A Court of Wings and Ruin Page 12

  As if he’d known that it was a very real possibility that this scenario would one day happen.

  Eris had bound my limbs, but—I could still move them. Still use parts of my magic.

  And getting him off balance long enough to let go, to let Cassian jump between us and take on the High Lord’s son …

  Towering over me, Eris didn’t so much as glance down as I twisted, spinning on the ice, and slammed my bound legs up between his.

  He lurched, bending over with a grunt.

  Right into the fisted, bound hands I drove into his nose. Bone crunched, and his hand sprang free of my hair.

  I rolled, scrambling away. Cassian was already there.

  Eris hardly had time to draw his sword as Cassian brought his own down upon him.

  Steel against steel rang out across the ice. Sentries on the shore unleashed arrows of wood and magic—only to bounce against a shield of blue.

  Azriel. Across the ice, he and Lucien were engaging the other two brothers. That any of Lucien’s siblings held out against the Illyrians was a testament to their own training, but—

  I focused the ice in my veins on the gag in my mouth, the binds around my wrists and ankles. Ice to smother fire, to sing it to sleep …

  Cassian and Eris clashed, danced back, clashed again.

  Ropes of fire snapped free, dissolving with a hiss of steam.

  I was on my feet again, reaching for a weapon I did not have. My daggers had been lost forty feet away.

  Cassian got past Eris’s guard with brutal efficiency. And Eris screamed as the Illyrian blade punched through his gut.

  Blood, red as rubies, stained the ice and snow.

  For a heartbeat, I saw how it would play out: three of Beron’s sons dead at our hands. A temporary satisfaction for me, five centuries of satisfaction for Cassian, Azriel, and Mor, but if Beron still debated what side to support in this war …

  I had other weapons to use.

  “Stop,” I said.

  The word was a soft, cold command.

  And Azriel and Cassian obeyed.

  Lucien’s other two brothers were back-to-back, bloody and gaping. Lucien himself was panting, sword still raised, as Azriel flicked the blood off his own blade and stalked toward me.

  I met the hazel eyes of the shadowsinger. The cool face that hid such pain—and kindness. He had come. Cassian had come.

  The Illyrians fell into place beside me. Eris, a hand pressed to his gut, was breathing wetly, glaring at us.

  Glaring—then considering. Watching the three of us as I said to Eris, to his other two brothers, to the sentries on the shore, “You all deserve to die for this. And for much, much more. But I am going to spare your miserable lives.”

  Even with a wound through his gut, Eris’s lip curled.

  Cassian snarled his warning.

  I only removed the glamour I’d kept on myself these weeks. With the sleeve of my jacket and shirt gone, there was nothing but smooth skin where that wound had been. Smooth skin that now became adorned with swirls and whorls of ink. The markings of my new title—and my mating bond.

  Lucien’s face drained of color as he strode for us, stopping a healthy distance from Azriel’s side.

  “I am High Lady of the Night Court,” I said quietly to them all.

  Even Eris stopped sneering. His amber eyes widened, something like fear now creeping into them.

  “There’s no such thing as a High Lady,” one of Lucien’s brothers spat.

  A faint smile played on my mouth. “There is now.”

  And it was time for the world to know it.

  I caught Cassian’s gaze, finding pride glimmering there—and relief.

  “Take me home,” I ordered him, my chin high and unwavering. Then to Azriel, “Take us both home.” I said to the Autumn Court’s scions, “We’ll see you on the battlefield.”

  Let them decide whether it was better to be fighting beside us or against us.

  I turned to Cassian, who opened his arms and tucked me in tight before launching us skyward in a blast of wings and power. Beside us, Azriel and Lucien did the same.

  When Eris and the others were nothing but specks of black on white below, when we were sailing high and fast, Cassian observed, “I don’t know who looks more uncomfortable: Az or Lucien Vanserra.”

  I chuckled, glancing over my shoulder to where the shadowsinger carried my friend, both of them making a point not to speak, look, or talk. “Vanserra?”

  “You never knew his family name?”

  I met those laughing, fierce hazel eyes.

