SUMMARY: Gwyn, Elain, Azriel, and Lucien face the past-and their future.

Did I besmirch the good name of Chapter 55? I sure did.

Brace yourself.

Time matched the fierce rhythm of her heart. A steady thrum, a marching cadence. A war drum on a beat, echoing a sole sentiment. A single word.

Mine.

A step forward.

Mine.

Another.

Mine.

The heat of flaming tendrils blew back strands of her hair as Gwyn lifted her hands. Poised at the one who dared to lay her own upon him. A primal force inside stoked the embers of anger into a veritable firestorm. Those brown eyes stared back, ones the Valkyrie once considered gentle and tending. Perhaps deep down they still were. She did not give a thought to that. Not now.

Someone on her right snarled a warning she didn't quite catch. No matter. Nothing was going to stop her from protecting him.

Growling, Gwyn lunged for the golden-haired female, those warm brown eyes now displaying signs of distress. Good. But hazel ones instantly replaced those pupils, widened with fear and astonishment.

Azriel. Her—her mate was… poised between her and the other who had dared to put her hands on him. Dared to insinuate such cruelties. Gwyn peered over his broad shoulder, around his wing. Elain was hurriedly stepping backward in retreat.

Her feet wobbled. Was—was he protecting her?

And Gwyn's hands blazed.

Despite her attempts to maneuver, Azriel sprinted to block her path, arms spread and raised. But she didn't see him. All Gwyn could see—could sense —was a force. Ancient, cold magic whispering around the girl ahead. The true threat.

Shadows darted around and between them, their murmurs chaotic and as panicked as she felt.

She reached out, fingers gripping his forearms. There was no other choice. Gwyn needed him to move .

"Gwyn!" Azriel bellowed, his voice thin and strangled. Even so, he held firm, immovable as both of them trembled.

"Let me pass," Gwyn snarled. But with every shift, Azriel followed, even as her grasp tightened. Someone in the room screamed.

"You—you don't want to do this," the shadowsinger said.

"Gwyn," a voice called from her right, a silent order, steady as a blade, and bade her to follow. "Gwyn, look at me."

"Don't you dare touch her, Vanserra!" Azriel's hissed warning turned into a horrifying wail.

"I need to step in. She's burning you!"

Burning? Who was burning?

"Gwyn, I need you to let go," Lucien spoke again, his voice dripping with a decadent, calming presence.

At once, her hands released their hold.

"Good, now, I need you to look at me, Gwyn." His whisper was the sweetest command.

Gwyn had no choice. She couldn't disobey the power in his words. She turned to the male with red hair not so unlike her own, appearing like molten copper in the light of her flames.

Oh, gods. Flames.

Gwyn blinked, her eyes darting back and forth between Lucien's russet, reflecting the glow emitting from his own.

Her hands were ablaze. Licks of heat erupted from her fingers. Oh, sweet Mother above. How? Why?

Her chest constricted as if choking on smoke. Her heart pounded frantically, violently.

"Easy. Breathe, Gwyn," Lucien spoke softly, reassuringly. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought to search for him . "No, focus on me."

This time when he spoke, there was a quiet dominance in his tone. Obeying, Gwyn turned back, each exhale through her nose harshly rattling her entire body.

"Well, this is indeed an intriguing development," the redheaded male said with a tight grin. "But that's for later. Let's get your hands back to their normal state, shall we?"

Lucien's voice was calming, assertive, guiding her to imagine her fingers winking out into smoke. But she couldn't concentrate.

"Gwyn, come with me," his voice instructed, smooth as the finest silk against her willpower. She followed willingly into an adjacent hallway, ignoring the sounds of growling protest and raised voices from the other room.

Lucien barely uttered her name, as if afraid to cause a stir. "I need you to breathe or you're going to pass out. I know this is overwhelming. It was the first time it happened to me. Breathe. In." She did. "Out." Gwyn exhaled deeply.

In. Out. In. Out.

"Good. Well done. Now, how about you imagine a wave—"

With each breath, her mind was as steady and solid as Ramiel itself.

Gwyn pictured it then. A swell of aqua and light, bubbling and churning, appeared in her mind's eye. A crashing wave against the rock. The tidal surf lashed the shore, rolling in over a bonfire built too close in the sand. Cool water submerged until the flames were drowned and doused, followed by the sharp hiss of rising steam.

