speech.

Still he whispered. "I wonder how long exactly you have been hiding, wraiths. I hope you didn't get a free show."

Nuala smiled at him wirily, Cerridwen glancing quickly down at her feet.

"How can we be of service to you, High Lord?" Nuala's voice was all shadows.

"I need you to pass on a message to my Circle." He reached into his tunic, removing a carefully folded piece of parchment from a hidden pocket.

Cerridwen took the paper from his hand, swiftly opening it. They would never carry paper, too easily lost or stolen. Their minds however were not so easily lost.

"I need this sent immediately. And I want confirmation that it was received."

Nuala glanced up at him inquiringly. Cerridwen handed the paper to her to read.

As Nuala held the paper up, he could see his own writing in the mirror.

Hello my friends,

I fear that I may be doing something terribly stupid, but I must take a chance. There is an opportunity that might ensure our freedom in the form of Tamlin's own. I am sure you have heard rumors even in your isolation and know that there is some truth to them.

After some thought, I have decided that I will fight. I will manipulate, kill, maim anyone that stands in the way of this opportunity.

I have stood to the wayside for too long.

I am writing to you because I need to know in the case of my demise that our emergency preparations will go as planned.

This changes nothing.

Friends:

Cassian, there is nothing you can do to help me so don't. Make sure they're ready. They need you.

Azriel, I am sure that there is something more sinister behind this deposition. You need to know what.

Amren, you remain second even if the line of succession changes. When I fall… the wards will fall. There are people here who know about us, who know our secrets. You must maintain the wards, remain in the city. You promised me this once, and let it be known that I expect this promise to stand.

Mor, cousin, if I fall my Court will fall to you. As my closest living relative, there is no one else who should take my crown. If so, know that there has been nothing like you since the Cauldron created the world. Do not let them take your crown. If anyone deserves to hold the title of High Lady, it would be you. You were the dreamer born into the court of nightmares. You can rule both, you already do.

While I do not look forward to the moment of my death, I anticipate it should things go south. If this year is anything like the past fifty, things can and will go badly.

Remember. Every great dream begins with a dreamer. You have the strength, the patience and the passion to reach for the stars to change the world.

The world was made and will be shaped by the dreamers.

Sincerely,

The Most Handsome High Lord,

Rhys

When Rhysand glanced away from his letter as Nuala finished reading it, he blinked away the liquid heat behind his eyes. He looked at his own reflection in the mirror, paler and thinner than he had been in all his years. His tattoos were stark against his neck and arms, his eyes the deepest violet of the night.

He willed his crown of stars into existence, knowing perhaps it would be one of the last times he wore his crown.

The crown appeared, shimmering and glowing like the brightest star in the sky. Rhysand raked his eyes over his own face, his chin sharp like his fathers, his nose and eyes very much his mothers. His high cheekbones had been his fathers, as was the hair and the color of his eyes. He unfurled his wings, stretching them out as far as he could in the tiny bathroom.

He felt a warm hand in both of his hands, and surprised, he looked down.

Nuala and Cerridwen were on their knees, a single hand reaching up above them as they clutched his hand. They bowed their heads and together whispered, "High Lord."

When they looked back up their eyes were shimmering, tears threatening to overflow.

"Stand." Rhysand said suddenly, gruffly. His wings were shoved back to the in between, as was his crown. Only the corona of darkness that tugged at his edges remained.

"Do not pity me, wraiths. Pity those who have never known love as I have. And above all, pity those who hate those they do not understand." His voice was hoarse.

They stood slowly. Nuala handed the letter back to him.

As he gripped it, it disappeared into a wisp of the night sky.

"Go now. I want your answer by tonight." He didn't look at them as he spoke, instead staring down at his sink.

They turned back to shadow, and with a breeze through his hair, they were gone.

Rhysand gripped the sink and wet his face one more time.

Get it together, High Lord.

After a deep breath, he looked up at his reflection. His eyes were bored, his lips together in a smirk. He crossed his arms.

Better.


Rhysand was finishing breakfast in his room, a plate of cold meats and fruit, when he felt the familiar tug as Amarantha summoned him. It didn't come from his mind, but rather, somewhere lower. In between his stomach and chest. His power guttered in response as she tugged on his power as well. He huffed out his nose, smoothing his hands over his silver and black tunic. Today was going to be interesting… This girl, Feyre, would be facing her first trail. And he would do everything in his power to make sure she would pass.

