Sorry, I know Lucien's OOC in this chapter, but I wasn't sure how to fix it.

Disclaimer: I only own the plot. ACOTAR belongs to SJM.

Rhysand

When the Attor and its cronies returned with a girl who was not the human huntress, I was relieved beyond words.

Unfortunately, that relief dissipated nigh on immediately after I noticed the colour of her hair, and the distinct similarities the chosen girl bore to said huntress, leading me to deduce that the huntress was one of the sisters involved in coordinating the attack, and that she would probably be distraught at her sister's imminent demise.

Sure enough, when I let the bare dregs of my powers still allowed to me by our queen reach out to find that too familiar scent and infiltrate the owner's mind, the wave upon wave of despair almost destroyed me there and then. I almost didn't notice what I was doing, feeling like it was the most natural thing to do, as I hastily formed a tether, a bond, between our minds so I could communicate with her directly.

I must find a way to help, I swore to myself. If she'd rejected my help before and done fine on her own, she had to accept it now, if only because there would be no one to help her here. No one to fight tooth and nail, because the loss of her sister meant nothing to them, not in the face of their own lives, regardless of any life debts owed. At any cost save that of Velaris and my friends. I owed her that much.

But it expended a lot of my energy using my heavily rationed power to not only maintain that bond, but also to slip into the captured girl's mind and take away the pain she felt. I didn't dare look at what Amarantha was ordering to have done to her; I felt sick enough already. Cauldron knows I'd done enough killing myself in my lifetime, but this was different. We had fought and lost, but the opposition was fleeing anyway; there was no need for this paltry show. It was just about Amarantha gaining the respect of her underlings again after she'd lost it so spectacularly amidst the defeat.

Although I suspected it was also an indirect way of punishing Tamlin, who now stood pale and emotionless by her side. He didn't even blink at the distress of the girl who'd taken him in and housed him for the past few days.

I wanted to collapse when I heard something coherent. Help. Please, anybody, help.

What do you need help with? I responded instantly, not allowing myself to think through what I was doing.

I caught the ball of tangled emotions she threw at me, and felt exhaustion creeping over my shoulder as I painstakingly unravelled them. Much of the situation I already knew, but the emotions she felt hit me like a blow regardless. It was easy, sometimes, living with a person like Amarantha, to forget that others lived and loved just as fiercely as I did. If not more so. I see.

I thought it more to myself than anything else, but I sent it down the bond regardless, and she responded, Please, please, please help. If you can.

She didn't need to ask, as my mind was already made up, but she didn't know that. Nor could I allow her to know that, I chided myself; I was the High Lord of the Night Court. If anyone found out that this wasn't a game of power play, my court could be in jeopardy.

So, to maintain the illusion, I said, And what would you give me in return?

The response was slow, considerate; I half expected her to try to break the connection, or back out. But this was the woman who'd singlehandedly set up a way for the residents of her town to get out of an impossible situation alive. She wouldn't leave her sister to die. Anything.

I sucked in a sharp breath, and the faerie next to me cast me a bemused glance. It was Tarquin, High Lord of the Summer Court, I realised. Amarantha had required all the High Lords to be there. I supposed she wanted us to see the slaughter, and feel the burden of the dead on our shoulders. A way of threatening us into submission. But it had backfired, and given us all hope instead.

I fixed a wicked grin onto my face, and pretended to be enjoying the sight of the torture. Tarquin looked away in disgust.

Very well, I said to the huntress. Meet me in that spot in the woods we were when I last offered to help you. You can even bring your sister if you want. I felt her surprise wash over me as she realised who I was, and the wariness, but I didn't let it get any further as I inquired, I think I should know your name, if I'm going to be helping you.

A little hesitancy, then, Feyre.

I'll see you there soon, Feyre. I left before she had the chance to inquire my own name.

I released my hold on the tortured girl's mind, and when her screams began anew, they provided the distraction I needed to slip away unnoticed.

Feyre

"I knew it," Nesta bemoaned, though her words still had their regular bite to them. She dragged her hands through her hair and edged her way around a fallen tree branch, eyeing it like it had mortally offended her. "You're trying to get us all killed."

"Don't be absurd," I admonished. A twig cracked behind us, and I shot a glare at Lucien; he hadn't liked the idea, but if he insisted on coming, then he would had better be quiet. He shot me an apologetic look, and I tightened my grip on my bow. Even though I was forced to trust the faerie we were collaborating with, didn't mean I would forgo a bow in my hand and a quiver of arrows on my back as we went to meet him. "It's not like we have a choice but to trust him."

