Disclaimer: All but Lyra belong to Sarah J Maas

Feyre and Mor had warned her of this place, prepared her for it's darkness and those beasts, but even their descriptions and words did not do enough justice. This place was massive, old and horribly cruel. She felt it in the very stones, the earth, like strangling vines choking any happiness that possibly dared to grow here.

How had Mor, all sun and kindness and beauty, come from this? How had she not withered and died?

Lyra tried to channel some of Nesta's cold confidence, to keep her face uncaring as they strode into the throne room and so many eyes fell upon her. She felt them, running over her, over Nesta at her side, something new and interesting before them.

She checked, for what felt like the millionth time, her shields around both her mind and her body. Reinforced them again for good measure.

Amren had put her in a dress, though none of the fancier, brighter designs that Mor had bought for her, but a simple, black one. Its top had a sweetheart neckline, though it didn't dip as far down her body as Feyre's or Mor's, with a thin layer of lace that cut across and hung from her shoulders and sleeves that ran all the way down her arms, where two identical silver bracelets lay on her wrists. Her hair had curled and swept back by pins with glittering black gems, revealing her pointed ears. She thanked God that it wasn't as revealing and uncomfortable looking as Mor or Feyre's dress, but she still hated she had to wear one all the same.

Mor had pouted, upset that she had worn a dress of Amren's choice before hers. But then Feyre had reminded her they had the meeting with the High Lords and the blonde had beamed and declared she would make Lyra come shopping with her to find the perfect one. Lyra had just glared at Feyre, who gave her an apologetic smile.

Even without knowing who he was, Lyra could tell which one was Keir. He looked enough like Mor that she could tell and it took all her restraint not to flash her teeth at him, to keep that deadly calm over her face. That power, still held within those walls she had erected, pulsed dangerously as she met his eyes. She quickly turned away.

She stopped next to Nesta, Azriel just behind her and Mor on his other side. Mor looked colder than Lyra had ever seen her and it took her a moment to find any of that lovely, beautiful woman who had become her friend over these months.

Rhysand led Feyre up the dais to the single black throne, a deadly, cruel smile on his face as his mate perched herself on the seat, back straight and a face unfazed as several people murmured. Rhy sat himself rather unceremoniously on the arm of the throne, his eyes flashing with amusement when several of the people gasped behind them.

"Bow." Rhys ordered, voice echoing through that throne room and his power pulsed, emphasizing his order.

Lyra went to one knee, head falling to stare down at the marble floor. Those blue white eyes stared back, unusually bright against the smokey make up that Nuala had put on her.

"I will interpret the lack of two thrones to be due to the fact that this visit came up on you quickly." Rhysand said and though the words came out almost bored, she and the others could hear the threat that lay under them. "And I will let you all escape without having your skin flayed from your bones as my mating gift to you. Our loyal subjects."

Lyra had been warned by Feyre the part they had to play here, of who her and Rhysand would have to be. Who the others had to be. Lyra had understood. To rule and keep the people here who had done those horrible things to Mor in line… she knew it couldn't be done with kindness and understanding.

She froze, looking over as she felt a slither of power, creeping daringly toward the throne. Another came on her other side, more cautious then the other. She dared a glanced up, looking to Feyre, hoping that the High Lady felt it.

"Surely, my love, they would like to stand now." Feyre purred, a sly smile on her lips as she gazed up at him.

"Rise."

The whole room did and those creeping their power toward Feyre took the moment to move closer, to sneak toward her feet and-

There were several gasps around her as Feyre's own power seemed to bit down, pinning the three that had come toward her. Lyra shivered as she felt Feyre's magic dig in, deep and harsh.

"Do you wish to have this back?" Feyre asked teasingly.

"Don't you know that it's not polite to touch a lady without her permission?" Rhysand asked, voice lined with wicked amusement.

"Play nice." Feyre laughed, digging in more for emphasis before she released the power. All of them dissipated immediately, retreating quickly back to their owners. Lyra heard a rustle in the back, a couple of concerned murmurers, felt another winnow and it took all she had not to look back and see the chaos.

Amren moved forward, black hair swaying as she came to the bottom of the stairs. As she bowed her head respectfully to Rhys, Lyra felt a familiar hand wrap around her lower arm and Azriel leaned close. So close, she felt the warm heat of him though those black, scaled leathers and his lips were practically against her ear as he whispered, "Be careful. Stay safe."

His whisper was so low, she barely heard them herself. Her heart pounded and she felt those shadows crawl up her arm, seeming to caress her skin lovingly. She braved a glance toward him and though the words held concern, his face was blank, cold. But his fingers squeezed on her arm, a silent plea and she gave an almost imperceptible nod.

