Chapter 14
Feyre waited in the air above the Grand Palace of Vele Luk.
Dinner went well enough the night before, but breakfast was an absolute disaster.
Her stomach twisted as she remembered it.
Persephone hadn't slept all night and her grasp on reality was tenuous- or so Azriel whispered into her mind. His mother was pale and shaking, yet wide-eyed and alert. Every sound made her flinch.
Coughing set her off.
Rhys had a bit of tea go down the wrong pipe and when he choked, it was like a cannon blast across the silent breakfast table. Persephone tried to shove herself back- to hide herself behind her son- but the wheels of her cart stuck for a moment, and she screamed. The harder she tried to free herself, the more her wheels stuck and the more trapped she became.
Amren and Azriel tried to calm her down, but there was no recognition in her eyes. Any sight was long gone as she shattered. Too late, Azriel thought to undo the straps holding her on the cart. Whatever memory her panic trapped her in only became that much worse the second his hand touched her leg.
Persephone did something Feyre would never have expected- she attacked. Azriel roared as a fork stabbed into the membrane of his wing. His mother dragged it down, ripping through the delicate flesh by panicked strength alone.
Feyre and Rhys both scrambled to their feet as Amren wrenched Persephone's arm back, but she whirled and buried the fork in Amren's shoulder. All Amren could think to do was wrap her hand around the base of the utensil and keep it there, disarming her friend.
Still trapped, she threw herself at Azriel once more and clawed at his face, even as he shouted and tried to reach her in her panic. Nails gouged his flesh until Mor shoved in between them. Originally sitting on the other side of Azriel, she'd tried to winnow him to the far end of the room, but so long as his mother touched him her collar prevented it.
Feyre pulled Amren away, giving Cassian and Rhys the chance to grab Persephone and pin her arms behind her.
A High Lord had her arms pinned.
She was surrounded by angry-looking males.
Her scream of horror, rage, grief, pain, and despair- that was what made Feyre shudder as she circled the palace.
In a single, horrible scream Persephone told them her story. She didn't need words. Just one scream for 7,500 years of degradation, humiliation, and overwhelming pain.
It was Nuala who ended the madness.
Feyre- trying to hold Amren back- didn't even see the half-wraith enter. After Persephone's scream she was simply there. No words could reach her as she fought against Rhys and Cassian, against Mor, against Azriel. Nuala simply knelt beside Mor and took Persephone's face in her hands.
She stared the goddess down until her eyes could see again. Until the dark depths of the half-wraith's gaze drew her back.
When the fight left her, Rhys and Cassian released her arms. A shaking, bloody hand touched Mor's shoulder and she backed away, giving Azriel a chance to break the strap on Persephone's cart.
His face was a mess of blood and scratches. Most of the cuts were shallow, but a large on near his right eye and a missing chunk of his lip would require a healer. His eyes watered, but Feyre doubted he'd even noticed that his nose was broken. Not considering the fist-sized hole in his wing.
A shock of cold nausea shot through her. Feyre didn't think she'd ever be able to forget that sight.
Persephone had jerked back from Nuala's grasp as Azriel sagged. Confused sparked in her eyes, then surprise, and then-
He'd flinched when she touched an unblemished patch of jaw. Sobs wracked his mother- both from whatever she'd seen in her hallucination, and the horror of what she did to her child.
"I'm okay," Azriel murmured over and over again as she tried to stroke his face. When she saw the damage to his wing she collapsed onto his lap and grasped the bottom of his shirt tightly- her way of begging for forgiveness.
Amren pushed Feyre over slightly, using the High Lady's body to hide the fork still embedded in her arm.
"I'll get the physician," Rhys stood and staggered back. He was pale with fear- they all were.
"Madja has experience with wings-"
"No," Rhys cut Mor off. "I'll get the palace healers."
He couldn't simply winnow Vele Luk's healers into the room. Not with Persephone there.
Feyre took Amren to her bedchamber. She judged the wound fairly straightforward and removed the fork at last. Nuala and Mor were allowed to help Azriel and his mother to their ooms. Persephone would remain locked in the bedroom, sobbing, while the physician stitched his wounds.
Hades was coming to kill Amren, Azriel was still bleeding, and last Feyre had heard, Amren was mixing up a sedative to make her friend sleep.
If there was a right time for a war-minded death god to arrive in Vele Luk, this was not it.
Feyre felt something ripple through the earth far below. She banked and studied the sky to the west. On the distant horizon was an oddly disjointed bird- Pegasus. Most likely.
' He's going to give us a chance to hand over Amren,' she reminded herself. She didn't know what they were going to tell him, but Hades would be civil… at first.
Rhys was helping the healers with Azriel, so Feyre reached out to Cassian. In an instant a dark shape rocketed up from the back of the palace to monitor the skies.
