The blood pounded in Cenric's ears as he roved soundlessly through the dark forest, the snow now still and silent around him. The stench of their blood still clung to him, curling in sharps wisps from his clothes, he had no doubt that his scent still saturated the camp from where he'd massacred them. He knew the point he was trying to convey would be obvious.

Three was a small number to begin with, but significant enough to catch the attention of the other participants, to invite them to hunt after him if they dared. He had selected the camp because of their blatant disregard for subtlety - they had camped in the open as a challenge to anyone willing to cross them.

It had made it easy to leave a clear message.

He flexed his freezing fingers around the makeshift spear he'd crafted, glimmering with their blood still frozen down the length of it. The echoes of their screams still reverberated through his mind, high and keening as he'd slaughtered them.

He shook his head to dislodge the sound. They were the first he had ever killed.

Surprisingly, the thought sat easy with him.

He continued to stride through the dark night until he came upon a steep rocky slope, littered with small, gnarled firs that clung desperately to the eroding hill, their roots poking out from the soil in snaking, dark tendrils.

Sheathing his spear in the makeshift sling he'd fashioned from rabbit skin he launched himself up the sheer rock face, carefully picking his way up through the leaning firs. He dug his soaked gloves into their rough bark as he navigated around the few snares he'd managed to lay hours prior, watching for patches of dark ice.

Veering left, he maneuvered around the cluster of boulders that sat precariously atop the steep slope. He knew a well-placed blow would have them tumbling down atop anyone who tried to follow him upwards.

If anyone could get past his snares and the treacherous patches of ice first.

Cenric sidled carefully along the narrow edge of the overhang before easily pulling himself up and over the ledge and dropping down into the nearly invisible natural crevice that he'd stumbled upon in his search for game earlier.

Slipping in through the narrow entrance, he ducked beneath rows of stalactites before emerging into a natural cave that tapered upwards, its walls smooth and rounded by centuries of flowing water. It stood close to twelve feet in height at its center and was the size of a small bedroom, the walls forming a natural barrier to storm raging outside.

An ideal find.

Letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, Cenric untied the makeshift sling from his back and laid his weapons down beside the small cluster of fir branches he'd collected for a sleeping mat, more to keep him warm than to provide any comfort.

A small pile of dry, burnt wood sat adjacent to his mat, a chunk of flint next to it.

He'd used it earlier to dry the rabbit pelts he'd managed to gather, three in total from a small warren that had been hunkered down in a narrow burrow, waiting out the storm.

Killing them had left a sour taste in his mouth.

Shivering, he sat down on his mat and tugged at the gloves on his stiff, frozen fingers. He'd need to let the gloves dry to alleviate any risk of frostbite. Pulling the rough leather free Cenric hissed, the iced articles tearing loose from where they had frozen to his skin.

Tossing them aside, he rubbed his hands together, willing some warmth to generate. Fortunately, the cave was well insulated and although still frigid, significantly warmer than the frozen wasteland outside. He wouldn't have to fear succumbing to the elements tonight.

Glancing at his extinguished fire he briefly considered lighting another but decided against it, with the snows having stopped the scent of a blaze would be easily found by any passing warriors or creatures. So, he'd forego it for now.

Instead he reached for the large branch, long and sturdy, he'd mindfully searched for in the fading rays of the afternoon and laid it across his knees. Pulling out free the sharp stone from his sling he began the work of carving down its length.

He would need to temper it tomorrow, steam it so that he could bend it to the shape that he wanted and then set it so that it would remain and become rigid, but for now he would carve.

With each stroke of his chipped stone knife the list he had repeated came to life, each name a piece of flesh that was carved from the branch's surface.

The list now had three less on it.

He knew when the seventh day came there would be none remaining.

The world had always seemed bright to Elaine, the swirl of color and rich smells a reminder of the richness of life. It had always been a beacon of strength for her through the difficult times she had faced, a reminder that there was beauty in all things no matter the hardships.

When she'd turned fae those colors and smells had become frighteningly bold, so severe that'd she'd been able to see hues of color she'd never dreamt of, to smell the complex layers of scents that she'd had no idea had existed.

That had been the only time the brightness of the world had seemed frightening to her.

That intensity had only been amplified by the dreams that had taken her in their grasp then, wringing the lucidity from her bit by bit. The flashes and symbols of things she could not explain that had kept her as a prisoner within her own mind.

It had been Azriel who had helped her recognize what the endless reel of images were. She's a seer, he had spoken in that quiet way of his all those years ago when the pieces had assembled together so seamlessly in his beautiful mind.

A seer.

It had been the beginning of her healing, the catalyst of acceptance for her new, immortal life.

Elaine would never stop being thankful to him for giving her that peace, for letting her reclaim her hold on the world and to see it anew, in all of its brighter and more splendid glory.