He pulled back, those shadows whispering along her skin as he withdrew. Became the impassive, dark Spymaster once again. Mor stared beside them, her eyes going to Azriel, but he ignored her look and stared straight ahead.

"… food and music. Now." Rhysand said, his order booming over the room as Amren came back to her and Nesta, beckoning them to follow. Lyra swallowed, fighting to keep herself in check, even though she fought that flutter of her heart from Azriel's touch.

A couple of the people looked to Amren curiously, their eyes also sliding over her and Nesta, but Amren turned toward them, a deadly smile crossing her lips before her eyes flashed, that strange power of hers peaking out. It sent them running, fear quaking in their bones. If Lyra weren't so nervous herself, she would have laughed.

Amren led them to a deep part of the palace, her footsteps the only sound as they followed after her. Hardly any others were out here with them and those who were looked not like guests, but servants with their simple black attire and downcast eyes. They scurried away from them almost as quickly as those who had run from Amren.

They took many turns and Lyra struggled to keep track of how they got here. As they went further in, Lyra began to grow uneasy, a sort of sickly feeling crawling up her skin. There was something or many somethings up ahead, drawing closer, that were awful… deadly.

"Are you okay?"

Lyra glanced at Nesta, surprised to see the eldest sister offering her a slightly concerned look. "Yeah… there is just a lot here." She muttered. Nesta watched her another moment, before nodding.

"I know." Was all she said, before looking back toward Amren.

"Keep up the blocking, girl." Amren reminded her over her shoulder as they stopped before a large, ornate door. Lyra stared, swallowing as she felt the relics and objects inside. She lay her fingers over where Azriel his hand had squeezed, heart fluttering before she calmed herself, keeping those walls in place.

"I'm good." Lyra assured her and Amren pushed open the door.

Nesta frowned, her nose wrinkling in disgust as she took a tentative step inside. Amren closed the door behind them, though Lyra almost tried to stop her. To be trapped in here with these things… it made her feel sick.

"This is some Knockturn Alley shit." Lyra muttered, revulsion rolling through her as she took in what looked to be a gauntlet made of black, shinning metal, fingers outstretched toward her. She saw dried blood in between the plates of metal and shivered.

"Knockturn Alley?" Nesta asked, brow raised. "You have a place like this in your world?"

"No, it's not real." She muttered, tearing her eyes away from that blood. "It's from a book series."

"Now isn't the time to discuss books." Amren hissed, flashing a warning look to Lyra. She mumbled a 'sorry', before turning toward another object that look to be a miniature tree sitting in a golden pot, a dark liquid leaking from it's branches like petals. As she drew closer, she felt the dark power of it, running along her skin as she realized the liquid was blood. It dripped right back into the soil the plant grew from, the black dirt eating it greedily.

"You are to study the objects," Amren said to Nesta and Lyra turned back toward her, trying to block out the sound of that dripping blood. "find the weaknesses among there defenses."

Nesta nodded, throat bobbing the only sign of her nerves. Lyra felt a slight comfort in seeing Nesta unnerved, if only to know she wasn't the only one struggling in this room with all these dark objects.

"And you," Amren said, pointing one of her dark fingernails at her. "Focus on feeling out the powers of each object but push out all the others. Keep yourself focused and try not get to overwhelmed."

Lyra nodded, her fingernails digging into her palm as she took a deep breath. She searched for another object, not wanting to let those walls down around that awful tree and headed toward a small statue. It was made of marble, its shape almost worn down completely that she could only make out the general shape of a head, little divots for eyes, arms and a bottom that looked to be wrapped in a skirt. She focused on it, zeroing in on that power she felt leaking from it and opened just a bit of the cage she had put around her power, just as Amren had showed her.

Queasiness hit her first. She paused, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, as all of these objects, there dark powers swirling around her. Some of it called to her, some of it repelled her, others crept around her, like they were trying to touch her. Hurt her.

Focus. She had to focus, narrow her feel to just that statue. She swallowed, taking another deep breathe as she opened her eyes and stared at it. Into what was beneath.

Darkness, but not the same as Rhysand or Feyre's. This was the darkness that festered, that held rot and ruin. It made her shiver and Lyra could feel it trying to call to her, to beckon her to it, but she could see past that allure that it held on the surface. She could see that core, to the corruption beneath.

Amren was at her side, so quiet she hadn't even heard her. She stared, raising a brow in question. "It's cursed." Lyra whispered, shaking her head as she tore her gaze away from the statue. "I… I don't know how but it is."

"It's a statue of the Tyche. It brings good fortune to the holder. For a time." Amren said, looking down at it with those swirling eyes. "Then it turns on the owner, brings pain tenfold to the luck it gave."

