Chapter 15
Mor stirred slowly from a deep, grasping sleep.
Scraps of exhaustion clung to her mind and were unwilling to let her go. Something moved in the black It brushed against her on the other side of a thin barrier. A veil she wasn't supposed to cross.
Wisps of gray fitted around her. They forced themselves beneath her, between the thing in the veil and herself. Every strand of golden hair had to be pried away. Even her skin was stuck fast. Mor wanted to look and see what stood on the other side- but the gray mist made that difficult.
She heard whispers- sweet, beautiful sounds that invited her in.
The mist brushed against that veil, illuminating a female with long, sun-colored hair. She wore a simple white shift and smiled brightly. Regal in every way- and agonizingly familiar.
Andromache leaned forward into the veil as the gray mist freed Mor. She stroked her old lover's cheek with a glowing hand and gently kissed her forehead.
Light flowed through Mor from where Andromache's lips touched. It embraced the gray, strengthened it, and Mor had to close her eyes against the sheer force of power, life, and love that blinded her senses.
"She's coming around," a voice rasped.
Mor's entire body ached. Even her eyes burned as she opened them.
"Ssh, child," a blurry, dark figure crouched over her. It spoke the moment Mor opened her mouth, "You aren't quite back yet. It takes time. You were further gone than the male… but the cataracts are clearing nicely."
"I can help speed it up, Achlys," an old voice said.
Cold drops of something fell into Mor's open eyes. She whimpered in surprise- but that was the only sound she was capable of making. She blinked rapidly to clear the moisture, and as she did the figure solidified.
Green-gray skin stretched over too much bone.
Hollow, dead eyes circled in blue-black.
Cheeks ripped through with long, bloody scratches that left dangling ribbons of flesh.
A mouth full of long, pointed teeth.
Mor's eyes widened, even as a black veil was hastily pulled over the horrible face.
"Don't judge," the second voice said as Achlys moved out of sight. "You're not so easy on the eyes right now either."
Mor didn't question Madja as the old healer came into view. She didn't wonder what happened, why she was in pain, or who the monster had been.
"Drink slowly . You'll have trouble swallowing."
A long pipette split her lips and something sweet dripped down her tongue. Mor tried to swallow, but it was difficult and painful. As the liquid slowly built up she tried again. Madja didn't let her choke. She gave Mor the potion slowly, letting her wet her tongue and try again until, finally, she managed a swallow.
In the potion's wake, her throat began to move more easily. Some of the pain ebbed, and she felt a hand grasping hers.
"How long do I have to do this?" a male voice, deep and rich, asked. His tone was flat. Angry even.
"Until I say so, you insufferable prick," Cassian's own voice was thin, and came from somewhere near Mor's feet.
She couldn't move her head while Madja fed her, but she looked around as much as her eyes allowed. The wraith was visible at the furthest edge of her vision, kneeling over someone else. In Cassian's direction she could make out the back of a man in sleeveless armor with tight brown curls circling his scalp. As for the male who held her hand- he was black-haired with olive skin that still held remnants of washed-off paint.
Something tugged at Mor's mind and suddenly she felt hollow. It was the same feeling she got when she fought in battle-
"Be good," Cassian said. "Madja made me promise not to kill them. Yet."
Mor's mind began to sort through flashes of memory. That face- she'd fought against the man. Held him and another at bay until something happened. Something awful.
"Azriel, look out!" Mor shouted. He was too focused on the woman and Hades to see the door to his mother's chambers open.
Mor tried to throw off the olive male, but he was too strong a fighter to ignore, and she was already helping Cassian fight his enemy too. She couldn't stop as Persephone's eyes widened.
As the girl who looked so much like Azriel was thrown back- and began to circle.
Persephone was tugging at the door, dragging herself to her feet with a pained, desperate expression. Her opponent attacked again and Mor lost sight as she parried his blade and drew their dance further from Azriel.
Next she could afford a glance, the woman was behind Azriel with her blade drawn. She was readying a blow that could very well sever his wings.
To any Illyrian, losing their wings meant death.
The blade began its arc and Persephone threw herself at Azriel, shoving him forward a step. Her own back was ripped open in place of his. Confusion and fear lit Azriel's face. Persephone coughed, splashing hot blood against his neck.
He turned and caught her as she fell. The man attacking Mor dared a glance- then dropped his blade. Hades staggered as Azriel held his mother. As she touched his cheek and whispered.
"Azriel…"
His face- complete and utter devastation.
It was the armored male- the one who fought Cassian- who used the distraction to his advantage. He struck Cassian in the temple, dazing him, then ran across the room to Azriel and Persephone. Hades found his legs again and charged Azriel.
The woman ripped his mother from his arms as Hades grabbed Azriel's head and poured endless darkness into him. Persephone screamed- the stench of burning flesh rose from her back where the armored one pressed the flat edge of his sword. His hand glowed white-hot as it warmed the sword. From the scorched mark in her dress he'd tried to use the power on her direction before realizing magic would have no effect.
