Chapter 12
Rhys
A torrent of dark smoke barrels into the wards, the black mist spreading over the invisible dome, tendrils stabbing, searching for weaknesses. The crash of the collision echoes throughout the Rainbow, music halting, dancers freezing.
More and more hits, rapid fire, all in the same spot. I snap into action, my wings bursting from my back, Cassian and Azriel beside me. They each tap their Siphons, their scaled armour descending across their bodies, the other five Siphons appearing.
"What do we do?" Azriel called, his seven Siphons glinting a dull cobalt in the dim night lighting, candles flickering in the shockwave.
I glance up, watching the horribly familiar inky fog spread, unable to penetrate the barrier. It unfurls over the wards like a fishbowl dome, trapping the city inside.
Screams rise through the air, panic seeping through the clouds, sitting heavily in the air itself. People begin to stampede, tables and chairs clattering to the cobblestones, plates of food shattering on the grounds, drinks tipping over.
"Cassian, Azriel, I need you to fly up to the wards, try to figure out if they're damaging the wards, and if you can do anything to stop them. Morrigan, I need you to begin calming people down, get them to the House of Wind or another safe place."
"Agreed." Mor ran off, her hair streaming behind her as she herds scared faeries and Fae towards the red cliffs, reassuring them as she goes.
"Yes, sir." Cassian informs me, launching himself into the air with a few powerful wingbeats, Azriel not far behind. I small cough draws my attention back to the street and the small figure standing there.
"Amren, you're with me."
"What are we doing?" Curious and questioning, but not afraid, never afraid.
"Going straight to the source."
Raey
I can't breathe.
The darkness is all encompassing, consuming, suffocating.
I've never lost control like this before, not for years, and now I'm stuck, burning, freezing, falling.
My power is ripping out of me, tearing me up from the inside, destroying and breaking like it was made to do.
It hurts so much.
Pain searing through every part, every molecule of me, leaving nothing but ash in its wake.
And I still can't breathe.
It was a simple, ordinary assignment. Assassinate one of the Lords of Autumn, run to the Winter Court to await further instructions, and avoid the irritating trackers and warriors that Rhysand continued to relentlessly send after me.
I had been steadily disposing of them after I realised one was a spy a few months ago, but the High Lord of Night didn't know when to give up. He never had.
I had infiltrated the Court, posing as a hired courtier to chatter with the lords and ladies, gathering information all the while. I had decided on a swift death for the mid-tier lord in question, a mediocre warrior, not at all a challenge. I only decided on quick because I had better things to do with my time. I don't know why they wanted him dispatched, but it's not my job to ask questions, only to obey.
I had successfully gained the approval of most of the lords and was finally invited to his bedchamber, where I had decided that he would meet his end. A small blade between the ribs, an extra twist, and then I would vanish into the night. But somehow, impossibly, he had been prepared for me. My knife was stopped by strange armour imbedded in his shirt, solid as steel, completely unnoticeable, and he turned and grabbed my wrist, pinning me to the floor. I was unbalanced, unprepared for his attack and I fell, cracking my head on the stone floor.
Before I could move, he held a strange rag over my mouth, and I was instantly unconscious.
When I woke, I was only vaguely aware of my surroundings. Cold floor, harsh bindings around my hands and mouth, my skin pebbled from the chill. When I forced my eyes open, I was met with a prison cell. But something was wrong, and for a terrible minute, I couldn't figure out what it was, panicking, hyperventilating. Then I realised, with an awful jolt, that I couldn't feel my power. Like the well inside me where it lived was blocked, collapsed, filled in.
Gone.
I stood on unsteady legs, shaking with shock, stumbling towards the iron bars. I peered through them, the icy metal biting into my palms, and froze.
Illyrians.
I hadn't seen Illyrians in years, excepting the small encounter with Rhys, Cass and Az.
I couldn't help but wonder what they wanted with me.
Why was I here? What could I possibly give them?
I lay on the cold floor for what seemed like hours, cold and sore, the bitter ice seeping into my bones, my scars aching.
Soon enough, my fears were confirmed.
An Illyrian, bigger than the rest, a veritable pile of sheer muscle and strength, strode towards me, stopping at the bars of my cell. He sneered down at me.
"Well. If it isn't the little girl." His vice was rough, grating against my ears, like a whetstone over a damaged blade.
"We've heard fearsome stories about you. But I guess not even the Shadow can survive faebane."
My mind still felt sluggish, working slowly thorough what he had said. The Shadow? No-one called me that, except for my masters, and not for years. I was their silent assassin, soul darker than shadow, those shadows that once whispered their secrets to me in the blackest nights as I lay imprisoned with my pain.
"Wash her and send her upstairs," he said to the guards outside the bars, "I want her ready for the experiments."
My brain was freezing, my body aching, yet I still knew that these experiments would be nothing good. I couldn't let them take me.
The iron door creaked open, the metal whining, and they strolled inside, the two guards grabbing my arms. I tried to fight, tried to summon that rage, that darkness, from inside me, trying to find some strength inside me, something, anything.
But there was nothing there.
A while later, I found myself washed and dressed in a white robe, a mockery of the innocence I had once possessed, the fabric chafing against my raw skin.
