"When the High Lord Leith first set out to capture Amren, he found Persephone instead. This was her prison."
"She's alive? How do you know?"
"Because… she's my mother."
Azriel watched Feyre from where he sat. Cold, rough stone dug into his back even through the armor. His hands itched for a blade as the shadows screamed in his ears. The shadows in this prison had seen the absolute worst Prythian had to offer, and they ached to tell Persephone's son everything.
The voices of the dead begging to confess their sins.
He blocked them out as best he could, but it would never be enough to mute them entirely. He'd only been to the prison twice before, but each time the shadows grew bolder. Louder. For the sake of his sanity this would be the last time.
Of course, if her husband and family had come to rescue her… maybe they could destroy the room entirely.
"Persephone is your mother?" Feyre said at long last.
Azriel nodded. Despite the oaths she'd sworn, his stomach churned. If Feyre betrayed them-
"That's what the others wouldn't tell me?"
It was said more to herself than to Azriel, but he shrugged, "Probably. Before they helped me rescue her I brought them all down here and made them swear the same oaths. Amren wasn't part of our group then, and as an archangel she couldn't be bound with the same magic. She obeys them in spirit though."
"And all this time, you knew what Amren was? That she was called 'Azrael'?" Feyre said.
"I was the only child my mother was allowed to name. She hoped it would lead me to my namesake."
And it had. When Rhys first introduced Amren to the Inner Circle her eyes had narrowed at Azriel's name. And when she saw what he could do- she'd cornered him and forced him to bring her to Persephone.
"Where is she? If we can get her to Hades-"
"No," he growled, panic flairing. His siphons flashed and it took genuine effort for Azriel to reign his power in. He couldn't look at Feyre, not while fear held him tight.
Soft hands closed around his own and Azriel jumped. Feyre was kneeling across from him, weak as she was. She was kind, but others had been too. In the end they all came for Persephone. He couldn't trust anyone with his mother's life. Not after everything she'd survived.
"Please, tell me what happened."
He'd brought her down to the prison to do just that, but the words died in his throat. It was more than just protecting his mother. Azriel had always loved how Feyre looked at him- as an equal and a brother. But once she knew what he was, she would only ever see him as a monster.
"Azriel," her voice was gentle. The same voice she'd used to reach him as he strangled Eris during the High Lord's meeting little more than a year ago. He didn't say anything, and still didn't look at her. Feyre's hands trembled, but she only tightened her grip on him as she said, "On my life- I swear to protect Persephone as I would any member of the Inner Circle. Even if that means going to war to keep her safe, I swear to you that I will be worthy of the trust you put in me."
He broke free of her grip and held her forearms tight as Feyre buckled in pain. A new panic rose in his chest at her whimpers and the violent shudders that wracked her body. It wouldn't hurt as much as the final oath he'd made her swear, but there would still be tremendous pain.
"Why?" he whispered once Feyre drew a long, shuddering breath.
She did her best to smile at him, "Because you needed to hear it."
That was what made Azriel love her so much, and what made her the perfect mate for his best friend: Feyre was utterly selfless.
The story of that mortal woman who walked Under the Mountain just to try and save a single male (even if he was the wrong one) warmed Azriel's heart. Rhysand's description of her challenging Amarantha and having the nerve- even on the verge of death- to shatter her control over Prythian earned her his respect. And when he sat across from her at their first meeting and beheld the raw strength of character that broken, emaciated female still had- he knew then that he would be proud to call her his sister.
Ever since that dinner in the House of Wind Feyre had proven herself time and again worthy of the secret he carried. The knot in his chest eased and Azriel managed a half smile.
It faded as he pulled Feyre over to sit against the wall beside him, offered her the last dregs of alcohol from the skein he'd brought, and began the story of Persephone.
"There is a lot I don't know… a lot Rhys and Amren won't tell me for my own sake…" Azriel was lost for a moment before he took a deep breath and continued, "My mother found Amren after they'd both been in Prythian for a century. When they came here they were on opposite ends of a conflict, but even Amren had realized the old feud was pointless here. My mother just asked Amren how she was doing, if she needed anything, and then disappeared off into the woods. She'd come back every year on the same day, then every six months, then every three.
