When all of them were dead, finally and irrevocably dead, Azriel cleaned his blades off on the grass, taking his time. He had counted - thirty-seven dead, with one escaped into the woods. Azriel bared his teeth in a feral smile after him. Good. One to take back the message.

And all he had to speak of was a few cuts here and there. A raiding party expecting nothing more than old women in the woods simply wasn't prepared for Illyrian steel.

Sheathing his daggers, he looked at the dead horses with some regret, then headed for the closed cabin door. He knocked, politely. Lucien opened the door, staring at him with one wide, half-frightened eye. His metal eye whirred, more loudly than usual.

"Ah, so you saw all of that," Azriel said, walking past him. There was blood spattered across his face and armor, which he ignored. Blood of every color and consistency. The old crone was inside, and she looked at him with no fear at all, instead a grandmotherly delight. Something was roasting in her oven now, something delicious. He took a breath. Ham, maybe?

Just a nice old woman who cooks children who stray off the path.

Azriel's stomach turned and he swallowed thickly, looking to Lucien. The auburn-haired man continued to simply stare at him. He had a picnic basket with a bright red-and-white gingham towel laid over the top in one hand.

"Did you get what we came for?" he asked, mildly, as though he'd just been outside admiring the flowers rather than racking up a body count.

"I… yes," Lucien said hoarsely, patting the picnic basket, seeming to jump back into being normal. "Azriel, what you just did… How much would it cost to have you be my bodyguard for the rest of my life?"

"More than you can afford," Azriel answered smoothly. He bowed to the old crone. "For one thing, you'd have to ask Rhys. And you really can't afford to ask Rhys. Thank you for keeping him safe," He said with a gentleman's politeness to the old woman of the cabin.

"Yes, well, knew you were coming, dearie," The old woman answered, a sparkle in her eyes, grabbing him by one bloody hand in both of hers, patting it gently. "This lovely young man kept me company while we watched your very amusing fight. I'm happy to take care of the cleanup myself, don't you worry m'love, my cellar has been low for so long. It'll be good to get something new in them barrels, get 'em good and salted for winter. Plus, it'll thumb our nose at that false queen, now won't it?"

She leaned over, now patting the top of the picnic basket hanging on Lucien's arms. "I've placed the book just in here, luv, plus loaded this sweet young man down with cookies. Freshly-baked shortbreads, you know. There are strawberries, too, in the basket, can't have shortbread without strawberries, now can you?"

Lucien only shook his head slowly, clearly still overwhelmed. Azriel heard Lucien's strange sword whisper, maybe I should have sung for the Illyrian instead. Someone who moves like that would definitely be a good choice for me. And you, too, Lucien. You could match worse. Ask if he has a sister.

Lucien flushed, with anger more than anything else, and hissed something unflattering in the direction of his sword. "Sorry," Azriel said mildly, "I don't want you. Either of you. And no, I don't." The woman gave them a baffled expression and Azriel smiled thinly. "Sorry. I meant that to… him. Thank you for the food and for the book, madam."

"You're quite welcome, dearies. This nice young man will make a good work of that book, I'm sure of it. I've been waiting for him to come and take it for a very, very long time. I was so happy when the path told me you were on your way here…" She looked up, bustling over to the oven, pulling out a glistening, oddly shaped pinkish roast. "Would you like to stay for breakfast?"

Lucien choked out "Please no," at the same time Azriel said "No thank you," and they both all but ran for the door.

Once they had made it outside, Lucien stared at the pile of corpses for a long, long time. Then he sighed and turned to Azriel. "Well, I'm going to owe someone money for those horses. I'll get us back to the Spring Court. It might take a while to go without Amarantha feeling it, but I can do it if I'm careful. Are you coming with?"

Azriel frowned, thoughtfully. "I will." He could still feel the shield of Velaris, intact. Everyone was fine. But something was very, very wrong.

Cassian groaned, shifting around, getting his hands under him and pushing himself up. It was dark, everything was black. Slowly, his eyes began to adjust and he squinted, trying to see where he was.

A prison cell, he thought. A barred door in front of him, a bare hint of yellowish flickering light from some lantern far down the hall. The cell was barely big enough to stand, but he could, if he wanted to. The top of his head just about scraped the ceiling when he did. He couldn't even lie down all the way flat, he'd have to curl his legs up a little. His wings scraped the floor and ceiling simultaneously and he shuddered, wondering how dirty they'd get in here. He couldn't spread them out, the cell wasn't big enough.

All he had on now were his thin under-his-armor pants. He reached up to feel, and the crossbow bolt wound was… gone. Healed, inside as well as out. He tried to step forward, to look out the barred door, and felt something catch his neck and pull him back just before he could get a good look at the hallway. His hands slowly went up to feel at the silver cuff, about the width of his own hand, that fit so tightly against his neck he couldn't even get a finger between the silver and his skin. A chain ran from it, attached to the wall.

He no longer felt the throb of the poison, but could still feel his magic simply… draining away, the absolute weakness of a body that could do no more than exist, had no magic, no power.