Feyre looked across the city as another ripple wracked her senses. Vele Luk was larger than anything she'd ever seen, it even made Velaris look quaint by comparison. The streets were narrow, buildings leaned against one another, and massive warehouses dotted the cityscape.
If the ripple was felt on land, nothing gave it away. No birds took flight, no plumes of dust- nothing. The city could be destroyed by even a light earthquake, but nothing happened on land. The sea shimmered as that strange wave reached it, but it was barely enough of a disturbance to rock the shipping freighters.
Hades wouldn't open with total destruction.
Feyre touched down in the entryway as another ripple of power pulsed through the earth. The hair on her arms rose, and she felt something cold and thick moving beneath her.
Marble tiles began to crack. Feyre opened her wings, but the air was thick. Too thick to fly through. It felt as if she were underwater, but she could still breathe easily enough. The High Lady turned slowly, it was torture. Her muscles groaned, then screamed in protest. Beneath her feet the tile turned from white to mold-gray.
She stumbled, and in righting herself caught sight of her reflection in a palace window.
The air wasn't getting thicker. She was growing older.
Her skin and wings sagged under the weight of millenia she hadn't yet lived. Liver spots coated her body where freckles once sat. Her brassy hair was mostly gray, with more color bleaching from it by the second.
" Cassian!" she wasn't capable of summoning the strength to scream, but the drain on her soul hadn't reached her mind.
He didn't hesitate. Cassian rocketed for Feyre at the heart of the spreading decay. He called to Rhys, but no response came. As Cassian shot for his High Lady and friend, her body withered and her blue eyes grew cloudy, blind.
She was only a few feet from him when she went still. Her hand was outstretched and raw fear shone naked on her face.
Cassian grabbed her wrist-
-and Feyre Archeron exploded into dust.
-0-
-0-
"RHYSAND!"
Azriel raced out of the bathing room at Mor's shout. Most of his bleeding had stopped, but the sudden movement sent splinters of nauseous pain through his wing.
Rhys was on the floor, writing in agony. He choked and clawed at some invisible foe while his flesh turned gray. Mor sent wave after wave of power through him as she tried to find something to fix or fight off.
He wasn't hurt, so why-
Azriel cursed, "RHYS YOU STUPID PRICK, DROP THE GLAMOUR!"
A tattoo appeared on his friend's arm- one that was a twin to the bond Hybern had destroyed in Feyre. It marked a very different type of bargain though- one which was commonplace between mates.
"Feyre's dying," Azriel swore again and screamed into his shadows, "I know you're here! Save him!"
Something scraped against the door. Cold mist rolled in beneath it and broke on a very different wave of power.
Not his-
Nuala and Cerridwen's.
The twins appeared out of thin air to block whatever was on the other side. Rhys struggled for air, his lips were turning blue.
A decaying, rotten hand pulled Mor away from his side. She was cloaked and veiled in black, just as she had been when Azriel caught sight of her in the dining room. An uninvited guest, but one he wasn't stupid enough to send away.
Achlys.
Nuala and Cerridwen's mother.
She rested a boney claw over Rhys' face and dug in until beads of blood formed on an arch over his brow. His lips she sliced with a thumb, but once blood filled the seam of his mouth, the blue tint faded.
His turquoise eyes grew dim.
"The High Lady-"
"-as long as he lives, she'll live," the wraith's voice was a low, dying rasp.
Something collided with the door.
"They have Cassian," Nuala said.
"Amren has been forcibly removed to Velaris," Cerridwen snarled at the door. Each twin held ready two moon-white blades. They were curved slightly like the kilij , but more narrow. Shorter.
Another crash, and the door buckled against Azriel's shields.
"Get him out of here," Azriel snapped at Achlys. In his right mind he wouldn't dare address the wraith in such a way. Not since he knew what was under that veil.
"Cerridwen-"
"No! You!" He interrupted the wraith. Mor took up a position in front of Persephone's door.
"I am not sworn to protect your master," Achlys barked with a ferocity he'd never heard. " Cerridwen , take the High Lord to my home and seal him away where none can find him- now!"
Azriel's spy broke from her sister's side. Carefully, Achlys withdrew her nails from Rhys' face. He began to gasp and thrash. Cerridwen touched him, and a moment later they were gone.
If not for the collar, the same trick might have helped Persephone.
"Lower your shields," Achlys said.
"What?!"
"That's your friend they're using to break down the door. Lower your damn shields, boy!"
He did as he was told.
The door buckled, shattered, and Cassian was blasted into the room. He was covered in blood, dazed, and didn't even try to get up after landing beside Nuala. Achlys took Cerridwen's position.
"Stop."
A wraith should have no authority over a death-god from another world, but as the mist rolled into the room there were no further attacks.
Two women materialized in the fog. Both in black gowns with dark veils. In the space between them the mist solidified, revealing-
"Feyre!" Mor took a half step forward, but didn't abandon her post.
