Rhysand's house of cards collapsed as he walked into the throne room and saw Cassian chained there.
He'd been sent on an errand, running a message to Eris at the Autumn Court. He'd enjoyed the brief feeling of the sun on his face, and had less enjoyed the smug satisfaction that radiated out of the new Autumn Court Lord's every pore. He'd had to ignore the usual array of running commentary on what he did with Amarantha, but standing in the sunshine, he could almost handle it. Soldiers were being moved into the Spring Court lands, which belonged to Amarantha at this point anyway.
Once upon a time, Rhysand would have found the idea of Tamlin's lands trampled beneath the hooves, and boots, and talons of tens of thousands of troops hilarious. Now, he worried about what would happen if all of this worked, if Amarantha really got everything she wanted. If Prythian truly became simply a vassal of Amarantha's will, a land that functioned just to provide tribute to the King of Hybern.
He'd come back, redressed himself in the court clothes that Amarantha preferred, and headed into the throne room, where he heard a scandalized murmur of courtiers. As he walked, they stared at him, and Rhys began to wonder what had changed.
Tamlin met him just before the entrance, placing himself between Rhys and the small crowd he could see across the room. "What's going on?" Rhys asked, frowning.
Tamlin had a scent on him that Rhys recognized, her scent, and fought back anger at the fact that she'd made even the times he was able to leave, however briefly, something that meant Tamlin would suffer even more. Tamlin leaned in and said in a whisper, as fast as the words would come out, "Don't let her know you know him, Rhys, don't let her know."
"That I know who?" Rhys said, then turned and saw.
The world stopped, with Cassian in its center.
"Come and stay with me," one short, dark-haired boy said to another, at the outskirts of an Illyrian war-camp. It was cold, and the boy did not have much more than a thin shirt on. He held out a coat to him, something his mother had sent.
"Go fuck yourself, rich boy," the second snapped in reply. Then, after a second's hesitation, reached out and took the offered coat.
There was a small crowd of courtiers, mostly Hybernian High Fae who congregated here around Amarantha, gathered around Cassian. Cas had been chained by his neck to Amarantha's throne. Rhys saw those silver cuffs at his wrists and ankles, and knew they were Hybernian. An old way to hold mortal slaves, he thought. He'd seen chains like that when they were freeing mortals during the war. Two thinner chains went from his wrists into rings set in the floor, keeping him stuck sitting or kneeling, unable to get up, to pull away.
Amarantha herself sat, watching with an indulgent smile as this courtier or that reached out to touch the edge of his wings, run a hand over his rounded ears. Cassian's jaw was set but his eyes blazed with fury as he tried constantly to escape one set of hands only to run into another. He bit someone who tried to touch his face and the lady jerked her hand back, letting out a string of curses.
Fifty years.
He had spent fifty years in her bed, chained to the wall, under her. Fifty years killing and torturing, rifling through innocent peoples' minds to find the information Amarantha demanded. He'd been beaten himself, tortured for days, and known through it all that at least his family was safe. He'd watched Tamlin fall apart, had hurt and hurt and hurt him on her orders and then put him back together, again and again…
He had sold out Illyrian war bands to save Tamlin's life. And in the end, it didn't matter. There was his brother, chained to her throne.
It was all for nothing.
"She doesn't know who he is," Tamlin hissed again, just as Amarantha's head began to turn. By the time Amarantha's eyes met his, the words had sunk in, and all Rhys showed her was his usual seductive smile. Tamlin walked just behind him into court, both their heads held high.
Someone hissed as they passed, "So which one of you kneels at night?"
Tamlin turned his green-gold eyes on the lordling who had spoken, the bruises standing out on skin paled by more than a year trapped in this dark hell, the slice along his cheek from Amarantha's ash knife still a startlingly bright red, and said mildly, "Mostly me. Did you know I'm usually the one on my back, too? Turns out I like it better that way. Would you like some details? One time, Rhys did this thing with his hand-"
Despite the panic trying to rise in his throat, despite the drumbeat of have to save Cas, Rhys felt a moment of such sharp pride that it hurt at the layers of embarrassment on the lordling's face as he stumbled back and away.