"Amren says that was just her nature. Once she decided you were a friend that was it. She ignored every threat and attempt on her life and just wormed her way into your heart. Prythian was so young back then- she honestly believed she could find a way to bring fae and humans together. The humans hadn't been enslaved yet, but it was obvious enough where things were headed and she was going to do everything in her power to stop it."
He hesitated, and Feyre reached over to take Azriel's hand once again. His eyes turned towards the cage at the far end of the room, "Amren wasn't so well behaved. You've heard the stories- you know what a terror she was. My mother was practically living with Amren at one point to try and tame her before anyone tried to hunt her down… While Amren was out, the High Lord Leith came. He- he had-" Azriel couldn't say it.
"Breathe," Feyre squeezed his hand. She wasn't going to push Azriel. The fact that he was so distraught- and that she'd never seen him like this- told her more than enough. Whatever happened, it was more horrible than she could imagine.
"He had a silver collar. For Amren. Forged by all of the High Lords together. As they crafted it, they would use water from the Cauldron to help cool the metal. They thought it could contain any power- even an archangel's."
Feyre had never seen a silver collar around Amren's throat, so she had a good idea of where it ended up.
"Leith and the soldiers were terrified of Amren. The closed it around my mother's throat without even realizing she wasn't who they were looking for. When Amren came back and found her home destroyed and my mother gone she raised two cities looking for her. The High Lord found another way to trap her- he sent her to the Prison.
"My mother was brought here. To a cell meant for Amren. Leith intended to keep her here, contained by the wards and that collar. Amren forced his hand, and he blamed my mother for that."
Azriel was shaking, "He left her down here for years with barely enough food or water to keep a human alive. When he realized she wasn't aging- that she wasn't human-" he didn't speak again for a long, long time. Feyre held her spymaster's hand as tears slipped down his cheeks, until he managed to say, "Leith tortured her, but she wouldn't tell him what she was. Her powers were locked up in that collar and he didn't want to take the risk of removing it. His advisors- they said-" he could only manage a whisper, "-children wouldn't be so inclined to keep secrets."
He could barely say the words, but he didn't need to. Feyre's blood was frozen in her veins as she stared at the empty cell- at the manacles positioned to utterly immobilize the woman it once contained.
Azriel had said he was the first child Persephone was allowed to name.
The first of how many?
"They started with just the one. Dragged her from my mother's arms almost as soon as she was born. Then Leith waited. By her tenth birthday they realized she could hear the thoughts of those around her. She was a powerful weapon- and so they sent another of the High Lord's minions down here, and within a year they had another."
"How many?" Feyre whispered, not wanting to know the answer.
"Rhys won't tell me," Azriel said. "There are records of each and every birth, but he keeps them in a vault that only a High Lord can enter. Hundreds at least. Probably thousands. Even after Leith died the next High Lord… more than a dozen High Lords of Night are guilty of the same crimes as Leith." Feyre thought she was going to be sick, "At first there were only mind-readers, but her eighth was the first Shadowsinger. As far as we've been able to tell, before then there were no shadowsingers or daemati in Prythian."
The abilities were different enough that few realized there was a relationship between them: Daemati read the souls of the living whereas shadowsingers heard the whispers of the dead. Azriel's mother would never tell another living soul what power she possessed, and out of respect for her wishes neither did Amren.
When Azriel had read the destroyed dining room in the Palace of Nightmares he'd tasted Hades' magic lingering in the space. Azriel thought they were attacked by a powerful shadowsinger.
He took a deep breath and continued, "Leith didn't tell the other High Lords he'd failed to properly contain Amren. They never knew where the children were coming from, just that Night had an unending supply of warriors and spymasters with power that almost rivaled their own. Even the odd child with neither power sometimes passed it on to their own offspring. They were prized in Prythian and on the Continent as husbands and wives to the elite. By now every major House here, on the Continent, and even in Hybern contains at least a few drops of my mother's blood."
Feyre shook her head in disgust, "No one tried to find out where the children came from? No one tried to help her?"
"Not for a long time," Azriel rolled his shoulders to ease some of the tension and nodded towards that horrible cell- the place where his mother suffered for so long. "Tell me what you see."
"The cell wasn't destroyed." She couldn't make herself look at the manacles. Not knowing what they'd been used for, "She couldn't escape with the stairs retracted- so she was let go?"