"Excellent, Gwyn," Lucien praised, his voice no longer laden with a swaying power. Only soothing and encouraging calm. "Open your eyes."

Slowly, her eyelids parted, her gaze falling to the hands in front of her. Ones that were thankfully back to their normal state.

Fire. She'd summoned fire into her hands… How could this happen?

"You're Autumn Court," Lucien answered. She must have spoken aloud. "Although, for a female to have this power is rare."

Her eyes flew to his, his head tilted and metallic eye whirring as he stared at her unmarred skin.

"It didn't burn me," she said, examining her hands back to front.

Lucien shot her a wry grin. "Well, fire powers wouldn't be of much use if it were to harm the summoner, now would it?" Fair point. She felt exposed under his assessing stare. "Strange though, Autumn females normally don't maintain their possession of flame. And I've certainly never seen a female wield power so easily. So naturally. But, with so little control."

Control. Gwyn had none over a deadly power she now possessed. The words Lucien had spoken to Azriel slammed back into her with the force of a torrent. "I need to step in. She's burning you!"

She's burning you.

Gwyn's hands—her fiery hands—had been on Azriel. Images of his scars flashed through her head, stinging her eyes and nose. Oh, gods. She was going to be sick.

"Azriel—" she whispered, voice broken into a thousand shards of regret and anguish.

Over Lucien's shoulder, she saw Azriel's back near Elain. The leather of his armor melted above where Gwyn had clutched him. The once healthy bronzed skin underneath now scorched and blistered.

No.

"I'm Illyrian, I'll heal," he spat at a fussing Elain, stepping back to create space between them.

Elain's eyes locked on hers at that moment, a silent exchange between them. I warned you, Gwyn. I warned you; you would hurt him. Now see what you've done…

And Gwyn did. She had. As Elain had foreseen, Gwyn had done harm to him.

Burned him.

No. No.

Lips trembling and breath rasping, her feet bolted, and Gwyn was racing out the door.

"Azriel, let me see," Elain chided.

"I'm fine, Elain," Azriel said.

And he was. Or he would be, his Illyrian healing already calming over the raw, scalded flesh. New skin would form over the next hour. But fuck, did it hurt.

But the pain wasn't what he'd thought about when her fingers suddenly had clamped around his forearms.

He shook his pounding head, willing his body and mind to settle. To focus. Gwyn's hands had been on fire, blazing like twin torches. How—how in the hell had she done that? And why?

He'd never seen Gwyn like that before. Eerily beautiful in her fury. Unhinged, those usually sea-lit eyes reflected the flaming heat at her fingertips. Mirroring her power.

'Singer,' his swirling shadows sang to him, a comforting melody. 'Listen to us, the Valkyrie is—'

"Can't you see now?" Elain interrupted, her eyes welled with tears. His shadows scattered at her words. "You weren't safe with her. But you're safe now. Thank the Mother. Here, let me tend to your arm."

Azriel's eyes snapped to hers, narrowed. He stepped forward, surprised when Elain remained, shoulders set back and chin high, hand out to accept him.

The shadowsinger did not reach for the seer.

"Why, Elain? Why any of this?"

"Why? I had to do something. Say something. Because I would not allow you to get hurt. I wasn't going to lose you." He flinched away as her fingers caressed his jawline. "For once in this life, I was going to do something I wanted to do. Use the power that had been bestowed on me when I deemed fit. And now you're safe—because of me. You're welcome, by the way.

"Did you know I scried for this information? For you?" She said, her blushing rose lips curving up into a shrewd half-grin. "You didn't want me to before. Remember?"

Yes, Azriel remembered well. His reaction had been defensive at the suggestion of the middle sister—sweet, innocent Elain—using her divine power to seek the Trove. He'd only thought about the danger to her mind. About when she was wooed away by the luring voice of the Cauldron like a lover to Hybern's camp during the war.

But admittedly, also to himself. His future. Their potential.

For the Cauldron had to have made a mistake. Perhaps it had been because he'd been so gravely injured when she'd been dumped from the Cauldron, he often mused. That's why Elain had been given to another. Three brothers chosen by fate for three sisters simply made sense.