  Cassian’s smile softened. “Hello, Feyre.”

  My throat tightened to the point of pain, and I threw my arms around his neck, embracing him tightly.

  “I missed you, too,” Cassian murmured, squeezing me.

  We flew until we reached the border of the sacred, eighth territory. And when Cassian set us down in a snowy field before the ancient wood, I took one look at the blond female in Illyrian leathers pacing between the gnarled trees and launched into a sprint.

  Mor held me as tightly as I gripped her.

  “Where is he?” I asked, refusing to let go, to lift my head from her shoulder.

  “He—it’s a long story. Far away, but racing home. Right now.” Mor pulled back enough to scan my face. Her mouth tightened at the lingering injuries, and she gently scraped away flecks of dried blood caked on my ear. “He picked up on you—the bond—minutes ago. The three of us were closest. I winnowed in Cassian, but with Eris and the others there …” Guilt dimmed her eyes. “Relations with the Winter Court are strained—we thought if I was out here on the border, it might keep Kallias’s forces from looking south. At least long enough to get you.” And to avoid an interaction with Eris that Mor was perhaps not ready for.

  I shook my head at the shame still shadowing her usually bright features. “I understand.” I embraced her again. “I understand.”

  Mor’s answering squeeze was rib-crushing.

  Azriel and Lucien landed, plumes of snow spraying in the former’s wake. Mor and I released each other at last, my friend’s face going grave as she sized up Lucien. Snow and blood and dirt coated him—coated us both.

  Cassian explained to Mor, “He fought against Eris and the other two.”

  Mor’s throat bobbed, noting the blood staining Cassian’s hands—realizing it wasn’t his own. Scenting it, no doubt, as she blurted, “Eris. Did you—”

  “He remains alive,” Azriel answered, shadows curling around the clawed tips of his wings, so stark against the snow beneath our boots. “So do the others.”

  Lucien was glancing between all of them, wary and quiet. What he knew of Mor’s history with his eldest brother … I’d never asked. Never wanted to.

  Mor tossed her mass of golden waves over a shoulder. “Then let’s go home.”

  “Which one?” I asked carefully.

  Mor swept her attention over Lucien once more. I almost pitied Lucien for the weight in her gaze, the utter judgment. The stare of the Morrigan—whose gift was pure truth.

  Whatever she beheld in Lucien was enough for her to say, “The town house. You have someone waiting there for you.”

  CHAPTER

  14

  I had not let myself imagine it: the moment I’d again stand in the wood-paneled foyer of the town house. When I’d hear the song of the gulls soaring high above Velaris, smell the brine of the Sidra River that wended through the heart of the city, feel the warmth of the sunshine streaming through the windows upon my back.

  Mor had winnowed us all, and now stood behind me, panting softly, as we watched Lucien survey our surroundings.

  His metal eye whirred, while the other warily scanned the rooms flanking the foyer: the dining room and sitting room overlooking the little front yard and street; then the stairs to the second level; then the hallway beside it that led to the kitchen and courtyard garden.

  Then finally to the shut front door. To the city waiting beyond.

&nb
sp; Cassian took up a place against the banister, crossing his arms with an arrogance I knew meant trouble. Azriel remained beside me, shadows wreathing his knuckles. As if battling High Lords’ sons was how they usually spent their days.

  I wondered if Lucien knew that his first words here would either damn or save him. I wondered what my role in it would be.

  No—it was my call.

  High Lady. I—outranked them, my friends. It was my call to make whether Lucien was allowed to keep his freedom.

  But their watchful silence was indication enough: let him decide his own fate.

  At last, Lucien looked at me. At us.

  He said, “There are children laughing in the streets.”

  I blinked. He said it with such … quiet surprise. As if he hadn’t heard the sound in a long, long time.

  I opened my mouth to reply, but someone else spoke for me.

  “That they do so at all after Hybern’s attack is testament to how hard the people of Velaris have worked to rebuild.”

  I whirled, finding Amren emerging from wherever she’d been sitting in the other room, the plush furniture hiding her small body.