"The High Lord Becan decided to- to bring my mother's power into his own family line. His wife had given him only daughters, no one who would inherit his power when he died. Becan's cousin Eoghann was the presumed heir of Night and openly conspired against the High Lord. As long as it takes High Fae to reproduce, he knew he needed an heir quickly. She had a male the third time, High Lord Gildas."
A hint of pride crept into Azriel's eyes as he told the story of his ancient half-brother, "Gildas was Daemati, one of the most powerful my mother ever produced. He kept his gifts secret, and when Becan decided he was going to try for a second male, Gildas took my mother's location from his father's mind and destroyed him.
"He was only eleven years old when he came into his power, but Gildas killed every guard in the Hewn City and took our mother to Velaris. At the time there was a small human population. Rhys found a journal Gildas kept- Amren had escaped from the Prison by then and Gildas was going to hide our mother among the humans until he could find Amren and ask for her help. He didn't know about the history between them yet- or that Amren was looking for her."
Feyre read the pain on Azriel's face clearly enough, "He never got the chance, did he?"
"Becan's wife always hated Gildas. She allied herself with a few lords within the Hewn City, Eoghann included. They ambushed and killed the boy within a week of Becan's death. Eoghann- Rhysand's grandfather- became High Lord of Night."
"My mother ran from Velaris as soon as Gildas left. She didn't trust him. After everything she'd gone through- they had her in that cell for seven thousand years, Feyre. The moment she was free she hid."
"She fled to the Illyrian Steppes?"
Azriel nodded, "She lived in a mountain cave for a few centuries. She didn't know that the High Lords had turned her into a myth. You know the old fae prayer about the Mother? Every Court uses it, but they cut out the rest of her title- the Night Mother. Matriarch of Prythian. With whatever magic she possesses contained, once she was found she was easily captured by the Illyrians. They made her a camp slave… but just like before, within twenty years they realized she wasn't human."
Feyre's stomach dropped.
"They suspected they had the Night Mother, but to be sure- … Shortly after my mother gave birth the Camp was destroyed in a territory dispute. No one knew if the infant survived or not, and my mother was taken as a spoil of war by the Lord of the other camp."
He took another long breath, "She only had two Illyrian children. Her body wasn't suited to the way Illyrians are born, the first one almost killed her. The Camp Lord who'd taken her- he was content to study her. He thought that if she were given time- then maybe she would just tell him what she was. Maybe she was worth more than the children… but eventually he betrayed her too. Sold her to another Camp Lord in exchange for some land."
Azriel shuddered, and Feyre knew the story was nearing its end,"The Camp Lord was your-"
"The male who caused me," Azriel snapped before Feyre could say the word 'father'.
That was it. The root of Azriel's shame. He was a part of his mother's torture in their world. Something she never would have chosen, never could have wanted. Azriel didn't need the shadows of the prison to tell him how horribly his mother had suffered- he was proof enough of it. His mother loved him, but he couldn't let go of the shame.
He and Gildas were the children who saved her, but if the world was anything but cruel neither would have been born in the first place.
Azriel waited for Feyre to look at him with that disgust and horror he felt every time he looked in the mirror, but she put a hand on his shoulder instead, "You were her last?" He nodded. "Rhys said your mother and his became friends?"
Tears lined his eyes, "She didn't know who my mother was, but she went to the Camp I was born in and made the Lord hand her over or face her husband's wrath. A Suriel told her what my mother was and to take her to the Weaver until a new High Lord sat upon the throne. I don't know what their history was, but Stryga knew my mother and marked Rhysand's as a friend of the gods Under the Mountain for saving her. Rhys' mother convinced her mate to decimate my sire's camp, coincidentally killing anyone in it who knew who my mother was. As for me- she convinced the High Lord I must just be a distant descendant of the original children."
Feyre wished more than ever that she could have met Rhysand's mother… but she also knew there was a piece Azriel was holding back, "The first Illyrian child… was it-"
"I told Rhys it wasn't his mother, but all the signs are there. He's so much stronger than even his father was at full power- and he's the first true Daemati in his bloodline. Before him some of the High Lords could get a vague idea of what someone was thinking but Rhys-," Azriel shook his head. "His mother had no sign of the Daemati or Shadowsinger abilities, but… not all of my mother's children did."
If it was true- if Rhysand's mother was Persephone's first Illyrian child-
"He's your nephew?" It was so absurd Feyre had to bite down the temptation to laugh.