Clearly, he'd been a terrible influence on Tamlin, which was exactly what the High Lord of Spring had badly needed.
"What's this?" Rhys asked Amarantha as he got closer, eyebrow raised. His voice was cold. "You didn't say anything about locking one of them up in here." He didn't dare look Cassian in the face. His heart pounded in his ears, in his throat, down at the end of his wrists. Save you save you save you save you
"Oh, did I not?" Amarantha asked innocently. "You gave them up to me, after all. I thought you might want to be reminded of your moment of selflessness. Or… wait." She looked down at Cassian, whose eyes promised a horrifying death right back. "Tell me, general, is it more noble to sacrifice your soldiers for someone you love, or to sacrifice someone you love to save your people?"
Cassian's eyes flicked to Rhysand's, and he let out a sudden breath. "It's true, then," He said heavily. "You did it." Rhys opened his mouth as though he would deny it, then just closed it again. Cassian looked away from him.
Someone else touched the general's wing, ran a finger along the sensitive spot just inside the outer bones and he snarled, trying to snap the man's fingers off with his teeth. The Hybernian court laughed. Rhys looked around and saw that members of the Dawn Court, at least, were furiously angry. He could see the back of Thesan's own head as he left the room, his careful, thoughtful steps no doubt disguising rage.
Probably thinking of his own Peregryn lover, and what this might mean for them. Cassian's face was a mask of rage. "When I get these off of me-" He hissed, but Amarantha interrupted him with a sparkling, brilliant peal of laughter.
"Oh, you silly darling. You're never, ever, ever not going to have those on you. You might as well start thinking of them as skin."
You're too late, Amarantha whispered in his dreams, over and over and over again, as his brothers were pinned by stakes in their wings, as she moved from one to the next, using their wings to turn their bodies against them, forcing him to watch. Azriel's empty face, Cassian's helpless rage. Always, in the end, turned to her purposes. Always underneath her. You didn't think any part of you would ever escape me, did you?
He'd assumed Cas would still be in Velaris. They weren't supposed to leave. They were never supposed to leave. What was Cassian even doing here?
"How… how long are you going to keep him there?" Rhys asked, his voice nearly cracking, and he only barely pulled it under control. He saw one of her eyebrows raise in curiosity. "Tell your courtiers to get their hands off of him. Illyrians don't… appreciate that. It's sick, even to watch."
"No, I don't think I will tell them to leave off him," Amarantha said, gesturing to the empty chair next to her. Tamlin moved ahead of him, taking his seat, although he leaned as far away from her as he could. Rhys, moving on instinct alone, took up his usual position just behind Tamlin. But he couldn't quite keep his eyes off of Cas, who really did seem like a captured animal, crouched and baring his teeth to keep them away from him, scratching compulsively at his wrists.
"I want him humiliated. I want every Illyrian warrior in my tunnels to hear about this. I want them to know that this could be their future, that even their generals are just… toys, to me, if they don't do what I want. That if they won't kneel and serve in my army, that I will treat them like the animals they are. That there is no dignity in resistance. Those who resist… become less than fae. He might as well be human, now. And it could be any one of them, next. Or their women."
She twitched a sickening smile. "This one seems to be fairly high up. I figure he'll put some fear into them."
"This is needlessly cruel," Rhys said heavily, turning his eyes away. "Even for you."
"I think I'll take that as my royal motto, to go with my coat of arms," Amarantha said sweetly. "'Needlessly cruel'. It has a ring to it. If Illyrians hate the idea of being trapped under a mountain without ever seeing the sky, they should agree to fight, shouldn't they? Go get something to drink, my loves. Then…" She clapped her hands and the musicians started up again. "I'd like to see you dance. I have a victory to celebrate tonight."
There were offended murmerings from all around and Amarantha barked out a laugh. "Hush, you miscreants. You've seen men dance before. You're just mad because they're both High Lords." She waved one hand in dismissal, and looked Rhys directly in the face as she purred, "Go play."