However, Amarantha had done her best to keep the details of the first task quiet. He, nor anyone else knew what to expect. Even the Attor seemed oblivious when Rhysand had scrounged his mind for details.

Rhysand strolled from his room in the direction of the throne room but as he approached the wide archway leading to Amarantha's favorite room, he was surprised to see a snout-nosed grunt turning people away and pointing them down the corridor. Among the crowd he spotted a few of the other High Lord's, Kallias and Tarquin to name a few, wandering down the corridor. Their faces were carefully blank but Rhysand could smell the sour scent of fear mixing with the scents of the hall.

Rhysand put his hands in the pockets of his jacket, glad that he had thought to wear one, as the air grew colder and colder the deeper under the mountain they went. The High Fae were excited, murmuring to each other as though they were heading to a carnival. There was laughter, shouting from person to person down the hall.

Deeper and deeper they walked, the ground turned from stone to mud beneath his feet, slippery and cold. His black boots were speckled with mud to his displeasure, but he found some amusement as some fool of a female had thought to wear heels to the trial. Her two companions were attempting to pull her stumps from the muc as he walked by. He didn't bother to hide his snickering.

When Rhysand thought that if they went any deeper into the mountain that they might all walk into a wall of lava, they finally reached a massive cavern, no, arena. There were giant wooden stands to both sides of the arena in which faeries were piling on, establishing their seats before the show. On the far end of the arena a wooden platform was erected, complete with two makeshift thrones in which Amarantha and Tamlin already sat. And below that platform stood Kallias and Tarquin, both turned towards the Red Queen. Paying their respects. The High Lord's stood in the muddied floor, no platform erected for them to stand on although the crowd stood if not in the stands then on wooden planks and leaning against the railing that surrounded a deep, muddy trench.

A tinge of annoyance zapped through him. Really, she had entire stands erected for her Court to watch the trial unfold, but the High Lord's were to stand in the mud? Rhysand supposed that if anything perfectly showed her feelings about them it was that action alone.

He smiled as he entered the room, letting them think that he enjoyed this display. Even if he was to stand in the mud like an Illyrian child. The crowd gave him a wide birth as he weaved through them, making his way towards the throne. Whore. The undertone was nothing new to him, the sting no longer reaching any part of him that mattered. He glanced down into the pit, wondering what exactly would be Feyre's challenge. It was a maze of mud and filth, the stench wafting even through the iron-tinged magic that protected the crowd from the worst of it.

As he passed the middle of the first stand, a small platform was raised. A dark-haired, High Fae male was standing on the platform above the crowd. In his hand he clutched a coin purse that jingled over the noise.

"Make your bets here! Will the human slut fall to the Middengard Wyrm? Will she last five minutes, a single minute, or just a few seconds? Best winnings if she lasts 10 minutes! Worst if she lasts one!"

Middengard Wyrm? Rhysand had heard only whispers of the beast.

A female giggled nearby, covering her mouth with a gloved hand. Her hair a burning auburn. Autumn Court.

"Human slut?" She said quietly to her companion, her lips spread in a smirk.

Something inside Rhysand was burning, and before he knew what he was doing he had stopped in front of that platform.

"Care to make a bet, High Lord?" The dark-haired male asked him, his voice lifting with strange annunciation. One of Amarantha's Hybern cronies then.

A few faeries stopped walking behind him to watch. Rhysand gave the male a crooked smile, pulling his coin purse out from a pocket inside of his tunic.

"Indeed. Tell me, how many have bet that she will win?"

The faeries who had remained walking away now stopped to look at him. He kept his lips curved in a careful smile.

"Err…" The faerie glanced down at his paper once, his face confused, "It doesn't look like anybody has bet any money on that. One person bet she would last an hour. Why?"

"No reason." Rhysand threw his entire coin purse at the male. He caught it, looking at Rhysand with interest. "Put the entire amount on her winning."

Some muttering came from behind him. What, is he stupid? What does he think he's playing at?

Whore. Whore. Whore, whore, whore…

"Err… I don't think…" The dark hair male stuttered, clutching Rhysand's coin purse.

"Did I stutter?" Rhysand brushed a claw over his weak mind, blinking innocently at him.

He shivered. "No. Okay, sir… Fifteen hundred gold coins on… on that the human beats the worm."