Lyra cringed, withdrawing from the statue. Amren gave her an approving nod before heading back to Nesta, who was looking over various artifacts, her grey blue eyes sharp. Lyra turned, still feeling the whisper of that statue, it's song trying one last time to lure her in, before she shut it out. She looked over a couple more objects, allowing herself to feel them. Some were too dark, there power too much for her and she turned away, unable to stand it.

She heard Nesta and Amren behind her, speaking in hushed voices as she moved along a couple more rows. She was about to go back to them when her eyes caught on a glimmer.

It was another figure made of gold, a woman with flowing hair, face bowed and peaceful and clad in robes similar to the Priestess of the library. Her hands were out before her, spread in a welcoming gesture as she stood over a large, elongated-

Cauldron. It was the Cauldron, in miniature and made of shining gold.

Lyra paused, her heart fluttering as she stared at that little replica of the thing that had dragged her into this world. She was about to turn away but a whisper, low and warm, called to her.

Hello, Child.

It wasn't the Book. The voice was too different, almost kind. It held none of that horrid chaos that lined the Books every word. Lyra stared, taking another step toward the woman, her wide, open arms. She tried to focus on it, feel for whatever magic it held. She starred, all of her attention going to that beautiful, serene face.

The room went silent, no more music beating from the throne room, no more whispers from Amren or Nesta. Lyra couldn't move, couldn't do anything more then stare at the woman, something pulling her close toward her. Something warm, gentle seemed to brush against her and surround her.

My sweet Child.

She reached out a shaking hand toward that tiny face, felt the warmth radiating from that figure-

"Lyra!"

A hand jerked her back and all the sound came flooding back to her. She blinked, heart hammering against her chest and feeling suddenly cold as she looked at Amren, who was glaring at her angrily. Those horrible things in this room beat at her, threatening to overwhelm her and she quickly put that wall back up around her magic, muffling it.

"What did I say about touching things?" Amren hissed, baring her teeth at her. Nesta was watching a couple feet away, eyes cautious.

"I'm sorry." Lyra breathed, not daring to look back at that golden statue. "I thought I heard…"

"It is time to go back." Amren snapped, jaw clenched and nostrils flared. "Come and keep blocking."

Lyra nodded, trying to control her shaking hands as she followed Amren out of the room, thankful when she shut the large door behind them. Nesta looked as tired as she felt and Lyra swore she gave her a concerned look, though it was gone before she had a chance to be sure.

They slipped back into the throne room and Amren ordered them to wait with her until the others came. Lyra was glad to sit toward the back, away from those prying eyes as she tried to block out that voice.

My sweet Child.

Who had that been? Was it a trick of some awful object or had it been real?

Before she had time to sort through it, the others appeared and the look on their faces made something in her chest sink. Mor looked horrible, her face pale and pain in her brown eyes. Lyra knew better to ask what happened here, with her father and the others so close.

So she held her tongue, exhaustion weighting on her as they winnowed home.

After hours spent reaching out to various spies and his different networks to research what he suspected Elain had been speaking of in her riddles, Azriel finally glided into the balcony of the House. It was late and dark, the whole mountain silent as those within slept.

Azriel too was tired, but the image of Mor's pained, crying face still lingered behind his eyes. The anger and betrayal in how she looked at him. And that hand ripping away, like she could not stand to have him touch her.

And then there was Lyra's face, lit with surprise and disappointment as she learned what he had done.

His stomach twisted and hot, oily shame ran through him. As it had all night.

It was the right call. He knew that deep, deep down. But it didn't absolve him of what he had done.

He began to head toward his bedroom, toward what he was sure was to be a night of fitful sleep. As he crossed Lyra's door it jerked open, revealing her in a nightgown, hair tied atop her head and slippers on, looking tired and rundown. His heart jumped, that guilt eating at him again as she stared, blinking in surprise to find him standing there.

"You're back." She said, voice lined with surprise. "Did you find out what Elaine was talking about?"

"I'm not sure." He answered, watching her as she nodded, shifting almost uncomfortably.

Even before what had happened tonight, Lyra had seemed off since that first lesson with Amren. She hadn't talked much of it but from what he had gathered from Rhysand before leaving to get in touch with his spies, was that it had gone quite well. So he wasn't sure why she seemed to be so distance with him after. And now…

That look of disappointment flashed in his mind again.

"Lyra, tonight I…"

"Tonight you had a hard call." She finished, the words surprising him. Her eyes softened and she let out a sigh. "I get it. I mean, sort of. War and strategies are all new to me. But it wasn't an easy decision. Mor knows that too."

The words sent dizzying relief through him. He bowed his head to her, swallowing thickly. "I am still sorry for how it had to happen." He said softly.

"I know." She said, her lips turning up into an almost sad half smile. "You should talk to Mor. She's better now."

"I will." He said, though the prospect of facing her, even knowing she understood filled him with pain. His fingers flexed at his side, that look on her face as she ripped her hand from his going through his head.