The risks of Elain failing and being lost to the innate darkness, not just to some force or her own mind—but to him. In his selfishness, Azriel had treated Elain as if she were only a malleable object at risk of being molded and twisted into someone he did not recognize. At worst? Lost to him.

And he'd been wrong. Azriel understood that now—about the theory of the Cauldron being wrong.

Whatever he had thought of Elain to be fragile was forged now into something stronger. Something sharper, icier, like a well-used, weathered sword stranded on a rainy battlefield.

"After I returned the necklace to your pile, I needed to know. To know if we were—if what we had been about to do—was what you said. A mistake. So, I went to the library in secret, into a dark alcove on the seventh level, and I scried. The vision I saw was not what I expected and is no lie. I saw you—a lifeless body engulfed in shadow. And heard her voice—"

"Have you ever heard Gwyn sing to know it was her voice you heard in your vision?" Azriel interrupted, the muscle in his jaw working as he willed his temper down. As he willed the pain to stop shooting up his arms. Inhale. Exhale.

"I don't need to. She was near you, training. She wears the charm from my necklace that you gave her." His eyes shut on a shuddering exhale. Because now Gwyn knew the truth about the fucking cursed necklace.

"With the facts I've gathered, I know it's Gwyn, Azriel. It has to be. She's descended from a siren. A siren who copulated with an Autumn lord. Did you not see her hands as proof? I don't blame you, though. Her voice called to you and you obeyed." Elain paused, chuckling softly at some inner thought. "You should be proud of me, discovering all of this on my own."

When he didn't respond with praise, Elain went on. "It's amazing what you hear, what you see and feel, when no one pays attention to you. When you are either coddled or forgotten.

"When the eldest is groomed and poised to marry a prince and elevate the family. When the youngest is given the task no young child should have to bear. And then there's the middle. The pretty one. Father's favorite, they said—a father who, before we lost it all, was hardly there.

"The gentle one who could move through the house, between society and crowds unseen. Who heard things no child should, shouldered the hidden burdens of adults from others. Whose only sanctuary from such things was in her garden. A garden where she didn't have to dwell on being the one without a purpose—dreadful or not," Elain rasped, eyes lining with silver.

"Graysen took notice for once. He cared for me. Saw me above all else—no matter what." Her eyes narrowed into sharp slits and he swore her eyes changed, clouded. Her fingers shifted her hair to cover her delicately pointed ears. "But, clearly, I was mistaken by his charm. They stripped all of that from me, along with my dignity, the moment I was taken. The moment they placed me in that Cauldron.

"There had been so many voices crying out," she sighed, her hands on the sides of her shaking head. "So many."

Yes, Azriel recalled the vacant stares and her inherent stillness those weeks and months after she'd emerged Fae. The wasting, the former mortal female's soft curves caving to bone. The luster of her golden-brown hair tarnished. And Azriel had been one of the first to make headway with her, to coax Elain from wherever she'd retreated in her mind. Short strolls to the balcony. Out to the small rooftop garden, often bathing in familiar silence and company under the sun.

The shadows who had told him about the visions had revealed her gift of sight to him. But not once had Elain…

Head tilted, the shadowsinger asked, "Voices?"

He reached out to his shadows only to find them… gone. Vanished and unreachable. Yet, they were always doing that around Elain, weren't they? Always skittering away. At first, he'd imagined their behavior was because of him. After all, they did such things around Morrigan, but—Az never experienced the same unease around Elain before. So why…

Tendrils of utter coldness crawled down his spine. The shadows. They'd been acting on their own accord, reacting to Elain after she emerged newly made.

"But then, I was offered a choice. For once since they made me into this, I want to decide. Have a choice in my future—in the future," she whispered, hope shining in her eyes.

Azriel jumped back, eyes wide. "Elain, you have always had a choice here!"

"Yes, she has."

The two spun to find Lucien standing in the doorway, his face a mask. Though his mechanized eye spun and adjusted. Azriel didn't need his shadows to know what was going on in the male's mind.

Lucien continued, "You have always had a choice, lady."

