*** URL Name Change Notice:: Just FYI, I've changed my URLs on Tumblr, AO3, and here to Rhysand-vs-FENRYS. All satellite pages were likewise altered (ie, Rhysand-vs-Fenrys-vs-Writing)
-0-
-0-
Chapter 6
She ran for the ocean as quickly as she could.
Tremors and explosions shook the earth beneath her feet, screams echoed all around her- but how much of it was real? How much of the city was left?
Tears for the innocent lives destroyed blurred her vision. They were good people- kind people- whose only crime was giving shelter to travelers. None of them declared themselves gods of the city. They avoided their shrines and temples and only sought to live quietly.
Then the Host arrived.
People started dying, with no idea why or how to make the attack stop. The rounding up of the Grecians was punishment for interfering in the lives of humans, leading to the slaughter of hundreds of thousands in war… but how was this any different? Even if she had no part in the Great War of Troy, at least those heroes died fighting for something. The people of the twin cities would die for nothing.
But she couldn't save them. She'd tried, but as the archangels entered Gomorrah, she was forced to flee.
The worst part was seeing the death in Zahariel's eyes as he stalked towards her. They were friends- he'd visit her for tea in the gardens of the Underworld once a week, after delivering souls to the kingdom of hell controlled by his Father. But she knew that history would not save her. There was no room for compromise or free will in his life. Not once orders were given. He wasn't her friend anymore, and so she blasted the outer wall of a building into him and ran.
Her lungs burned as she dodged debris and rubble. Using her power would only serve as a beacon to the monsters destroying the cities, so she kept her physical form, pushed it to its limits and beyond. She could hear wings behind her as Zahariel freed himself and took off. He was getting closer and closer, she ran on only the tips of her toes.
A stone beneath her foot twisted, snapping her ankle to one side and sending her flying into the desert sands-
-everything went dark, and Persephone landed on a bed of fallen leaves.
She thought she must have been knocked unconscious, but her heart was racing and her breathing was ragged. Her skin radiated heat, but the air in this place was cold. Humid- at least compared to the desert.
Persephone reached out with her mind. She felt others appearing in this place- creatures as powerful as she was from dozens, perhaps even hundreds of distant lands. A crack of thunder sounded above her and suddenly an angel exploded from nothing. Not Zahariel, but his bloodthirsty sibling Azrael. She scrambled across the twilight ground, desperate to hide beneath a sprawling oak tree.
The Archangel saw her in an instant. It's wings vanished and it dropped through the trees to the forest floor to land in an explosion of power and force.
Persephone was thrown back into the trunk of the tree. She and Azrael should have been evenly matched, yet she was exhausted and far from the worshippers whose prayers bolstered her power. The Archangel was created to be independent of it's Father's followers, a way to keep His children from declaring themselves as gods.
"Where are we?" Azrael hissed. In its hand appeared a flaming sword that cast a flickering glow on the dim clearing.
"I don't know," Persephone gasped against the bar of power across her chest and throat.
"Don't you dare lie to me, Grecian."
"I was running from Zahariel and then I was here," she choked. "I swear Azrael, I don't know!"
The Archangel snarled and raised it's sword, "I don't believe you."
"No-"
"I'm going to stab you now, Persephone. It will hurt in ways you cannot imagine. You're going to die, your immortality will drag you back, and I will ask you again."
"Please!"
Azrael stepped forward and drove the tip of it's sword through Persephone's heart and deep into the tree behind her. He let the fires of the blade burn her soul- but she never screamed. Her eyes went wide and blood trickled from beneath her lips, but not a sound escaped. She should have been trapped until the sword was pulled free, only then would she die for an hour or so. But as Azrael held the blade, her head tipped forward and her eyes closed.
It pulled the blade free and Persephone slumped to the forest floor, but the wound didn't heal. Not in an hour or even a day.
Azrael stared at the body as it began to decay over weeks- months. Gods didn't die, it wasn't possible. It had to be a trick, and the Archangel would stay exactly where it was until she pulled herself together again.