  She appeared exactly as she had the last time I’d seen her: standing in this very foyer, warning us to be careful in Hybern. Her chin-length, jet-black hair gleamed in the sunlight, her silver, unearthly eyes unusually bright as they met mine.

  The delicate female bowed her head. As much of a gesture of obedience as a fifteen-thousand-year-old creature would make to a newly minted High Lady. And friend. “I see you brought home a new pet,” she said, nose crinkling with distaste.

  Something like fear had entered Lucien’s eye, as if he, too, beheld the monster that lurked beneath that beautiful face.

  Indeed, it seemed he had heard of her already. Before I could introduce him, Lucien bowed at the waist. Deeply. Cassian let out an amused grunt, and I shot him a warning glare.

  Amren smiled slightly. “Already trained, I see.”

  Lucien slowly straightened, as if he were standing before the open maw of some great plains-cat he did not wish to startle with sudden movements.

  “Amren, this is Lucien … Vanserra.”

  Lucien stiffened. “I don’t use my family’s name.” He clarified to Amren with another incline of his head, “Lucien will do.”

  I suspected he’d ceased using that name the moment his lover’s heart had stopped beating.

  Amren was studying that metal eye. “Clever work,” she said, then surveyed me. “Looks like someone clawed you up, girl.”

  The wound in my arm, at least, had healed, though a nasty red mark remained. I assumed my face wasn’t much better. Before I could answer her, Lucien asked, “What is this place?”

  We all looked at him. “Home,” I said. “This is—my home.”

  I could see the details now sinking in. The lack of darkness. The lack of screaming. The scent of the sea and citrus, not blood and decay. The laughter of children that indeed continued.

  The greatest secret in Prythian’s history.

  “This is Velaris,” I explained. “The City of Starlight.”

  His throat bobbed. “And you are High Lady of the Night Court.”

  “Indeed she is.”

  My blood stopped at the voice that drawled from behind me.

  At the scent that hit me, awoke me. My friends began smiling.

  I turned.

  Rhysand leaned against the archway into the sitting room, arms crossed, wings nowhere to be seen, dressed in his usual immaculate black jacket and pants.

  And as those violet eyes met mine, as that familiar half smile faded …

  My face crumpled. A small, broken noise cracked from me.

  Rhys was instantly moving, but my legs had already given out. The foyer carpet cushioned the impact as I sank to my knees.

  I covered my face with my hands while the past month crashed into me.

  Rhys knelt before me, knee to knee.

  Gently, he pulled my hands away from my face. Gently, he took my cheeks in his hands and brushed away my tears.

  I didn’t care that we had an audience as I lifted my head and beheld the joy and concern and love shining in those remarkable eyes.

  Neither did Rhys as he murmured, “My love,” and kissed me.

  I’d no sooner slid my hands into his hair than he scooped me into his arms and stood in one smooth movement. I pulled my mouth from his, glancing toward a pallid Lucien, but Rhysand said to our companions without so much as looking at them, “Go find somewhere else to be for a while.”

  He didn’t wait to see if they obeyed.

  Rhys winnowed us up the stairs and launched into a steady, swift walk down the hallway. I peered down at the foyer in time to spy Mor grabbing Lucien’s arm and nodding to the others before they all vanished.

  “Do you want to go over what happened at the Spring Court?” I asked, voice raw, as I studied my mate’s face.

  No amusement, nothing but that predatory intensity, focused on my every breath. “There are other things I’d rather do first.”

  He carried me into our bedroom—once his room, now full of our belongings. It was exactly as I’d last seen it: the enormous bed that he now strode for, the two armoires, the desk by the window that overlooked the courtyard garden now bursting with purple and pink and blue amid the lush greens.

  I braced myself to be sprawled on the bed, but Rhys paused halfway across the room, the door snicking shut on a star-kissed wind.

  Slowly, he set me on the plush carpet, blatantly sliding me down his body as he did so. As if he was as powerless to resist touching me, as reluctant to let go as I was with him.