"Nothing. Nothing in my life has been a choice. Not a single thing has changed since the second they dumped me from the Cauldron! Everything I had chosen was taken. Stolen from me! The minute I was taken from my home, from my life. My humanity." Her words spilled out like she had once from the Cauldron, bearing her pain to the world. Elain's eyes spun on Lucien, who lowered his eyes at her accusing glare.

"When I was remade, reborn as Fae, I was no longer welcome in my home. They drowned my happiness with me—and a bond thrust upon me like a shackle."

"If you hate this so much," Lucien said, his breathing ragged. "If you despise me so much, then why hold on to our bond, Elain? Why? Why torture yourself?" He laughed harshly, sketching a bow toward Azriel. "If he was what you wanted two Winter Solstice ago, you had the opportunity and means. And yet you did not— why?"

Both Azriel and Elain stopped breathing, their eyes affixed on Lucien's cunning face.

"What? The illustrious Spymaster of the Night Court didn't suspect I knew? Huh? Perhaps Rhysand should indeed be worried about you being in charge of intelligence. I wasn't born yesterday and I'm certainly not blind, shadowsinger. But what was I going to do? Lay claim to her like she's property? Contrary to what those might say, I'm not a brutish prick. Unlike you. "

"Careful," Azriel ground out, pain lancing down his fingers as his hands clenched into fists.

"Or you'll what? Will you deny your dalliance? I heard you that night from the landing." Flames flickered in the center of Lucien's russet eye as he returned his attention back to Elain. "You wanted him, Elain. That much was blatantly clear."

"He said it was a mistake," Elain said, voice somber as she repeated Azriel's own words from that night.

"And yet you met him for other liaisons!"

Elain's smile was disbelieving. "And yet you said nothing!"

Lucien snorted. "And why would I?"

"Because you are a fae and I am your—"

"Say the word, lady."

"No," she said, her chin lifting high. "I think not."

Lucien's answering smile was as wicked as any fox who cornered prey. "Ah."

"Besides, you never fought for me. Not truly. No one does." Her chilly gaze found Azriel. "Neither did you. Stolen kisses and touches mean nothing when you rolled over like a dog at Rhysand's words. When you waited until I was out of the room to disregard my thoughts and feelings for your own, when I wanted to simply use my gift to help. I was nothing more than a pleasure for you, wasn't I? A means to ease your lonely heart?"

"Elain, no," Azriel gulped. "You—"

Reminding him of a queen, she waved a dismissive hand. "Regardless, I wanted to commit a mistake again at my choosing. I wanted a say. The bond is not a choice . Being Fae is not a choice! There is no choice for so many of us. They call out for help and I can't do a damn thing about it! They held me captive, and there was only one thing that quelled them. Only one that gives me hope.…

"Do you know what it's been like since I was Made Fae? It's like the Prison. Isolating and frightening. I think of all the acolytes of the Children of the Blessed back in the Mortal realm who worshipped the High Fae like deities. While the rest of us wore iron to protect ourselves. All my life, I've been protected and my will ignored. There has been no in-between."

Azriel saw Lucien's perfect visage slip as he muttered, "I thought after the trip to Day we… when you… perhaps things…"

"I'm sorry, Lucien." The emissary flinched at his name on her lips. Elain took a step back. "I needed to punish something. Someone. I didn't mean… The worst part is, you are…" Her voice stalled. "If—if things were different…"

"They can be—"

"No, they cannot. I'm sorry. Truly, I am. What happened in Day needed to happen. For the sake of all."

Lucien cocked his head to the side, a shock of crimson falling over his shoulder as he took a bold step into the room. What the fuck had happened between the two of them during their trip to the Day Court, Azriel pondered.

"Elain. It's okay," Lucien said. At his quiet words, Azriel saw Elain's resolve waver. "I know you've been suffering. I have felt your pain." Lucien's fingers splayed over his chest, over his heart.

Her eyes and lips thinned as she took a step back. "Don't play to my emotions, emissary."

"I'm not," the redheaded male, her mate, swore.

Lucien's steps were guarded and slow, as if not to startle a fawn in the woods. He cast Azriel a glance sidelong, in warning or plea. Azriel offered a nod.

A heavy power ratcheted in the room, suffocating the space, oppressive against his skin. Elain huffed a caustic chuckle. "Of course, you two would find some commonality in this." Her eyes clouded, misting into an overcast sky, no evidence of the warm brown visible. Not anymore.