My feet were bound together by a thick chain of that unidentifiable rock, my steps stumbling and unsteady, my hands cuffed and locked behind me. Two guards marched along behind me, a small man in a strange white coat leading me through the black stone halls. I could slip my cuffs easily, and likely take out the two guards within seconds. I probably should.
But that chain was still weakening me, and if I tried and failed now, then I wouldn't get another chance. My only advantage was that they were underestimating me, and I would be damned if I wasted it.
The short man carried a wicked-looking syringe, the liquid inside viscous and dark. I didn't want to know what it did.
Soon, we emerged into a cavern, the walls hewn roughly from stone draped in rich fabrics, decorated with scenes from ancient fables and newer tales. With a jolt, I realised that most of them depicted me. Or at least a shadow in a corner, hovering over the head of some king or lord that I had killed. Unidentifiable, inhuman, monster.
Whoever these people were, they seemed to know a lot about me. Knew enough to know how dangerous I was, and yet only put me in a single set of cuffs and one chain, and thought I was secure enough to only have a two-guard escort.
I really didn't want to know what was in that syringe.
Two figures turned around at the front of the room. Two men, broad shouldered, cloaked in in matted fur, thick stone armour covering their shoulders, massive longswords hanging from their belts, huge dark wings looming over their backs. One had a rough-hewn face of dark stone, his eyes like jagged emeralds, glittering in the candlelight. The other, though-
The other.
The startlingly familiar face turned towards me, and I could see recognition in his eyes, but no surprise. Even after all these years, Astor's face was one that I would never forget. One of the most revered and feared warlords, and the one who had petitioned the hardest to have my wings clipped, because I was a pathetic, useless half breed female. They knew I was the Shadow, but worse, Astor knew me from before, and recognised me even with my glamour. Which meant that they knew. They knew who I was. Not just the shadow, not just the assassin, the nightmare.
They knew who I had been.
Warrior, friend, cousin.
Sister.
And I knew that I had to escape. This could ruin everything, could jeopardise everything I'd worked for, all my efforts in these past centuries.
But- would that really be a bad thing? It's been so long, and now, I was so tired.
I just want to go home.
If only home wanted me back.
"Well hello there, little girl," Astor's voice was deep, grating against my ears, causing fear to shoot through me unbidden.
I worked so hard to be strong, so I never had to be afraid again, but here I was, trembling like a pathetic child, memories of pain, the dark, home hitting me and smashing my resolve into shattered glass.
I had to get out of there before their experiments could happen. I had no illusions towards what they would be willing to do to me. My matted hair fell in my eyes as I glanced around the chamber. Across the chamber from the entrance we came through, there was a doorway, behind the plinth the two men stood on, dark and welcoming. It undoubtedly led to more tunnels, tunnels I had no way to navigate.
Casting my eyes above me, I noticed that the chamber wasn't as solid as it originally appeared. Whoever had constructed it hadn't left much support, and the centre appeared to be dipping dangerously towards the floor.
"Patterson. Are you ready?" The other Illyrian spoke, his voice deeper, rumbling and smooth. In another life he could have been a singer.
The strange weaselly man in his strange white coat turned to him. In another life, he could have been left in a gutter and would have fit right in with the rats. Hell, that's probably the only way he would make friends. Rat-man and his rat-friends, running around squeaking away together. They could build houses! He was so short; he'd probably fit inside too. Rat-man and his rat-friends in their rat-house. Great. I'm officially going insane.
"Yes sir. The serum is prepared, and our faeries are ready to do damage control." His nasally voice cut through my musings, knocking my thoughts back into order. Too many hours in the cold without proper food, water or access to my magic had left me dizzy and delusional.
"The girl is weak. Our power detectors have sensed her magic to be about as weak as Lucien of the Autumn Courts. She shouldn't be able to do that much."
"That weak? I would have though she was powerful, you know, being the daughter of a High Lord."
I froze. That was a title I hadn't heard in a very long time. At least my glamour was still blocking out the vast majority of my power, even though I couldn't sense it.
I swayed, my left knee just about giving out as I shifted my weight. Maybe I should sit down.
Strong hands gripped my arms, fingers digging roughly into my muscles as they held me up, leaving me helpless. I suddenly realised that I might not get out of this one.
Between the strange stone, the lack of my power for the first time in forever, and that syringe, things were looking bleaker and bleaker for me.
I just wished I'd been able to say goodbye to Rhysie. Say goodbye, and say sorry, for- well, everything. For leaving, for not coming back. For not being strong enough to fight off the warriors, for not being strong enough to go home.
"Serum test 1, beginning now." Astor's voice echoed through the chamber.
The rat-man strode towards where I was being held up, syringe clutched in his meaty little fist, a horrible smile on his face. The guards moved away, and my arms were stretched out beside me, leaving me defenceless. I struggled in their grip, but it was too late, too late as I felt the sharp prick, too late as the metal shoved through my skin tearing through muscle, too late as I felt him plunge it, the thick liquid shoving its way through my veins, too late as I felt the chains being removed, too late as I felt my power return, but not the same, wrong, wrong, too late as I fell to the floor, too late as my insides felt like they were tearing me apart, too late as Astor grinned triumphantly, my vision blurring, my grasp on reality dimming, too late as I drifted away, apart, too late, too late, too late.
Too late as I exploded.