But no matter how long they waited, the Queen of the Underworld never moved.
Never healed.
Never stopped decaying.
Never opened her eyes.
-0-
-0-
"No," Hades whispered as tears fell.
"Amren, get behind me," Cassian pulled the small female out of her chair and stood.
"You're lying," he growled as black smoke began to rose from his skin.
Cassian fanned his wings out, shielding her from sight entirely.
Amren pulled his wing down, "Hades, I didn't know-"c
"SHE ISN'T GONE!" he screamed. Darkness exploded throughout the room and Cassian barely raised his shield in time to block the blast from hitting himself, Amren, or Mor. Rhys and Feyre threw up their own shields as the table exploded. Shards of glass and porcelain rocketed in every direction.
"I'm sorry!" Amren kept a grip on Cassian's wing, preventing him from launching himself at Hades and probably dying on the blade Zahariel summoned. Even Bel was on his feet as the darkness cleared, unarmed yet ready for a fight.
"I would have known," Hades face was contorted in pure, unchecked rage. "If she was murdered where we set camp, I WOULD HAVE KNOWN!"
"It was a long time ago. None of us knew the rules of this world-"
With a wordless shout, he threw himself over the debris at Cassian, only to hit a wall of raw power thrown across the room by Rhysand.
"I know you're upset Hades, but Amren is second in command of this Court behind the High Lady. Attacking her amounts to a declaration of war, no matter what she might have done fifteen thousand years ago."
"She's my wife, I won't let her murderer walk free!" Hades lunged for Amren again, but was caught in a web of Feyre's magic and thrown back against the wall.
She sounded braver than she felt when she dusted off her black skirts and calmly said, "Gods or just arrogant pricks, it doesn't matter either way. If you so much as touch my second in command, I will mobilize fifty-thousand fae soldiers against you. If you don't think that will be enough, I'm sure Amren's lover wouldn't mind mobilizing his fifty-thousand soldiers. Even if their power is half of mine, do you honestly think you can survive?"
Feyre fudged some of the details, not that Hades would know. For one, throwing him back was exhausting. His power flowed through the world differently, like oil on water. She also took advantage of his ignorance- any fae would know Tarquin, not Varian, was the one who chose where his armies marched.
Still, it was the only thing she could think to say.
"We shouldn't wait," Mor snarled. Her kilij was out again and ready to strike. "High Lady, why don't we just kill them now and say they threatened you in your own palace? Self-proclaimed gods died in the war with Hybern, no one would blink an eye at another."
Hades introduced himself as a king, and honestly there was nothing surprising about Amren's declaration of divinity. He was no god in their world, and certainly nothing greater than Hybern had been once he possessed the Cauldron.
On the other side of the room, Hades was breathing hard, and every scrap of darkness seemed to gather around him. Black lightning crackled beneath his skin, looking for a way out. A target. Zahariel put a hand on his shoulder, "This isn't over." He was speaking to Rhys and Feyre. "We will return to our camp for now, but this is not over."
"No, it damn well isn't," Hades snarled, and let Zahariel pull him towards the door. "High Lady-" he pointed to Cassian, Amren still behind him, "I'm coming back for that one's head. Find another second, and don't get in my way."
"Don't-" Amren said when Cassian made to follow them out. "Zahariel will carry him if he has to, but they're leaving. Don't make this worse."
She understood Hades reaction, but her brother was not so passionate. Her description of the incident was no different than the procedures they both used in rounding up the gods in the first place- execute them the heavenly blade and by the time they pulled themselves back, they were imprisoned.
Amren wasn't scared or even angry. She wasn't even sad, merely… resigned. Feyre walked around the table and watched Hades climb onto the horse with Bel and launch into the sky, Zahariel on their heels.
"Why did they leave so easily?" she directed her question at Amren. "If I just found out someone hurt Rhys, no shield would stop me."
"Hades will try to rally the others and strike in force, but my brother will be reasonable."
Mor wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the lingering chill Hades' mist left in the room, "Amren."