Rhys closed his eyes, briefly. That's a part you play, in your court. It's not you. It's not you. You are not like her.
It was Tamlin that snuck Cassian drinks of wine and bites of food. He was careful, only stopping briefly by the chained Illyrian warrior when Amarantha was off with her courtiers, when no one was taking the chance to humiliate Cassian by touching his wings. Rhys didn't try to talk to him - it was too risky, and besides that he couldn't bear to look at him, could not get too close. He couldn't keep this up, if he did.
Cassian drank, and ate, what Tamlin brought. They did not speak, but some understanding had been come to between them. When Tamlin wasn't looking, though, Rhys caught Cassian staring at the blond man with a penetrating, analytical expression. The general of a High Lord's army considering whether or not Tamlin constituted a threat.
Rhys threw himself into the wine with true dedication, letting it fuzz out the edges of the terror that threatened. He'd done everything to keep this secret safe, and now part of that secret was chained to Amarantha's chair. But Velaris still held. He could still feel it. He could still feel the other three, a murmur of worry and uncertainty in his mind, a connection he could not quite make strongly enough to speak to them. The hint of Azriel he could feel was nearly mad with panic and dread.
He could not give this up, if it meant Velaris still held. Everything he was doing… he'd spent fifty years telling himself it was for a reason. That he wasn't just a captive, a whore in her bed, that there was something more noble to it. Cassian threatened that delusion.
He saw Nuala and Cerridwen at the edges of the room, saw their eyes widen when they realized what they were looking at. He met their eyes. Go home to Velaris. They were gone. Rhys felt tears in his eyes. Good. At least someone could simply walk out of here.
Tamlin was holding out yet another cup of wine, looking carefully at him, head tilted. They stood in an empty corner, just the two of them, although he could feel eyes on them from not too far off. The world did not quite spin, but seemed a little unsteady. Rhys felt himself smile, just a little. "Are you trying to get me drunk, Spring?" His voice was full of more feeling than he meant it to be. The mask was slipping.
"I was drunk when I met you. Do you remember that?"
Rhys snorted. "Of course I do. You lost a bet to my sister." He thought of how his sister might have reacted to how things had ended up, and felt that old grief, dulled by time but never gone, creep up again, settling with a tightness into his chest. "Your hair was short back then, too."
"I think that's why she wanted it short, actually," Tamlin said, edging a little closer. Rhys did not try to stop him. "That's how old I was when she first... asked for me. She didn't even ask me - she asked my father."
Rhys looked at him, sharply. "You were hardly even a man at that point."
Tamlin shrugged. "When has there been a moral line in the sand Amarantha doesn't try to have sex on? Anyway, I mentioned it, because... do you remember how your sister got me to drink more later, and I ended up dancing with her?"
Rhys felt, despite himself, a smile find its way onto his face. "Yes. She laughed for hours over that. I think she genuinely liked you, but also, you made an absolute fool of yourself. My sister was always weak for fools..." Rhys trailed off. Maybe something we had in common.
"Well... if Amarantha intends to make us dance for her tonight, I'm going to need the liquid courage. And so are you." He held the cup out. Tamlin's eyes were bright and sparkling with the wine he'd had so far, his face had a red flush to it. "I heard her talking. She's taking him back to her rooms, later."
"No," Rhysand whispered, fear a wash of cold water down his spine. Stakes through his wings, Cassian's face a rebellious snarl as she touched him, as she-
"Just to watch us, I think. She said she doesn't want to demean herself with animals. Rhys," Tamlin said softly, "She doesn't know who he is. She still doesn't know. This isn't great, but there has to be something we can do to help him. We - the three of us, you and I and him - have knowledge that she doesn't have. No one else seems to remember him-"
"There's a reason for that," Rhys murmured.
"Great. Good. Just don't give away that you know him, or she'll smell blood, and she'll use him to get you to give up even more."
Rhys nodded, slowly, and drank his whole cup of wine without taking his eyes off Tamlin's face. "Like she did with you."