Rhysand smiled, watching as the male wrote his name down on the parchment. He only strolled away when every single coin had been carefully counted and accounted for on the paper.

He smiled innocently at the crowd that had gathered before he strolled towards Amarantha's throne. It seemed that the rest of the High Lord's had arrived in his absence, and the arena was bursting at the brim with faeries hungry for blood.

He bowed deeply as he approached Amarantha's throne. She only nodded briefly at him, turning her attention to the entrance to the cavern. Tamlin glanced briefly at him, no nod coming from him.

Hello to you too.

Rhysand strolled to the edge of the bank that separated him from the maze below. Helion was the last High Lord to arrive before him, and he nodded once at Rhysand before turning his gaze down on the maze below. Perhaps it was just him, but it seemed that each of their faces were paler tonight than usual. The mixture of fear with the excitement in the room confirmed his suspicion.

The roar of the crowd grew louder before he saw her. She was being hauled forward by two red-skinned prison grunts of Amarantha's. Her feet attempted to walk, but most of her weight was being pulled forward by the lesser fae. The crowd laughed and shouted at her, a group of it chanting, "Human slut! Human slut!" She paid no attention to the insults, but her pale face and racing heart gave away her nerves. Her blue-grey eyes flickered around her, her eyes drawn to the maze of trenches and tunnels below them all.

The faeries threw her to the ground behind the High Lords, directly in front of Amarantha's platform. The bruises on her face had faded, but the green-tinged dark circles lingered. Dried blood flaked through her hair, her golden-strands stained red as she had obviously attempted to wash it from her crown. Her cloths were dirty, not that it mattered as when she rose to her feet in front of the queen. Her pant legs were soaked with cold mud. Despite the mud, the filth, all that Rhysand saw on her face was defiance. Even if her mind was screaming in terror.

Amarantha rose a pale hand. The crowd instantly quieted.

It became deathly quiet in the cavern. Feyre's heart was beating the loudest, a strange thud only coming from Tamlin's stone heart. Water dripped from the ceiling above them. Mud sloshed as faeries shifted their weight.

"Well, Feyre." She brushed her hand possessively over Tamlin's knee. "Your first task is here. Let us see how deep the human affection of yours runs."

A few giggles burned through the crowd. Feyre exposed her teeth to the Queen, staring directly at the witch.

Even with the mud, the blood, the defiance… Rhysand could see it. That woman he saw in his dreams. But her ears, peaking in front of the mess of hair tucked behind her ear were perfectly round. Human.

"I took the liberty of learning a few things about you," Amarantha murmured. "It was only fair, you know."

Feyre's heart continued at an impossible pace.

"I think you'll like this task," she waved a hand, and the Attor parted the crowd. Clearing her way to the lip of the deep trench. "Go ahead. Look."

Each step was slow, careful. The mud was affecting her balance with no immortal grace for her to rely on. Feyre approached the lip of the maze, her eyes trying to make sense of the maze below. When she was only a couple inches from the edge of the trench, the Attor shoved her forward only to catch her just as swiftly as he had shoved her. His wings unfurled, and as they pushed up into the air, Feyre let out a small scream.

The crowd was laughing, breathing in her scream like the scent of incense. Her scream had shot through Rhysand like an arrow.

The Attor lowered her into the trench, each beat of his wings spreading the stench of the maze throughout the arena. Amarantha winkled her nose. Rhysand turned away from her, his eyes instead glued to Feyre.

The Attor dropped her a foot or so from the floor, her feet landing deep into mud. Her feet went out from under her and her arms flailed as she attempted to remain upright. When she caught her balance, her hand came up to cover her nose. She was trying not to gag at the scent.

Feyre looked back up Amarantha, who had floated her platform above the High Lords so that she had a better view of the maze itself.

"Rhysand tells me you're a huntress," Amarantha started. The panic that filled Feyre at the thought of Rhysand invading her thoughts… the guilt threatened to swallow him whole. He struggled to keep the smile on his face. "Hunt this." Amarantha flicked her fingers at her.

Feyre turned her eyes to Tamlin next, who stared at her blankly. She searched his face for a long moment.

Amarantha shifted in annoyance. "Release it," she snapped.

A grate, one that was apparently directly below them as Rhysand couldn't see it, began to groan. A slithering, swift noise filled the chamber.