"It wasn't my decision," she hissed.
Rhys rubbed at his eyes and let the guise of the adviser fall away. Back in his rumpled black tunic, he walked around the debris to Feyre and pulled her into a tight embrace. He was shaking.
'What's wrong?' she whispered to his mind, praying that with their guests departure he could hear.
He shook his head and buried his face against her neck while he drew long, deep breaths. Feyre looked over his shoulders to the others- every last one of them found somewhere else to turn.
'If you won't tell me, I'll make them.'
'You can't.'
'Watch me,' her tone was gentle, but firm. 'It wasn't an act, remember? I am High Lady of Night. Rhys- whatever you know, I have to know too.'
"No," he spoke aloud as the walls to his mind rose. Rhys pulled back from her, "I'm sorry Feyre."
"What? Tell me what's wrong."
"No."
She looked to the others. Every last one of them looked away, "Someone tell me what's going on!" Feyre even drew on her power as High Lady to compel an answer, but none of them spoke. "Fine, then why won't you tell me?"
"Because there's nothing to tell," they all murmured the same words at the same time. It was automatic, almost rehearsed.
Feyre stared at the group- at her mate- for a long time, "How am I supposed to rule this Court if there are secrets I can't know?"
He didn't offer an answer, but this time she wasn't waiting for one.
Skirts whispered against stone as Feyre walked slowly out of the ruined dining room.
Rhys closed his eyes, "Mor, can you take Amren to Velaris? She probably shouldn't be out and about if a god wants her dead."
"Because Hybern was too easy, now we pick fights with gods," Cassian muttered.
Amren ignored Cassian, "Summer first. If I'm going to be on lockdown I want Varian there," she held out a hand for Mor to grasp.
The females vanished, leaving Rhys and Cassian alone until the Illyrian muttered something about Elain and disappeared.
Then, all that was left was Rhys. Feeling just as shitty as he had before Feyre woke up.
-0-
-0-
Azriel returned around midday.
He found Rhys in the dining room- or what had been the dining room. It was completely void of furniture. Azriel's keen eyes picked out blemishes in the walls and floor where debris had gouged at the stone. Something exploded with enough force to cause damage, yet there was no scent of blood lingering in the air.
"What happened?"
Rhys was staring out across the mountains from a balcony. At first Azriel thought he hadn't heard the question, but before he could repeat himself the High Lord spoke, "The army in the mountains is comprised of gods, undead heroes, and an unknown number of Amren's kin. We met one but… there are others back with the army."
Amren's kin- Azriel knew all too well what that meant. Prythian had no real protection from her when she was at full power. Even Rhys was afraid of her, and now there were more. Azriel's stomach twisted, "What do they want?"
"They all came looking for someone named Persephone. Their leader is her husband. But it's funny," Rhys turned slowly to look back at Azriel, "Amren says she killed her fifteen thousand years ago."
"What's funny about that?" Azriel said.
"She was lying. We all knew it- and when Feyre asked me what was wrong I couldn't tell her anything."
He saw the darkness fill Azriel's eyes, confirming what Rhys long suspected, "I'm going to ask you something, and then I'm going to walk away. I don't want to fight with anyone else today, I'm sick of it. You decide on your own and I will find a way to deal with it. You know what the right thing to do is, I don't have to make that case."
"Then ask and get out," Azriel snapped.
Rhysand walked over to his Shadowsinger, "Make Feyre take the oaths, just like the rest of us. If Hades declares war against Amren, Feyre will be putting her life on the line too. She deserves to know why."
He didn't give Azriel any chance to reply. Instead, Rhys vanished in an explosion of black smoke and thunder. Azriel knew where he would go, even without the whisper of his shadows in his ear. He would go to the Black Archives of the High Lords- where the darkest secrets of Night were kept. A library only he and Feyre could ever step foot inside.
While Azriel was left to make his decision, Rhysand was going to reread the history of the blood that drenched his throne.
The story of the Night-Mother.
The story of Persephone.