Something cold and grasping held Mor fast as the strength faded from her body. Her kilij was too heavy, and when she looked down she saw wrinkled flesh sagging with age.
Achlys stood over Nuala, holding her tight as one of the veiled creatures- her sister- breathed in the vitality of the room. Gray mist flowed from Mor, Cassian, and Nuala into the exposed maw of the walking corpse.
Only Azriel, his eyes black and unseeing, was spared.
Mor tried to fight it as she fell to her knees.
As she went blind.
As she died.
She fought against the pipette and Madja's potions. The man holding her hand moved to her head and grabbed it between his hands, holding her in place.
"Az is gone," Cassian said after a moment. "It's been hours."
"They took Queen Persephone and your friend back to our camp," the man over Cassian- Bellerophon- said. "We flew Aires' chariot, he took Pegasus, and Hades- what do you call it again?"
"Winnowing," Cassian said.
"Yeah, he winnowed the others. We call it veil-walking."
Madja withdrew the pipette to refill it and Mor asked, "Why did you come back?" Her voice was deeper than she remembered, and it took more effort to get the words out.
"Why did you tell us Persephone was dead?" Bel countered.
"Persephone is dead," Mor said automatically.
"Azriel- the one your master took- bound their tongues centuries ago," a soft, shaking voice Mor did not know came from where Achlys knelt. It sounded like a hundred voices speaking at once- or rather the same voice one hundred times in one hundred different tones. "If he were there at your first meeting, Amren would not have lied."
"Why?" the olive-skinned male hissed, "Why bind their tongues? And why wouldn't our magic work on her? Even Aires' chariot couldn't take off."
The female voices spoke again, "I do not know the story, and they cannot tell you. All I know is that she suffered greatly over her millennia here, and Azriel sought to protect his mother."
"His mother ?" Bel said.
"So that's why Melinoe's power barely touched him," the male holding Mor murmured.
"Feyre-" she was silenced by the pipettes return.
After a moment, Achlys answered, "They have her still. If Rhysand recovers enough to leave the world between, Cerridwen will bring him back."
"She will be returned to you along with the son, if Persephone verifies your story. If not, we rip your world apart."
"Kydoimos is a god of chaos," Bel explained on behalf of his lover.
"And he's shit at his job," someone elbowed he male- Kydoimos- away. Cassian's hazel eyes found Mor's, "I told him to hold your hand for me, not your face."
"I told her to be still and she didn't listen," Madja snapped. "Just as I told you to stay over there and yet here you are."
"I'm fine."
But he wasn't.
Cassian's flesh sagged on his bones. His hair was a dark gray and wrinkles covered his skin. Mor reached up to touch the waddle of his throat and saw her own arm was patched with liver-spots.
"Your neck looks like a vagina," Mor murmured around the pipette.
"Yours too. And you pissed yourself."
"Oh she did not," Madja whacked Cassian's arm. "And don't be rude, I'm as old as the pair of you."
Cassian grinned, "But you aged well. Mor aged like milk."
She couldn't muster the strength to lift her arm and hit him, so she settled for flipping him off.
"It's not permanent," Achlys said quietly. "I gave you both enough to bring you back before your souls crossed. OVer time, I can return your youth."
There was a deep, aching sadness behind her words. Mor though for a few moments, until Madja's pipette was removed, "Nuala?"
"Her situation is more dire," Madja said. "She lost the half of her that was fae. We are trying to revive it, but Achlys is too weak."
"Can you live as a wraith?" Cassian asked in their direction.
The voices of a hundred women- Nuala's wraith voice- replied, "No. Not in the mortal world. When my fae half truly dies, I will be forced to cross the veil."
"And I will never see my child again," Achlys whispered.
There was silence in the room before Madja said, "Take what you need from me."
"That would kill you."
"No, I don't think it would."
"Madja-"
"If you want to save your child's mortality, take what you need.
Madja left Mor's side and walked out of her field of view. She held out a gnarled hand to the wraith and waited for it to accept her gift.
Achlys couldn't let her child die. No matter the cost.
"Only what I need to keep her here."
"Go on."
Mor heard a sigh from the healer as the wraith transferred her life force into Nuala. Cassian lifted Mor's head and scooted forward so she could rest on his lap and see.
Madja sagged to her knees and her flesh grew even more wizened and wrinkled. Her hair thinned, and fell away from her scalp in large clumps.
She looked like a Suriel by the time the wraith released her. Or a mummy risen from the tombs of Day Court.
"Thank you," Achlys breathed.
"How are you still alive?" Kydoimos went to Madja's side and helped the crone to rise. He moved her to one of the low couches against the wall.
She patted his hand in thanks and found her voice- now thin and reedy, "I cannot die."
"What?" Cassian said.