"Maybe," Azriel nodded. "I hope so. It would mean that her last three children saved her in the end."
"When did she leave Stryga?" Feyre asked after a moment, "I didn't see any sign of another person living in the Weaver's cottage."
"Rhys had a feeling Hybern wouldn't lick his wounds for long after the War. If there was going to be more bloodshed, I wanted my mother somewhere safe… So Rhys, Cassian, and I built her a small house and warded it more heavily than the walls of Velaris. When I told her she had to come back to Night-" fresh tears slid down his cheeks and Azriel quickly wiped them away. "My mother cried when my hands were burned, but telling her she had to move back was the first time I made her cry. Amren sat with her for a few days and convinced her it was for the best. That was five hundred years ago."
"And the wards held? Amarantha's creatures didn't find her?"
A quiet relief pushed back the pain in Azriel's dark eyes, "Even Rhys can't get within ten miles of my mother's house. She knew something was wrong when I stopped checking on her, but she didn't know to be afraid."
Silence fell between the two for a time. Azriel gave Feyre as long as she needed to process everything he'd told her. Somehow it was easier repeating his mother's story to the High Lady. Feyre was easy to talk to, with a temperament more mild and agreeable than some of the others in the Inner Circle.
Or maybe it was because… this was the end.
Hades came for his wife with an army of her family and friends. If his mother returned to her world she would be safe and free of the horrors she'd endured. But- but would he do when she left?
He couldn't go with her, he was needed in Prythian.
He couldn't let her go alone, she needed him.
If he handed her over to strangers Azriel knew he'd spend the rest of his life worried for his mother's safety and health.
If he went with her he would be equally worried for the safety and health of his Prythian family.
Azriel was happy that Persephone's hell was ending- but he was also terrified of what would come next.
An arm draped itself across his shoulders. He jumped, but didn't push Feyre away. As much as he hated showing weakness in front of others, he leaned into her half-hug and let her offer silent comfort.
"Thank you for telling me," Feyre said at long last.
"I didn't want to," Azriel replied honestly, "but I'm glad I did."
"What's next? We'll all support you, no matter what you decide to do."
He took a long, deep breath, "I'm not just going to throw my mother in a room with these visitors, nor am I going to let them near her home. It's the only thing she's had in millennia that is hers and hers alone… and the only thing she has that was given in love."
Azriel knew Feyre could see his thoughts plainly enough on his face- that he counted himself as something not given to Persephone, but demanded of her by a selfish, evil male.
"Tonight I'm going to ask Rhys to move everyone to Vele Luk."
"The port?"
"Good job," Azriel nodded. Feyre was learning about the geography of her Court, and Vele Luk was Night's richest city. It housed Night's navy, and most trade passed through the ports at some point or another. "My mother hasn't seen the ocean in more than seven thousand years. I think it might calm her. Your palace there is opulent to say the least, but I won't let Hades step foot in Velaris, and I'll die before I bring my mother within a thousand miles of this damned city."
Feyre nodded, "Just tell me what you need me to do."
He was hoping she'd say that, "Come with me to get her."
"What?"
"You're the first High Lady in history- and you were born a human." Az let himself laugh, "I regret telling her the tale of Feyre Cursebreaker though- I think she's made me repeat it a hundred times. She finds hope in your story, and she's going to need as much of it as possible. I think meeting you separately and in a controlled environment will help."
"Az, I'll do it I just- are you sure ?"
"I am. She'll have to give consent for you to enter the borders of her land, but I really think it will be best if you greet her ahead of us flying to Vele Luk."
Feyre took a deep breath to settle her newly blossoming nerves, "Okay. If you think that's what's best for Pesephone, it's what I'll do." He nodded and they fell into silence once more. After a few minutes Feyre judged him with an elbow, "Do you want to go get a drink and practice what you're going to say to your mother?"
"Desperately," Azriel stood a little too quickly. Feyre made it as easy as possible for him to share the story, but he never felt right about telling others. Each fae who knew was a threat to his mother's security… and yet he would trust each and every one of them with his life. Now it was time to not only test that trust, but maybe to say goodbye.
As Azriel helped Feyre to her feet and unfurled his wings in the now-empty staircase, he still wasn't entirely sure who would be saying farewell at the end of it all.
His mother to him.
Or Azriel to the Inner Circle.