"Elain," Lucien called out as power lashed through the room, expanding, creaking the wood of the building. Glass cracked and shattered from windows.

"I'm sorry, but things need to change," Elain said, the whole of her eyes opaque white as she lifted her hands, commanding the invisible force around her to bend around her. Until her form faded—and vanished.

Elain. Elain winnowed.

The two males stood in shock, their breaths coming out in heavy pants.

"Did you know she could do that? Winnow?" Azriel asked suddenly.

"No," Lucien said, his narrowed eyes pinning him with suspicion. "Did you?"

"Fuck no."

Snarling, Lucien paced, tugging on the ends of his long red hair. "Fuck it all! I warned them! I warned them I suspected something was wrong. And Feyre ignored my warnings. Now look," he said, gesturing to the ruined space around them. "And now she's gone to who the hell knows where. Cauldron boil and fucking fry me!"

As Lucien spun to stomp off, Azriel snagged him by the bicep as he had out on the street. Had that only been minutes ago? Hours?

"Where are you going?" the shadowsinger demanded.

As before, Lucien shrugged him off. "I'm off to report to the High Lord and Lady of the recent developments—all due to their lack of consideration."

"If you bring it up to Rhysand like that, he won't be—"

Lucien huffed, the portrait of a lord. "I don't fucking care," he crooned as he stiffly strode toward the door.

Azriel rounded the corner into the hall, hoping against hope to find Gwyn holed up safe and sound. And yet, there was no one. Not a soul.

He peeked into an open door. "Gwyn?" Another. Nothing. "Gwyn?!"

"Oh, Gwyn left," Lucien shouted over his shoulder, swallowing hard. And Azriel could swear he'd never seen the male so defeated. "And because you were so busy with…" He shook his head. "You didn't even notice she was gone."

Gone?

Without his shadows, Azriel flew out the door and, once his face found sunlit cobbles blew, he shot into the sky.

Gwyn's torn heels were filling her boots with blood. A fire burned through her aching muscles. Chills ran through her body as she shivered and trembled.

Lost. She was hopelessly lost.

Gwyn stumbled forward, finding a deep alley where she could disappear into the shadows, letting the darkness and shadows wrap around her like a blanket. Leaning against the exterior stucco wall, she slid down to the damp cobblestones below, shutting her eyes as the exhaustion settled.

She needed to do some mind-stilling. Focus.

Mother above, Gwyn had burnt him with her own two hands. No better than his devious brothers, she'd hurt her mate. But that wasn't possible —from all she'd read, mates could never… would never.

But would mates withhold secrets from one another? Perhaps something was wrong. Perhaps she had imagined. Yet even now, the golden ribbon was there, wound protectively around her wounded heart.

"I am the rock against which the surf crashes." Her arms wrapped around her torso, fingers digging into her biceps. Shadows draping over her shoulders like a cloak. All of his shadows, she realized.

Even momentarily, they'd left the shadowsinger for her.

Whispers permeated the air, the space between her ears. Voices reassuring and comforting.

"... we are with you…"

"... do not let his choices reflect poorly on us…"

"... you are not evil, Valkyrie…"

"... we will defend you… we are not scared…"

"... you didn't mean to…"

"... he is yours as you are his…"

He is yours as you are his…

Mother spare her, they knew. The shadows knew they were mates. Perhaps they had always known, Gwyn wondered, as she reflected on their soft refrains.

"Your hearts sing the same song." Scholars often described the mating bond in texts to be the song between souls. "You all have always known," she said. Misty darkness shifted as if they bowed as one. "Does—does he know?"

Their silence was answer enough.

Her mate. No, the male she loved…

Elain's words…

The necklace…

All those times Gwyn had...

All those time Azriel had...

Prickled heat rose to her face. To the tips of her fingers with each painful breath. Sparking. Shit. Gwyn rose to her feet. She had to get moving.

Get to the library. Home. Safety.

She needed time. Time to think. Time to research. A moment to breathe.

With the first step, a familiar winged silhouette blocked her path.

"Gwyn," he said, striding forward, his eyes full of relief. "Oh, thank the fucking Cauldron. I was looking everywhere for you. Why did you run off? Are you hurt?"