Feyre's face turned from defiance to terror, and she trembled as she awaited her fate. The crowd quieted, listening to the slithering, guttural vibrations that approached from deep below them.

Amarantha clicked her tongue once above them all. Feyre turned her gaze back to her.

She rose her eyebrows. "Run." Amarantha whispered, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

Feyre turned to her right, and her eyes widened in terror. And she ran with all the gusto her human body could muster.

With a final hiss, the giant worm was out of the grate and in the maze. Its body was pinkish brown, slimy, covered in muck. What must be its head was made up of a thousand sets of razor-sharp teeth, a thousand rings that snarled and smelled so strong of filth and rot that Rhysand stopped breathing through his nose.

Feyre sprinted down the length of the trench, her feet slipping this way and that as she ran. One fall and she would be gone, eaten by that monster. He watched with horror as the crowd roared with pleasure, cheering and scaring the wyrm into a frenzy.

Feyre ran left, left, and then left again, swirling herself through the maze. Her mind was racing, trying to plan, trying to think while her lungs and heart begged for more oxygen. She slammed into a wall, drawing more laughs from the crowd but wiped the mud from her eyes and kept running.

She hit a straight stretch in which a tiny opening split between trenches, nearly missing the sliver of open air as she pumped her legs with all her might. She slowed her running, allowing the wyrm to snip at her toes and slammed her weight into the tiny opening.

She slammed into it but was thrown back, the opening not big enough for her to squeeze through. She clawed at the walls, her panic becoming Rhysand's own.

Come on. You can do it. Keep trying. Claw.

The wyrm approached ever fast, his teeth clicking together, hissing, vibrating the very cavern.

Feyre pulled, her air coming in quick puffs and finally she fell through the crack. The wyrm sped past the wall, roaring in frustration.

Feyre let out a cry of relief as she hit the ground on the other side, but without another thought was to her feet and flying deeper into the maze. The crowd was grumbling around him.

Helion had let out a breath when she hit the floor. Rhysand did nothing but relax his crossed arms. The wyrm had sped past the wall, smelling her, probably hearing her but… it should have seen her struggle there. It should have shattered directly through the wall. But it hadn't.

Feyre was thinking the same thing, the clever woman. She ran, panting and thinking it through. She glanced up the crowd, away from where the High Lords stood watching their faces. She could see where the wyrm was based on where they were looking.

It hadn't seen her. It was blind.

They came to the realization at the same time, Rhysand so surprised he blinked as he saw her fall into… nothing. Where did she go?

The crowd gasped around him, yelling out in confusion. But then- yes, there. There was a pit in the middle of this maze. A lair. The lair of wyrm. Feyre had just fallen into the lair of the wyrm.

A gasp came from the pit, and a few faeries leaned over the rail closest to the lair.

Without hesitation, Rhysand infiltrated their minds, using their eyesight to be his own. Feyre was whirling, standing the middle of the opening, her eyes squinting as she tried to see in the dark light. She took a step, her leg sunk deep into the mud. She held back a scream as she fell on her bottom, scrambling away from something… pointy in the mud. Sharp and white.

She scrambled back, her hand falling on another stick, just visible from this faerie's vantage point. She looked around frantically, her eyes flickering from bone to bone, panic shimmering sharply in her mind. She scrambled back until she was no longer visible from any vantage point.

Rhysand's heart was in his throat.

"Feyre," Amarantha spoke, her voice magically amplified. "You're ruining everyone's fun!" Her voice was musical. "Come out!"

Rhysand could not see her, but he could see the smartass reply in her mind. He tore his eyes from the entrance to the lair, finding the wyrm on the other side of the labyrinth. It was mindlessly hissing, roaring as it searched desperately for its food.

A green-faced lesser fae shouted, pointing in the lair's direction. Rhysand entered his mind next. Thank you for your eyes, sir. He thought to himself.

She had stumbled back into the open air of the pit and was trying to scale the wall with her bare hands. Every time she made an inch of progress, she slid back down to the floor with hands full of mud.

She stared at the wall defiantly. He wondered if she thought if she glared at it enough, a ladder would appear. She tried to climb it again, digging into the wall with all her might… and slid back down to the floor.

No, think. Use your mind.

She tried again. And again. The faeries around her were laughing, calling down to her.

"A mouse in a trap," one crowed at her. He heard it clearly in her mind. "Need a stepping stool?"