The gift the Cauldron had given her had not faded in the time that she had been made fae either. It had only become more robust, more detailed as she slowly learned to understand and interpret the seemingly jumbled imagery. It had saved her and her family one more than one occasion and had continued to be a blessing to her in all the time she had possessed it.

She'd foreseen the rise of her sister Nesta amongst the Illyrians, the mist that rose from the shadows of the Cauldron's swirling waters, a mass of silvery power that had swept through the Illyrian Steppes in a great gust and had wrapped itself around the bleeding stone that stood proud in the mountain pass, protecting and ever watchful.

Had watched as Lucien won freedom for the human lands, the cunning fox that had charged into battle with the bird of flame and the gentle knight whose face had been painted as a monster, felling the withered and bitter crones in their towers of stone.

She'd even foreseen the birth of both of her other sister's children, the tiny blue-eyed wolf pup encased in light who was birthed from the shadows and the beautiful violet lily that became a hanging star in the dark sky.

She'd seen it all.

Even the dreadful rise of the monster lurking in the forests of the mountain, crawling and inching through the shadows as it crept towards Velaris, leeching the life from all that it touched.

Watched as it slipped past the walls of a beautiful city and dove down into the depths of an ancient tomb, searching. She'd watched as that shadow had risen and blotted out all the stars in the sky except one, the brightest that came barreling down towards the earth, its brilliant light dimming.

She could still hear the taunting laughter as that gentle star burned out and fell into the cold embrace of death.

She hadn't had the heart to tell her sister what she had seen after they'd winnowed from the Riverside Estate thirteen years ago - that they were too late. She had only mustered the courage to take little Cenric in her arms and plead to any deity willing to listen to protect her niece's soul. Pled for the child in her arms to be spared for the pain that would inevitably come, and for that monster that stolen the star to be ground into a fine dust that could no longer touch those she loved.

She'd even pled for the kind shadow who had led her back to the light, the one whose agony was hidden so well that many did not know its true depths. Whose agony had been lightened by that little star who had looked at his darkness without an ounce of fear and instead offered a kind smile and unconditional love.

She had loved that about her.

Azriel had never been the same since her death, the warmth within him that she had held onto so dearly frosting over as made it his sole purpose to hunt the traitors down, restlessly. She'd never blamed him for it, had instead loved him more fiercely in a time when she wasn't sure he felt any love at all.

Only fragments of that blessed warmth returned during the nights when he wearily crawled into bed next to her, burying his face in her hair as he let her take some of the hurt from him. Let her soothe what few pieces he was willing to share.

She'd done so without hesitation. Even as her own heart still bled in the absence of that star.

She'd never forgotten the sound of her own blood-curdling scream, the rush of shocking cold that had washed over her as the star in her mind had hit the ocean's dark surface.

She hadn't been able to share that horror with Feyre or Rhys, had known it would break them further than they already were. So she'd kept her silence, that vision a memory she tucked away and let no one see.

She'd sworn she would never keep another vision from her sister after.

Which was why she was making her way down the stairs of the Riverside Estate towards the large sitting room where she spotted her lovely sister anxiously cleaning, mindlessly tapping her feet as she went. Her braid was a wild mess as she moved back and forth.

She hadn't stopped since she'd returned from the Steppes three days prior, right after they'd taken Cenric into the depths of the mountains to begin the Rite. She'd dug out old, worn clothes and had taken to scrubbing every surface of the already immaculate house.

Her anxiety was near palpable as she worked endlessly.

She'd made Cenric a promise that she would not intervene in the Rite and had gone back to Velaris with Mor as a show of faith, leaving the others to await the return of her son.

Elaine had offered to help her but had been politely declined, so instead she'd kept her company talking about anything and everything as Feyre cleaned and cleaned and cleaned.

It was her way of coping with the worry of Cenric's trial.

The Rite had even left Elaine feeling restless, wandering about the house at night, willing some image or symbol to come to her mind. For any sign of how the Rite would end, of what the trial would hold in store for the boy. How her sweet nephew would fare.

She had received no vision, not one in the weeks leading up to the Rite.

None until that morning when she'd been hit with a gust of the coldest wind in the warm morning sun and seen the future unfold like ink-stained fabric before her. She quickly dressed and descended the stairs from her room, intent on finding her sister as quickly as she could.

He legs quivered as she stepped softly onto the plush carpet of the sitting room.

"Feyre," Elaine began softly, watching as her sister jumped at the interruption, her expression slightly manic as she turned to face her. Elaine couldn't help but note the shadows under her eyes - she hadn't been eating. "Can we talk?"

"Of course." Her sister sat down a small ceramic fox figurine, a gift from one of her students, which she'd already cleaned numerous times in the past days. "What is it?"