"Too right you don't," said the cool, collected voice I'd met that first day in the woods. I whirled, hand flying to my quiver, but he gave me an unimpressed look and I dropped my arm. I didn't loosen my grip on my bow though, and he just raised an eyebrow at my whitened knuckles. Then he looked at Nesta and smirked, and my sister's hands balled into fists. "I do hope that you weren't planning on pulling out? Your sister's life is at stake."

Nesta opened her mouth, scalding words ready to spill forth from it, like she was a cauldron that had begun to boil, but Lucien cut her off with a snarl. "Rhysand."

The male - Rhysand - looked at him for the first time, and smiled at him. There was nothing sweet there. "Hello there, little Lucien. How's your worthless master doing? Did he drop the leash?"

"Shut up. Shut your filthy mouth you prick." Rhysand didn't stop smirking. The look didn't fall until Lucien spat, "Whore."

And then it clicked.

"Who's Rhysand?"

"The High Lord of the Night Court."

"Amarantha's whore."

The male notorious for carrying out Amarantha's bidding with glee, had offered to help me?

Rhysand broke his menacing glare at Lucien to give me a smooth smile. "No need to sound so surprised, Feyre darling. I don't like to put all my eggs in one basket. They all run the risk of breaking, that way."

"Get out of my head." I snapped. His smirk returned to his face.

Nesta was still simmering. "And what basket is this then?"

He turned to her and said without inflection, "A sturdy one, with extra padding inside, being carried by someone with enough sense not to drop it." He cast a sly glance at me, and I felt those mental claws rake against my mind. I recoiled.

"Prick." I spat, and ignored the concerned - well, not concerned; more like wary - glance Nesta shot me.

Rhysand laughed to himself for a moment, then said, "So do you want my help or not?"

"Don't trust him," Lucien immediately shot out. "Don't accept his help."

The High Lord just stared at him coldly. "You haven't even heard my idea for getting the girl out."

"We don't need to. Feyre has more sense than that."

Rhysand just fixed me with a look. He didn't need his telepathic ability to convey his message. Yeah Feyre, are you going to listen to him?

"What was your idea."

Lucien gave an outraged growl and threw his hands up, but Nesta's harsh sidelong look shut him up efficiently. Rhysand studied the two of them. "Interesting."

"What is interesting?" Nesta barked.

But a small smile was playing about Rhysand's mouth, and somehow I intuitively knew we would get nothing from him.

"Rhysand," I said sharply, drawing his attention back to me. "What was your idea."

"Oh please, Feyre darling, I'm Rhys. Only captives and enemies call me Rhysand." He smiled again, but it looked more like he was baring his teeth.

Does that make me your friend? Ally? I wondered to myself, but his grin told me he'd heard.

He responded coyly, not to mention cryptically, You are my salvation, Feyre.

"My plan was simply that I wait until nightfall, winnow your little sister out of Amarantha's camp and into your house, and you ride like hell until dawn breaks. That should get you far enough away."

"She's older than me." I said, even as my brain whirred. Nesta looked at me incredulously, as though she was thinking That's what you got from that explanation?

Rhys had frowned slightly at my words though. "Is she now."

"Yes." I said. "And it would be that easy to get her out? This seems like a trick."

He snorted. "At least you're honest about it." But he held up his hands, and the look on his face was perfectly sincere, or at least, as sincere as a faerie could look. "But I've spent fifty years building up a reputation as nothing more than a whoring reliable lap dog. They won't be watching me."

Even so, I hesitated.

He noticed, and his face fell, all traces of joking gone, into a mask of stone. "I've trusted you by even letting you know I was considering helping you. Can't you trust me now?" There was something pleading about his tone, but I couldn't discern why. "After all, it's suicide for a human to approach Amarantha. What you got away with? It won't happen again. I'm the best shot you've got."

I exchanged a look with Nesta, but the fierce set to her jaw told me everything I needed to know. She didn't like it, but even she knew this was possible the only way to get Elain back. I looked past he to Lucien, who was milk white and looked faintly ill, but he shook his head in defeat nonetheless. We were out of options, and he knew it.

"Alright." I said. "We'll trust you for now, Rhys. I'll see you and Elain at the cottage sometime tonight."

When he smiled, his violet eyes twinkled at me, like he was telling a joke only I understood.