  And every place where our bodies met, all of him so warm and solid and real … I savored it, my throat tight as I placed a hand on his sculpted chest, the thunderous heartbeat beneath his black jacket echoing into my palm. The only sign of whatever torrent coursed through him as he skimmed his hands up my arms in a lingering caress and gripped my shoulders.

  His thumbs stroked a gentle rhythm over my filthy clothes as he scanned my face.

  Beautiful. He was even more beautiful than I had remembered, dreamed of during those weeks at the Spring Court.

  For a long moment, we only breathed in each other’s air. For a long moment, all I could do was take the scent of him deep into my lungs, letting it settle inside me. My fingers tightened on his jacket.

  Mate. My mate.

  As if he’d heard it down the bond, Rhys finally murmured, “When the bond went dark, I thought …” Fear—genuine terror shadowed his eyes, even as his thumbs continued stroking my shoulders, gentle and steady. “By the time I got to the Spring Court, you’d vanished. Tamlin was raging through that forest, hunting for you. But you hid your scent. And even I couldn’t—couldn’t find you—”

  The snag in his words was a knife to my gut. “We went to the Autumn Court through one of the doors,” I said, setting my other hand on his arm. The corded muscles beneath shifted at my touch. “You couldn’t find me because two Hybern commanders drugged my food and drink with faebane—enough to extinguish my powers. I—I still don’t have full use.”

  Cold rage now flickered across that beautiful face as his thumbs halted on my shoulders. “You killed them.”

  Not entirely a question, but I nodded.

  “Good.”

  I swallowed. “Has Hybern sacked the Spring Court?”

  “Not yet. Whatever you did … it worked. Tamlin’s sentries abandoned him. Over half his people refused to appear for the Tithe two days ago. Some are leaving for other courts. Some are murmuring of rebellion. It seems you made yourself quite beloved. Holy, even.” Amusement at last warmed his features. “They were rather upset when they believed he’d allowed Hybern to terrorize you into fleeing.”

  I traced the faint silver whorl of embroidery on the breast of his jacket, and I could have sworn he shuddered beneath the touch. “I suppose they’ll learn soon enough I’m well cared for.” Rhys’s hands tightened on
my shoulders in agreement, as if he were about to show me just how well cared for I was, but I angled my head. “What about Ianthe—and Jurian?”

  Rhysand’s powerful chest heaved beneath my hand as he blew out a breath. “Reports are murky on both. Jurian, it seems, has returned to the hand that feeds him. Ianthe …” Rhys lifted his brows. “I assume her hand is courtesy of you, and not the commanders.”

  “She fell,” I said sweetly.

  “Must have been some fall,” he mused, a dark smile dancing on those lips as he drifted even closer, the heat of his body seeping into me while his hands migrated from my shoulders to brush lazy lines down my back. I bit my lip, focusing on his words and not the urge to arch into the touch, to bury my face in his chest and do some exploring of my own. “She’s currently convalescing after her ordeal, apparently. Won’t leave her temple.”

  It was my turn to murmur, “Good.” Perhaps one of those pretty acolytes of hers would get sick of her sanctimonious bullshit and smother Ianthe in her sleep.

  I braced my hands on his hips, fully ready to slide beneath his jacket, needing to touch bare skin, but Rhys straightened, pulling back. Still close enough that one of his hands remained on my waist, but the other—

  He reached for my arm, gently examining the angry welt where my skin had been torn by an arrow. Darkness rumbled in the corner of the room. “Cassian let me into his mind just now—to show me what happened on the ice.” He stroked a thumb over the hurt, the touch featherlight. “Eris was always a male of limited days. Now Lucien might find himself closer to inheriting his father’s throne than he ever expected to be.”

  My spine locked. “Eris is precisely as horrible as you painted him to be.”

  Rhys’s thumb glided over my forearm again, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. A promise—not of the retribution he was contemplating, but of what awaited us in this room. The bed a few feet away. Until he murmured, “You declared yourself High Lady.”

  “Was I not supposed to?”

  He released my arm to brush his knuckles across my cheek. “I’ve wanted to roar it from the rooftops of Velaris from the moment the priestess anointed you. How typical of you to upend my grand plans.”