She froze. Then she whirled around, staring at the pile of bones behind her. She leaned back, her hand pressing into the wall behind her.

Then, Feyre ripped herself from that wall, a spark glimmering in those starlight eyes. She stomped over to two of the largest bones she could find and using all her weight jammed them into the wall. Then she stabbed another into the wall. And another. Creating… steps.

Something bloomed inside Rhysand as he watched her create this ladder, and soared when she began climbing it, a small bone strapped across her back. She could get out, she was almost out… and good thing too, the wyrm had smelled her. And was speeding off from the other end of the maze towards his lair.

But then she paused. And then she dropped off her bone ladder, back into the mud. What are you doing? Get out! He was again gripping the jacket over his biceps, his arms crossed tight across his body. Faeries whispered around them, "What's it doing?"

She drew the bone that was behind her back, and with force snapped it into two across her knee. She grinned as she beheld the two sharp-ended spikes in either hand.

She then trudged to the middle of the pit opening, jabbing the two bones into the ground, the sharp ends up. Then, she trudged back over the pile of bones, breaking bone after bone over her knee and with a kick of her foot. She stuck them into the floor directly below the pit opening until the area was covered with these sharp, bony spears.

Where was the wyrm? Rhysand tore his eyes away from her for a moment, to see that the wyrm had been distracted by a group of faeries that had found some form of meat to tease it with. It was pacing back and forth across the labyrinth, ignoring Feyre completely.

She examined her boneyard for only a moment before turning towards the bone ladder.

Brilliant. She had built a trap for the wyrm, in its own lair, using nothing but mud and the bones of its food.

As she ran to the bone ladder, hauling her body over the mouth of the pit, Rhysand slid back into his own eyes. She had three bones on her belt, and before she was even standing straight, she was rushing over to the nearby trench wall. She grabbed the filth from the wall, smearing it all over her face, her hair, her neck, her cloths. When she was finally done, she was covered head to toe in mud. The only identifiable part of her remained those starlight eyes. Then, she drew a sharp bone from her belt.

Her white teeth shown as she sealed herself for the final battle.

"What's it doing?" A faerie grumbled nearby.

Rhysand couldn't help his reply. The smile on his lips was involuntary. She had figured out a plan to survive this, to kill the wyrm, without even his help. "She's building a trap."

"But the Middengard-", the faerie whined.

"Relies on it's scent to see." Feyre glanced up at the sound of his voice, meeting his eyes from across the arena. His heart shuttered under the force of her gaze. "And Feyre just became invisible."

The faerie was silent. Feyre glowered at Rhys, rising the free hand to flip him off with a muddy finger.

Rhys's chest shuttered with a suppressed chuckle. She could have been Cassian's sister in this moment, covered complete in filth, outnumbered and yet she had the fight in her to flip him off over his narration.

She had made him laugh, a real chuckle. Not forced, not mocking. But a genuine, light laugh.

He found it hard to breath as she ran straight towards the wyrm. On her way, she embedded a bone into a seemingly random corner wall of the maze. Then another wall. The wyrm was not far from the lair, roaring frantically as the crowd had gathered near that part of the arena. As she approached, she slowed her running. They were feeding the disgusting creature, and Feyre winced at least once with the terrible crunching of its teeth.

She eased around a bend, craning her neck as she watched the wyrm thrash. She breathed deeply. Then, she moved directly into the path of the wyrm, raising a single hand above her head.

With horror, Rhysand realized her intentions too late. She slit her hand open using the sharp end of the bone, blood pouring down bright red, mixing with the filth on her arm.

By the time she looked up from her hand, the wyrm was gone. The crowd went silent as it watched her, but the wyrm was coming at her from her left, and she couldn't see it-

The faeries who had been feeding the wyrm grinned at her and she turned to see where the wyrm had gone-

Rhysand knew he was in deep shit and he could not help her in this way, but he could use his mind-

Before he could think about it, he infiltrated Lucien's mind, taking control of his voice and yelled, "TO YOUR LEFT!"

Feyre startled and bolted down the trench just as the wall that she was standing against exploded into mud, the wyrm just inches behind her.