Elaine swallowed hard, her hands trembling.

"I had a vision," Feyre's eyes widened as she went ramrod straight and Elaine caught the sound of her heart spluttering in her chest. "It's Cenric."

Cenric sat high in a tree as he nocked an arrow and adjusted his aim for the eight ambling warriors below him. They'd been on his trail for the better part of the morning, thinking themselves clever to have found his tracks. Loudly boasting about which of them would get to skin the lady bitch's pup.

The fools hadn't realized he'd laid it there for them intentionally.

He'd finally assembled his bow the day prior, a short, uneven thing that was hideous to the eye and strung with rabbit gut. Its beauty, or lack thereof, spoke nothing of its quality though - it shot far and straight, carrying a weight that easily punctured the soft bits on an exposed warrior.

As he'd seen firsthand as he'd felled numerous warriors with it, his list ever-dwindling.

He'd fashioned the arrows from the same wood as the bow, and the fletching from the feathers of a dead hawk that he'd happened across in the upper part of the valley.

Today he'd finally moved camp and begun his trek towards Ramiel, the mountain he would have to surmount on the seventh day. He'd been happy to play a game of cat and mouse on the way.

Pulling in a steadying breath, Cenric aimed his arrow at the largest of the group, a brute with a buzz cut that made his already monstrous head seem larger. Pulling the bow taut he waited for the perfect moment before releasing the arrow, its flight silent as it struck and tore through the male's throat.

Cenric had already nocked another arrow before the largest had hit the ground and immediately sent it flying towards his companion on his right, where it buried itself in his eye down to the fletching.

The other six scrambled out of the way as their companions fell, their shouts of surprise ringing through the valley.

They'd taken cover behind the trees where Cenric could not aim at them. No matter.

Hopping down from his perch, he slid his spear free, twirling it experimentally as he dashed to the right, making as much noise as possible.

The warriors heard his retreat and quickly followed. He zigzagged through the trees, listening to their pounding footsteps as they chased him down the slope, the sound of their own makeshift arrows flying overhead.

He artfully dodged them.

The Ironwood clan had specialized in making and wielding the legendary Illyrian bows, so it came as no surprise that they'd crafted finer weapons beyond the crude clubs and poorly knapped daggers he'd seen in abundance.

One arrow whistled past his ear, eliciting a curse as he willed strength to his legs and began to move more erratically, back and forth.

A moving target was a difficult target.

Deviating far to the left he shot off into the wood and began to loop around, easily losing them as they shouted at one another, looking for him.

They'd stopped in a clearing, the snow crunching beneath their feet as they circled back to back looking for him. He stepped into the shadow of one of the great pines, waiting, counting.

He saw their movements, the way they held their weapons offensively, with no intentions of using a defensive maneuver. An easy guard to break through.

Ducking behind the pine he hid and waited for their gaze to drift. He'd need to herd them deeper into the woods to separate them. Bracing himself, he snapped a twig loudly beneath his foot before shooting off into the frozen forest.

This bastard has the stamina of a mountain goat, Valka thought sourly as she curved along the outside of the glen Cenric had disappeared into in a flash of shadow, his footsteps sending him deep into the ancient forest.

She'd be surprised if he'd even slept in the last few days.

She certainly hadn't while trying to keep up with him and track his movements. He'd appeared to materialize in and out of existence in a way that made Valka wonder if some small dreg of his power remained.

He moved like the shadowsinger.

He'd been relentless, picking off warrior after warrior so thoroughly she was beginning to wonder if he'd let anyone walk off the mountain alive. Even the warriors who had remained loyal to his court.

They hadn't encountered any of them, yet.

Valka assumed that they had enough sense to stay the hell out of the pup's path as he carved a trail of bloodied corpses and snapped sinew. She still shuddered at the image, tucking her own pair of wings closer, the membrane growing raw and sore where the bindings dug in ever more tightly each day.

She'd have to soak them for a week to relieve the ache once she got back to camp. That was if she got back to camp.

At the rate she was going trying to keep up with the dapper prince she wasn't sure she'd even have the energy to haul her ass up that ridiculous mountain at the end of this escapade.

She was half tempted to give up on this mission of hers and just find herself a nice, dry, warm cave to hunker down in until the Rite ended. As much as the idea appealed to her, she knew she couldn't. This would be her only chance to get him alone.

Glancing around, she looked for the tracks she'd being following and soundly cursed herself as she realized she'd veered away from them.

Annoyance filtered through her and she growled. She'd lost sight of his trail entirely, his footsteps so light in the snow that they barely left indentions. She must have missed them further back when he had started to swerve off in the opposite direction, racing into the dense, overgrown forest.

He was leading them all on a wild goose chase.

She'd need to find his path again.