She took a step back down the long alley as he advanced one forward, hiding her hands behind her back.

"Gwyn, speak to me," he begged. He squeezed his eyes shut. "Are your hands?"

"They're fine." Lie. Even now, she felt the tips of her fingers tingling, urging the power of Autumn to burn. Burn with her rage. Burn with her regret. With her embarrassment. For Gwyn was a tumult of all those things.

An advance forward. Her step back.

A waltz of retreat.

"Gwyn," he said weakly. "I'm so sorry. If this is about the necklace—"

Her eyes grew narrower. "Seriously? You think this is about the necklace?" He cocked his head to the side, confused. "I don't give a shit about the necklace! It was a lovely gift from a friend, nothing more. I'm sure your choice to give it to me meant something more to... to Elain than me."

His eyes shuttered.

"I told you I thought she… and you knew she had a reason to dislike me beyond whatever vision she kept. You two…"

He shook his head vigorously. "What little there was, was over before us. I swear on the Mother, Gwyn. On the fucking Cauldron. On my mother. I would never do that to you."

"Gods save me, I believe you," she said, watching as he loosed a shuddering breath. "But then, why did you keep this from me? Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is for me to know that you —and Nesta, and gods knows who else knew—kept this information from me?"

"I didn't lie. I told you—"

"No, you didn't lie, but you omitted ," Gwyn snapped, fingers sizzling with the energy she fought to smother. "I thought there was something wrong with me, Azriel. Every time I was around her, I told you how she would act uncharacteristically harsh or discourteous toward me. And you knew why. A simple conversation bringing up what you'd spoken regarding her before. As you had with me about Morrigan." Hot tears filled her eyes, spilling over and coating her lashes.

The Illyrian advanced forward. The Valkyrie stepped back in retreat.

"Honesty, Shadowsinger. As much as you can provide. That's all I want," Gwyn whispered, reciting words from the same alleyway outside Sevenda's nearly a year prior.

"Gwyn, I'm so sorry," Azriel wept, raising his hands as if to reach for her. She stepped out of the way, his shadows now swathing around them both in a panic. "I hurt you. I promised I wouldn't, and I did. I'm so fucking sorry, love. Please, just let me explain and tend to you. I need to make sure your hands are all right."

She caught her breath around the knot of emotion, her eyes falling to the reddened, damaged flesh. For as much as he'd maimed her heart, she'd ruined his flesh.

Elain. Lies. Visions. Burning. Flames.

Elain had been right.

Her eyes slammed shut as cool wisps nuzzled her face, breezed over her nape, trying to brace her from falling apart. Even as her palms sweated in a building, the heat nearly out of her control.

"Gwyneth, please," his voice broke. " Gwyn ."

Calloused fingers brushed hair behind her ears, sliding to cradle her face. Eyes snapping open wide in terror, she staggered back as he reached out his hands for her again.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" she screamed, panic driving her voice up an octave.

There was no time to change her words or the atrocity within them.

And she saw the second they left her mouth. In the way his face fell and he lurched back as if she'd struck him with a physical blow—a direct hit to the heart. She felt the golden ribbon reaching out wildly from her own to the one now shattered into pieces.

Saw the way his eyes fell to his hands, staring in utter disgust. Saw it in the way he backed away, each faltering footfall sounding as if her future were retreating. The horror bracketing his eyes and lips.

"No, Azriel. I didn't mean—"

But just had she'd been unable to stop those words, there was no stopping the shadows he'd gathered from engulfing him in darkness. Until the shadowsinger was gone like smoke in the breeze.

And Gwyn was alone.

Alone.

Left alone with her trust and heart bruised. With a power she didn't understand. Overwhelmed. Confused.

Tears streamed down her freckled face. Gwyn wiped at them with the heel of her hand and marched forward into the sun, toward the mountain library where she'd once again seek refuge.

For sanctuary. For peace. For answers.

I'm sorry and I'm also not sorry.

This chapter is indeed a turning point.

Chapter 56 collage teaser will be up on my Tumblr ( mystical-blaise) on Tuesday, Jan 4. I should have a TikTok ( mysticalblaise) video teaser up Wednesday, Jan 5!