She sprinted again, leading the wyrm on his way to the lair, using the bones she had embedded into the corner wall to swing around the corner without breaking her speed. Then, again, she made a sharp turn, her legs and arms pumping as she was blur of brown and red spiraling towards the lair-

One final turn and the faeries began crying out, some confused, some victorious, some enraged as they watched the wyrm spiraling towards its doom. She ran- and then she leaped into open space- and Rhysand couldn't see her-

Feyre screamed from somewhere in the pit, a howl of pain- Rhysand infiltrated a faeries eyes so he could see again-

But then the wyrm was plummeting into the lair behind her, all he could see was its huge mass flying into the opening.

Crunch. A wet, sickening crunch filled the arena.

The crowd fell silent.

The wyrm… it was laying on the floor on the lair, grey blood oozing out from its body. It gave a single tremble before it fell still.

Feyre was somewhere in the dark, panting, alive.

The crowd gasped as the wyrm took its last breaths… and then cheers filled the air. Genuine, clear cheering. For the human girl.

Cheers continued as Feyre climbed her bone ladder. She was still covered in filth, and her left arm had something sticking out of it. Bone, it looked like, she had stabbed herself by accident. Blood dripped down her arm to her fingers as she wandered through the labyrinth. Towards Amarantha's platform, towards where Rhysand and the other High Lords stood.

The look in her eyes was nothing but triumph and bottomless rage.

She won. She survived the first task. Rhysand had to hide his grin, but his lips were still in a coy smile.

She stumbled towards the edge of the trench until she was standing just below Amarantha's platform. Feyre gripped a long, sharp bone in her right arm, her left hanging uselessly by her side. The look Feyre gave Amarantha, who stared at her with a pale face and thin lips, was nothing but pure feral rage.

She shook with rage, her brows furrowed, and teeth exposed a very fae snarl.

"Well," Amarantha smirked, her face still pale. "I suppose anyone could have done that."

Rage coursed through Rhysand, but it was shattered as he saw Feyre take a few running steps in Amarantha's direction, throwing that long bone with all her might.

It landed in the mud at Amarantha's feet, over Rhysand's head. Mud splattered onto Amarantha's gown, and a small speck on her nose.

Every cell in Rhysand's body trembled with pleasure.

He could almost hear Cassian mutter in his ear, "If you don't marry her, you stupid prick, I will." He couldn't hide the smile on his face this time, so he turned his face away from Amarantha instead.

Faeries were gasping around them. A few of the High Lords had managed to keep their faces poised, but Rhysand and Helion were both trying to hide their smiles.

Amarantha stared at the bone for a moment, shock glimmering behind the fortress that was her mind. She touched the mud on her gown, looking at it on her hand.

"Naughty." She said quietly.

Feyre thoughts were so loud: I will rip her throat out. I will skin her alive.

Rhysand didn't think he'd ever been so attracted to anyone in his entire life, especially someone injured and covered in filth.

Amarantha looked at her a moment, then picked up a piece of parchment. Betting records. "I suppose you'll be happy to learn most of my court lost a good deal of money tonight. Let's see," she toyed with her necklace. Tamlin was struggled to maintain his composure next to her, Feyre looking openly at his face.

Jealousy, deep and undeniable burned in Rhysand's chest.

"Yes, I'd say almost my entire court bet on you dying within the first minute; some said you'd last five, and" -she turned over the paper- "and just one person said you would win."

Oh boy. He was in trouble, wasn't he? Knowing that punishment was coming brought not even an ounce of regret as he watched the defiant look on Feyre's face.

The Attor picked Feyre up this time, dropping her at the foot of the platform. Feyre winced, clutching her impaled arm.

Amarantha frowned down at her list, waving a lazy hand. She was preoccupied with Rhysand. "Take her away. I tire of her mundane face."

Feyre was clutched by the red-skinned guards again, tugging her out of the arena. She whimpered as they gripped the injured arm. That was not good, her tendons were visible through the wound, blood trickling down her wrist. No sign of slowing down. Not to mention the risk for infection, the filth covering every inch of her skin and the bone that was still imbedded in her arm.

This was something that would have to dealt with, this injury in a human… it was unlikely she would survive more than a few days unless someone intervened. The girl, the one who was one of them, a dreamer. A fighter. She would need help.

Rhysand frowned, staring after her. "Rhysand, come here." He instantly turned, looking over at Amarantha. He was thankful that he had a frown on his face when he looked at his queen, the rage seeping from her in waves. She was clutching her throne until the whites of her knuckles shown.

Great.


Oh man, this is a great chapter. One of the best in the series I think. (I mean Sarah's chapter, not my own!)

Review!