Madja sighed, "Two thousand seven hundred and eighty-four years ago, I was a young apprentice healer in the Court of Nightmares. The High Lord summoned my master and I to consult on a hard birth. The poor female had been in labor for two full days and they feared what might happen. I remember going down into that horrible prison for the first time… in the end, I delivered nearly one hundred of the Night Mother's children, and when the Illyrians needed a healer to save her after her first child, we were reunited."
"She cursed you," Achlys turned to look at the healer.
"Somehow, yes. Many of the healers who worked on her suffered the same fate. We age without death. For me the veil is unyielding. The punishment for my complacency in her torture."
"One hundred children?" Bel whispered.
And suddenly, Mor understood why Persephone wouldn't allow Azriel to bring a healer to repair her ruined abdomen and hips.
"How did she curse you through the collar's binding?"
"The collar was made to hold me ," Amren stormed in from the hallway with Varian on her heels. He must have gone to Velaris and found her. "My Father is a god. I am a shadow of His might. In extreme circumstances she could probably manage something small like a curse." Amren's gray eyes scanned the room. She hesitated at the sight of Cassian and Mor. Of Nuala. "What did you morons do?"
"We didn't do anything," Cassian snapped. "We were the victims."
"Not you. You're just an idiot. What did the morons ," she waved to Kydoimos and Bel, "-do?"
"We came back to help- at great personal risk I should add," Kydoimos said.
"She asked what happened, not why you're here now." Varian snarled. He was Summer's version of Cassian, and spoke with all the authority of a mighty general.
Bel answered, "Preemptive strike."
"And the blood?" Amren said.
"Persephone's. She took the blow for Azriel," Mor said.
Amren grew dangerously still, "From whom?"
"Melinoe," Kydoimos said.
"Damn, I doubt she'll let me collect a toll for that." Amren snapped her fingers. Varian conjured bindings that snapped around both Bel and Kydoimos, "Until this is sorted out, you gentlemen will be our hostages."
"We came back!" Bel protested.
"Your poor life decisions are not my problem" Amren looked to Varian again. "Azriel's holding cells in the Palace of Nightmares."
Kydoimos struggled against his bindings as Varian prepared to winnow them, "What authority do you have to take hostages?"
"Feyre and Rhysand-?" Amren looked to Cassian. He shook his head and sadness crept into the small fae's eyes. "Well then, I guess on my authority as acting High Lady of Night."
For the first time in his life, shadows crushed Azriel.
He couldn't move, couldn't feel, and couldn't think. Something was crushing his heart, but he had no name for it, and no cause. Every inch of his body ached- or was it his soul that hurt?
Never before had Azriel feared the darkness. He was its master and it his friend. But now it held him prisoner.
And he was afraid.
Hades stood over the boy as the physicians worked.
Finding Persephone dead would have been better than this. The first rays of dawn crept across the sky in mockery of his grief. How dare it rise at all? The world should be plunged into darkness for what happened to his wife.
She was assaulted," Aesculapius told him as his colleagues rushed to save Persephone's life. No magic could heal her, but many gods spent their millennia in hiding plying a trade. The healing ones largely became doctors or surgeons, and brought at least some supplies to Prythian.
Enough to save her.
Enough to report on what was done.
"Scarring indicates it was brutal, violent, and likely done over several thousand years. We also think… she gave birth."
"Recently?" Hades' mind went to the winged boy Persephone saved. The shadows he threw at Melinoe were certainly familiar.
Aesculapius was silent for a long time, "Recently… and not so recently. Hades, her vaginal exam revealed thick callouses, she'd given birth so many times. That's part of the reason we couldn't lay her down properly. I've never seen anything like it. I've never heard of anything like it. She was tortured, assaulted, and… bred."
"The word amongst Prythian's people is that the Night Court denizens have the ability to control minds," Hades said after a long time. "Rewrite thought, personality, history."
The god understood what he was asking, "Based on your description of the attack, I do not think Persephone could have moved under her own steam. Looking at the damage it would be too painful for her to even try to stand."
"So he used her as a living shield."
Hades remembered the boy's face when Persephone fell. That grief and horror.
Feigned grief.
False horror.
They Just wanted him to accept that Persephone would die at the hands of his own people and avoid the war.
Except- miraculously- she'd held on to life long enough for his people to get to work.
And Hades now knew what those monsters had done to his wife.
Even if he was her son- that only made it worse. He let his race use her.
"Do as many operations as you need to fix her body. I will have the angels remove the collar."
"They already tried-"
"Not hard enough. I refuse to believe that over one thousand gods cannot overcome a simple strip of metal!" Hades whirled on Aesculapius. "As for the boy- he thought he could use my wife as a shield? Send a surgeon to the cages. I have a job for him."
Hades stared out the door flap of the prison-tent, holding the boy's mind in a vice grip as the surgeon worked.
He'd mutilated and crippled Persephone.
The god of death would return the favor.
He turned back to look as the scalpel flashed-
-and Azriel's wings were amputated.