Pausing, she vaulted up the base of the ancient evergreen nearest her, quickly scaling to the top. The branches tore at her as she settled on a large limb, ignoring the prickles of conifer needles digging into her leathers as she gripped the tree tightly with her thighs.

The icy air stung her eyes as she surveyed the area around the tree, a dense, tightly packed forest that was littered with small, splintered boulders: impossible to move through without leaving a trail. There should have been at least some broken branches or disturbed leaf litter.

She saw none.

He really was nothing more than a wraith.

Shifting her view, she spotted the Ironwood clan warriors Cenric had ambushed earlier slowly picking their way through the glen, their hulking forms casting long shadows in the fading evening light. They hadn't given up the chase. Their footsteps were slow and calculated as they leisurely picked after the male, hunting him with a laziness that made Valka uneasy.

They would be tricky ones to kill, with their archery skills and endurance that was renowned throughout the entirety of Illyria.

Their hunting and tracking were second to none.

She knew because she and her mother had originated from that clan. The clan that had hosted the birth of the seven great warriors who had stood before Rhysand and rebelled, where her brother Silbah had been reared, tailored to the role of prince.

It surprised her that the shadowsinger hadn't already eliminated what remained of them.

Then again, some had sworn their allegiance against her brother and had fought him when he'd tried to take Illyria. It was the only reason she and her mother still breathed, the only reason they'd been spared when Rhysand had rained hell down upon them.

So much for that allegiance now, she thought briskly as she watched them stalk across the snow, barely more than black dots on a white canvas. They would have been wise to have killed them all.

She knew Cenric had gotten lucky with the well-placed arrows he had hit the group's leader and scout with, two shots that would not be made that easily again. He had only kicked the beasts away, tempting them with a chase they were happy to give.

He didn't realize he wasn't the only one who enjoyed the hunt.

The boy was strong and clever, but too arrogant to realize that some of the warriors had spent their life in territories like this, bred and honed in the cold, tempered like the sharpest steel. Not cloistered in a warm Estate with down beds and silks.

Still, he'd held his own.

Valka watched as the tallest of the group, Durek if she recalled correctly, knelt about five hundred yards away from her, tentatively picking at the snow.

The spot where she'd lost his trail.

They knew Cenric was leading them in circles, trying to disorient them and wear them down. The male smiled and lazily rose, holding a hand up to his companions and motioning them to follow east of the trail, back towards where a shallow brook curled through the wood.

Valka immediately realized they were planning to use the water to cover their own trail, even at risk of hypothermia.

The pup didn't realize they were also baiting him.

(Feyre)

I flew high above the Illyrian Steppes, my heart a thunderous beat inside me as I soared on the vicious winds, bits of ice slicing at my wings as I raced over the peaks. Fear saturated my entire being as I frantically looked around, willing some sign of him to appear.

I had to find Cenric immediately, all honor be damned.

I would not lose my son, I would not lose my other child.

Elaine's prophecy clanged violently through me, dread saturating my soul.

"A dark grey wolf hunts through the forest alone, killing dogs and darting into the shadows. He runs down a great valley, encircling a pack and nipping at their heels as he drives them back against an ancient tree, but they soon realize he is alone and overwhelm him. He faces grave danger. The wolf is cornered and injured, bleeding heavily. A great hawk flies overhead, watching. The wolf will perish without the hawk."

It felt as though ice had been poured in my veins as I'd heard the words slip past my sister's mouth, her lips raw from where she'd been chewing at them in worry. She said without intervention that he would die, tears dribbling down her cheeks.

I hadn't had time to respond, had only winnowed from the estate to the mountain passes above Ramiel and began the frantic search for my son.

Rhys had felt my panic down the bond the second I'd winnowed, alert with anxiety in his voice as he asked me what was going on. I hadn't bothered to respond, I'd shut him out.

I'd shut everything out, everything except for the thought of my son cornered and wounded. The images of his brutalized body threatened to tear me asunder, I shoved them down violently, nearly choking on the fright that filled me.

I didn't have the time to explain or argue, I had to move quickly.

I couldn't sense him: without his magic, he was as good as invisible to me. I'd have to track him in the way that only I could in the snow, the way I had tracked game so many years ago to keep my sisters and father alive.

This time I wouldn't be hunting for my survival out of a sense of duty, instead it would be out of love for the piece of my heart that I could not bear to lose. Gliding over a valley I saw a pack of warriors moving through the snow, a scrawny deer slung between them.

But no Cenric.

My heart jumped further into my throat.

One of the warriors glanced up, watching me circle to and fro, and immediately turned his attention back to his kill. He had only seen a white-tailed hawk flitting above, looking for its next meal. Not a desperate mother searching for her child.

They would not be made aware of my presence, I'd leave my son that much honor.

Circling over the valley, I shot into the sky. I wouldn't stop until I found him.