A bit of light caught on his wrists and he saw more silver cuffs fastened there, heavily engraved and set with small red stones, tiny garnets. They glowed, with a brightness that ebbed and flowed with the feeling of power draining from him into them. If he thought about it, he could feel them on his ankles. Had the feeling of garnets in the one on his neck, too.

From somewhere impossibly far away and horrifyingly near, he heard the sound of someone screaming, gibbering, begging for mercy. The screaming seemed to go on and on, echoing, bouncing around each and every cell. Making sure any prisoners held here could hear every single syllable of the horror being inflicted below.

Cassian slowly sat back down, staring at the silver cuffs around his ankles, trying to think.

I'm Under the Mountain.

Azriel had seen everything that had happened today, in dreams. He'd seen those soldiers barreling out from hiding places in his visions. He'd seen himself take them on, take nearly all of them out, and be finally taken down. Except… today, he hadn't been taken down. He'd won.

In his vision it had happened later, but everything had been the same, down to the little details of their armor and weapons, the things they had said…

So why had it happened now? And why had he escaped? Wasn't he supposed to be Amarantha's prisoner by now? He'd been so sure about the riddle…

Night keeps safe the dreamer who sings

I fear no war and move mountains in the dark

Serve a false queen with severed strings

Silver catch and light the spark

As Lucien winnowed them away, Azriel felt worry began to creep into the cold stone heart. Why hadn't this ended the same as his vision? The riddle for the Night Court had been clear. One of them would have to go down Under the Mountain.

One of them would have to be caught, and not come back out.

Mor's voice rang in his mind, thin and stretched by the distance, "Azriel, where are you? Cas is gone. There were raids, he went to help and he hasn't come back. Where are you?"

Then he knew. Azriel grabbed Lucien by the shoulders as they stepped into Rosehall. "I have to find one of my spies here, Lucien."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that-"

"Stop. Now's not the time. I need to get back home. I was wrong - I was wrong, I don't know how I got it so wrong..."

"Fine, yes, okay." Lucien frowned, looking with concern down at Azriel. "What's going on?"

Azriel slowly shook his head, then looked up at the auburn-haired Regent of the Spring Court. There was something bleak, in his expression. "Lucien, the riddle isn't about me. It's about-"

"Cassian!"

The frantic, frightened voice was Mor's. Cas raised his head slowly, his eyes open in slits. Nothing. Still a jail cell. He dropped his head again. How long had he been in here? Nothing changed about the light down here, although he knew at least one guard rotation had changed. No food yet. Cup of water suggested at least some hours. A day?

"Cas, speak to me. Where are you? I'm using our tie to the… the veil to speak to you."

He couldn't reply. He could hear her but there was no magic in him. No power. Nothing to send her way, to let her know. Her voice was so faint he could barely hear it now.

"Cas, they said there was a battle… Cas talk to me. My father said you were taken. I can feel you're alive. Is Az with you? Do you know where he is?" Mor's voice was tearful. Cassian closed his own eyes tightly as they watered at the sound. But her voice had faded to nearly nothing, and as she kept speaking, he couldn't understand her. Eventually there was no longer any hint of her at all.

Azriel. Azriel left, and now this. Amarantha would end up stumbling onto Velaris just from all of them finding their way out of its protection. But Az... he hadn't been at the camps. And Amarantha would have bragged if she'd had him, he was sure of it. So, where was he?

Time passed. Cassian wasn't sure how much. Another cup of water was brought. He drank it, ignoring the strange metallic taste. Probably poisoned. He no longer cared.

"Oh, general…" Amarantha's voice, that awful dripping seductive voice, whispered in Cassian's mind, like sludge that found its way into every wrinkle.

"One of your Illyrian warriors offered to tell me the location of more war camps in exchange for setting his woman and child free." He felt something like a caress, a gentle breeze along the back of his neck, ruffling his long hair. Another along his shoulder, down his arm. He jumped, trying to get away from it, snarling into nothing. No one was in here with him.

"He gave me the locations. They're all dead or part of my army now. I did set the woman and child free, in the middle of a mountain range. They're probably dead, too. Didn't my Rhys ever tell you people not to believe a fucking word I say?"

Cassian covered his face with his hands, pressing his palms over his eyes as hard as he could. The silver cuffs on his wrists flashed suddenly a bright, nearly blinding red as his power tried to force its way out and failed. What a mess he'd gotten himself into. Keir had sold them out, had sent him into that camp knowing she'd be there. She'd been waiting for a general, hadn't she? Waiting for the highest-ranking member of the Night Court's military Keir could fool. But she hadn't known his name - which means Keir hadn't given it to her. Or his title. He had to stay calm. Think his way out. How was she talking to him?

No, wait. She had all of their powers, didn't she? All those arrogant High Lords. Even if she couldn't use them very well, if they were clumsy and unwieldy in her hands, she had Rhys's daemati in her, too.

The voice in his head he heard as a violent splash of viscous red, running down the corners of his mind: "Who do you love, little bat?"