Guilt flickered in Tamlin's expression. "Yes. Like she did with me."
The musicians were playing music from the Night Court, thudding, insistent melodies that were always best heard in the dark. He could hear Amarantha calling for them and closed his eyes, briefly. "Is she really going to make us dance?" He asked, softly.
"Yes," was Tamlin's reply, a ripple of pain over his face as they both resisted the command to go to her, for a moment. "She thinks you're upset because she's rubbing having a general here in your face. And you're famous for not giving a damn about anyone, Rhys."
"So?"
Tamlin held out one hand. "So put that mask on and don't give a damn. Dance with me. I'm not as good at dancing at you think I am. I'm actually pretty terrible if I'm not leading, and it'll be amusing to watch me trip on myself. We'll go to her room, and Cas will just have to try and understand. After that… then we'll talk about how to get Cassian out of here. I have an idea for how to sneak him out."
"I'm amused that you assume I thought you were good at dancing in the first place," Rhys said smoothly, then realized what Tamlin had actually just said and blinked. "Spring, you're… she had me in your head, she forced me to rearrange... you shouldn't be able to plan for escape…"
Tamlin grinned, flashing teeth like fangs. "I can't talk about… forbidden things… for me." He leaned up, whispering in Rhys's ear. "She never made you change me so I can't rescue anyone else. So we have two pieces of knowledge that she doesn't have."
Rhys laughed, feeling hopeful for the first time since he'd seen Cassian on the floor. "Loopholes." He took Tamlin's hand. "Fae love a good weakness in a spell. I don't think the Illyrian bands are going to be enough for her, though." He frowned, glancing over his shoulder, as if trying to see Cassian where he was still crowded by courtiers. The pain from resisting Amarantha made his voice thin. "I think she has more planned."
"Probably. But we can't do anything about that right now. So, Nightmare, may I have this dance?"
Rhys laughed again. "Only if you agree to dance my way." They headed back, the pain in their shoulders receding, slowly, as they did as they were told.
"Is dancing your way going to be incredibly embarrassing and unfit for public consumption?"
Rhys stopped and turned to look at Tamlin with eyes that were full of a frightened need, even as his smile stayed the same. "I prefer to consider my way of dancing… distracting. For us both." He let himself look over at Amarantha's throne.
Cassian did not look up. His eyes were focused on the floor, his hands were curled into fists so tightly over his thighs his fingernails made bleeding crescent moons in his palms. Amarantha reached out and put a hand on top of his head, casually possessive, and said something to the courtiers. When she did, they pulled their hands away from Cas as though he had suddenly become a flame. There was a shudder of rage through Cassian, but he held still. Apparently Amarantha's touch, however unwelcome, was better than the hands on his wings.
"I need a distraction, Tam," Rhys said, a little hoarsely, in a whisper. "He's my brother."
Tamlin nodded, slowly. "Put him into a dream."
Rhys looked at him sharply, and Tamlin just shook his head. "He'll forgive you. Trust me. Just give him somewhere else to be in his head so he doesn't have to… be here, to watch us. Or hear." He swallowed. "Again. So he's not trapped there waiting for time to pass just to get back up and do it again."
The musicians started up a new song, and some deep new drum had been added, the beat of it could be felt even in the walls. Amarantha laughed happily; clearly this strange, unsettling melody was a favorite of hers.
"High Lord of Night," Tamlin said, his eyes on Cassian's miserable figure even as he turned towards Rhys. "I give you express permission to embarrass me in public."
"As if I've ever needed your permission to embarrass you. I was essentially doing that professionally for a while." Rhys let out a rush of breath. "I love you."
Tamlin just shrugged with one shoulder, an echo of a gesture he had once loathed in Rhys. "I love you, too."
Once upon a time, a light prince vowed to kill a dark one.
"I'm going to get him out of here." Tamlin grinned, sliding his arms up around Rhys's neck, ignoring the stares from around them. He leaned over, whispering in his ear. "And she's going to be so busy waiting for you to try and save him that she'll never see me coming."