Feyre's skin was gray, her hair was white, and she was frozen mid-reach. Cassian turned himself over with a whimper of pain. Devastation wracked his features as he looked into Feyre's eyes.
Two figures stepped out of the fog nex- Bellerophon and a female with long, black hair and sharp features. Azriel knew what she must be in an instant. There was no denying Persephone's daughter. A near perfect replica of her mother.
And a child Persephone could look upon without being reminded of the Hell that brought her forth.
Hades walked in behind them, "Achlys? So, you found the way through after all."
"Sister, come away from the enemy," one of the black-clad women hissed.
' Sister?! ' Azriel felt a bitter wave break over him. He forced the rage back- there would be time later for Nuala and Cerridwen to explain themselves. If Achlys was Grecian, it was no coincidence her children found their way to him.
"You are making a mistake, King Hades," the wraith hissed.
"Hardly. I'm making them an offer- the High Lady in exchange for Azrael. The archangel will answer for its crimes."
"She's long gone," Mor snarled. Her daemati blood was weak, but she tugged at Azriel's mind.
Bellerophon was pale. His eyes flickered to the window screens.
Mor noticed too late.
"There you go, nephew. I gave them a chance." Hades said.
The windows exploded before Mor could pass on her warning. The shockwave knocked Mor to the far wall and cracked her head against the marble. Weak as he was, Cassian scrambled to his feet and drew his yatagan as two males stepped into the room.
A man with black hair and olive skin was decorated with war-paint. Throwing knives were buckled in plain sight, and a menacing glint lit his eyes. He was fluid as he stalked into the room- like the dark smoke of destruction given form.
The other wore gleaming metal armor- a general's version of Bel's own. It was polished to a distracting gleam, and he watched Cassian through red-tinted eyes.
The armored one smirked as he advanced and the yatagan trembled, "Are you sure you know how to use that?" Cassian snarled and charged. Their blades met in an explosion of sparks. While Cassian did stumbled into a retreat, the male nodded appreciatively, "Not terrible."
Bellerophon stood aside as the woman threw herself towards Azriel. Nuala and Achlys were forced to let her pass as the other two wraith-women lashed out with spears of dark power. The mist advanced slowly. It aged and shriveled the rug wherever it touched.
Azriel dared spare a glance at Mor. She wasn't badly injured, and had launched herself at the black-haired man. Mor absorbed what blows she could from Cassian's foe while also whipping around the other male, keeping his back to Persephone's door.
"Call off your dogs!" Azriel ignored his half-sister and addressed Hades directly.
"Will you give me the archangel?"
"No, but-"
"Then I shall let them run wild a bit longer."
Darkness slammed into Azriel. It was filled with the screams of the dead, all roaring at once. Their souls cried out to him, tried to drown him in their unending nightmares-
-but Persephone's children were armed with the same weapon. Azriel threw his own wave of night into the girl. She'd tried to overwhelm him, he chipped away at her control with everything at his disposal.
Blue siphons flashing, Azriel fought against the endless tide. He made himself deaf to the horrible voices and blind to the visions they tried to share. With a roar he lashed out with blast of Illyrian might.
Power slammed into the woman, sending her flying into a column and breaking the dark haze around him.
Mor and Cassian were barely holding their own, and Achlys was fighting to protect Nuala more than herself. Hades had two long blades in each hand and when his daughter fell he advanced.
"Azriel, look out!" Mor shouted. Hades had thrown the blades- which Azriel easily blocked.
"Azriel, is it?" Hades pulled a knife from thin air and sent it rocketing towards him. Az was barely able to lift his blade to catch it in time, "You must belong to the archangel, then. Maybe I don't need to kill it after all… It took something I loved. I'll take everything it loves."
A whole wave of the blades, this time stronger than before. Azriel was powerful, but he was no High Lord and Hades' power was equal to that of even Rhysand. He stumbled and had to sacrifice precious ground.
"Stop," Azriel ground his teeth as volley after volley slammed into him. "You don't understand. Persephone is-"
"AZRIEL!" Mor's scream was his only warning.
Hades was just a distraction. His daughter slipped around behind Azriel, raised her blade in an arc designed to sever both wings and spine-
He felt he blow connect… but not as he should have.
There was no pain.
No cold shock of metal through flesh.
Something felt heavy, and only grew heavier as Hades' eyes widened and he staggered to a stop.
Horror twisted the death-god's face.
Azriel's blood went cold as something hot and red splashed over his neck. He heard a soft gasp in his ear- a sound he was only too familiar with.
He turned to catch her as she sagged. The bedroom door was open. She must have crawled, then threw herself between them as her daughter readied the killing blow.
Persephone's lips were stained red with blood as he clutched her tightly to himself. He tried to shield her back- to stop the bleeding in some way- but red poured relentlessly from her spine, and his power broke against her skin.
She reached up with shaking fingers and traced the path of his tears.
"Azriel..."
For the first time in his life, he heard his mother's voice.
And she was saying goodbye.