"Do you…" Lyra paused, looking hesitant for a moment before she continued. "I can't sleep. With everything else and the feeling of all those… things at the Hewn city. Do you want to have some tea?"

His shadows hissed in his ears, urging him toward sleep but despite it he nodded, unable to resist spending time with her after being gone for so long. After fearing for hours she would hate him. She smiled, heading down toward the dining room and he followed after her.

They sat across from each other and Azriel called the tea to them with a flick of his finger. The steam rolled upward lazily and one of his shadows slinked around the cup, as though drawn to the heat. Lyra blew on hers gently before taking a sip.

"How did it go with Amren?" He asked. Her nose scrunched up in disgust and she shook her head.

"Some of that stuff there…. ugh." She shuddered, those white blue eyes flashing. "Some of it was almost alive. And the things it wanted to do… those people shouldn't have access to those things. But I was able to read one of them, what it could do. And I was able to focus on just the one object."

"That's good." He said, taking a sip of his own tea, savoring the warmth of the cup on his hands.

"The Prison… what exactly is it?" She asked.

"Where we keep the most dangerous of our kind. Or other creatures." He said and she frowned at the description.

"Other creatures… like what Amren was?"

"Yes and worse." He said softly, watching as her frowned deepened. "It is secure. Amren's escape is an… anomaly. And the first escape in our written records."

"That's good, I guess." She mumbled, though she still seemed to be thinking, her eyes distant. "Do you have… angels here?"

"Angels?" He asked, raising a brow. "I have not heard of them if they exist. Why?"

"Because… fuck, it sounds so crazy but," she paused, shaking her head again and chewing her lip, "I think that is what Amren is. Or was. Which means she may be from my world."

"I thought your world didn't have magic." Azriel said, watching her carefully.

"We don't. That I know of at least. But angels aren't really magic." She muttered, her finger tapping against her mug. "I'm not an expert. Most of my knowledge comes from half paying attention at church when my mom went through a religious faze and a couple seasons of Supernatural but they're warriors and messengers for the God of one of the religions in my world. The way she described herself then fits and the twin cities she talked about… I think it was Sodom and Gammorah." She let out a disbelieving laugh, running her hand over her face. "Jesus, it sounds so crazy."

"Why?" He asked, tilting his head. "Is it any crazier then fae and magic?"

"Yes. Because I never really believed in any of it. But if she's real then I'm guess God is and the Bible and… I'd have a lot to ask forgiveness for. I almost hope I'm wrong." She muttered, shaking her head again and letting out a long sigh. "But if she is… that would also mean when she sends herself home, she could send me too."

Azriel froze, the words sending a jolt of shock through his veins. He had not thought of the possibility of her ever going home, though he should have considering Amren was looking for the very same solution in the Book. And with all of the other things going on, with her decision to help them in the war, he had begun to think of her future here as permanent. It was foolish of him, thinking on it now. Why would she not want to go home? Even after accepting her reality here, it still was foreign to her. Nothing like her own.

Perhaps he hadn't wanted to face the thought of her going back. Because the possibility that she wouldn't be here in the future… it pained him far more than he even wanted to face.

"If there are no Fae in your world, would it not be dangerous to go home?" He asked, clinging to that fragile bit of hope.

"I don't know." She muttered, looking at her hand as she spread it across the table, seeming to take in that new skin of her, her new limbs. "I didn't have some fabulous life there, but there are things I needed to do." Pain flashed in her eyes and what looked to be determination, her lips pursing. "I was making something of myself."

Azriel stared, his heart sinking at the words, that look on her face. He wanted desperately to ask her why she could not accomplish those things here, to try find a way to sway her toward remaining here. But… he could not put that on her.

"I don't even know if it's possible." Lyra said, breaking him out of his thoughts. She gave a shrug, running a hand through her hair. "I'm not getting my hopes up."

He hated how much he hoped that was true.

"I must head to bed. I have Feyre's training tomorrow." He said, his voice coming out colder then he intended and she looked up, blinking in surprise. "Good night, Lyra."

Her brow furrowed, a look of confusion crossing her face. "Uh, night Az." She mumbled, frowning slightly. He nodded to her, that pain eating at his stomach, mixing with his left-over guilt. He headed toward his room, laying in bed as his shadows hissed unpleasantly at him and stared up at the ceiling.

He was a fool. He should have known that she would wish to return to her home. He could not blame her. But when she had come to accept this place, began to integrate herself into their family and decide to help them, it had become so easy to see her as a part of this world, their court, their lives. His life. He cared for her, far more than he had cared to admit to himself.

Her happiness came first though. What she needed. She deserved that for all she had been through, for all that had been forced on her. He would do all he could to protect her through this war and then help her in what way he could to get her back to where she wished.

Even if it broke something in him in the process.