19 YEARS TRAPPED
“Left! Right! Left! Right!”
A cool autumn breeze tickled the sweat on Cassian’s bare chest as he walked down row after row of faeries. He gently corrected where needed, gave praise when it was due, and called out directions again and again. The children were the most disciplined of the lot, but even they were starting to glance towards the clock tower to the east, counting down the last moments of their lesson.
“Face forward!” he called to no one in particular. Heads snapped back and several faeries struck at the air with renewed effort.
Fifteen years ago, when Azriel convinced him to take up the mission of training Velaris’ citizens, Cassian thought he’d arrive in the park to ten, maybe twenty school-aged children whose parents wanted some peace and quiet. What he was met by were several hundred faeries crammed into the same small field.
Now he taught three classes a day for an hour each, with different groups every single day of the week. Not a single faerie ever complained about the grueling workouts or sometimes painful injuries they sustained on sparring days- they all knew damn well what was happening outside the city. They didn’t feel the roaring in their blood like Cassian did, they didn’t hear the battle call of the Illyrian generals, but they all were keenly aware of the armies sweeping across Prythian. Of the thousands- millions- now suffering beneath Amarantha’s rule…
Not to mention all those in Velaris who’d watched Rhysand grow up, who knew and loved their High Lord and could not stand the thought of him imprisoned while they did nothing. Training for battle was little comfort- but when there was so little comfort to be had in the first place, you took what you could get.
The ten o’clock bell began to chime at long last. Still, the faeries kept at their work until Cassian at last raised his hand, “We’re done for today. Next week is sparring, be warned!” He waited and at last flashed a grin as no one moved. They were trained to wait for his final question before leaving, “If the High Lord asks, how did you learn to fight?”
“NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUSINESS!” No one in the crowd shouted louder than the children, who jumped up and punched the air to accentuate the curse word. Many were so young that it was weeksbefore he’d convinced them that in class- in that one single answer- they were permitted to use ‘grown-up words’.
He got a lot of complaints from parents.
All went ignored.
Cassian walked through the dissipating faerie horde back to where his bag- and shirt- were sitting. Morning training was nothing new to him, a simple tradition. From the park each day he grabbed brunch and ate on the way to inspect his various defense systems, then settled in to work where needed.
A small crew of wretches were now in his employ, teams guided by either an architect or builder with a clear plan of the city’s newer defenses. Hidden in many rooftops now were carefully concealed footholds where archers could take up positions and a few dozen expertly hidden ballistae. The walls had been reinforced with guard towers Rhys would no-doubt notice, bells made from melted old swords could chime a warning from one end of the city to the other in seconds, and thousands of drums of explosive powder were sitting carefully preserved in a tunnel sealed by Amren herself. Cassian almost wishedsomeone would attack, if only to see Velaris rise up-
-and so he could blow a bit of steam off as well.
“Tomato, onion, basil, and a sprinkling of parmesan.” Cassian called to a high-fae male in a street stall as he approached.
The male immediately picked up a large bowl of pre-mixed eggs and ladled some onto a hot pan. While Cassian fished some coins out of his bag, the male began chopping ingredients for his omelet. “How did class go today?”
“Fine, I think we’re going to be spending our next four classes sparring, so warn your niece to go easy on the others. My goal this time is no broken jaws among the teenage fae.”
The male snorted and carefully flipped Cassian’s omelet, then began adding the extra ingredients, “One day she’ll realize she’s just been flirting with Turi all this time. Mark my words- those two are going to turn out to be mates. They hate each other too much to be anything less.”
“Agreed. Why do you think I keep pairing them together?” Cassian tossed his coins in a jar as the male began to roll his omelet into a tube and slipped it into a paper napkin.
“Keep doing that, Turi’s mother and my sister are already planning the wedding. Sure, they’re only twelve, but it’s never too early to start playing matchmaker. Here you go, see you tomorrow.” The male smiled as he passed Cassian his breakfast.
“See you tomorrow!” Cassian laughed and headed off into Velaris.
Every day he took the same alleys through the city towards the Sidra, even if it meant going ten minutes out of his way. While he walked he enjoyed his omelet, called greetings, snapped retorts at teasing faeries, and let the shadow in his eyes lift- if only for the morning.
The last fifteen years had been brighter than the first four, but every day was still its own challenge. The strain was a constant companion, one Cassian couldn’t imagine living without anymore. Five hundred years… how did the last nineteen manage to feel like five thousand?
Cassian focused on the feeling of cool autumn air against his skin and willed his blood to cool.
WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT IT DID TO MOR, BEING TRAPPED IN HERE WHILE YOU WERE-
He took a deep breath and looked up between the houses to examine the cloudless blue sky, to watch the birds above, and let the sound of the distant ocean reach his ears.
YOU KNOW WHAT AMREN’S CAPABLE OF YOU GODS-DAMNED FOOL- HOW DID YOU DECIDE SHE WASN’T USEFUL AT YOUR SIDE?! SHE COULD HAVE SLAUGHTERED AMARANTHA A HUNDRED TIMES BY-
Cassian took another breath and listened instead to the low rumble of life around him- of Velaris taking in another perfect fall day. He could hear street vendors calling to one another, gossip and chatter drifting out the windows- even the rare cry of a babe.
AZRIEL HIDES IT, BUT HE’S AS BROKEN AS MOR! THERE’S NOTHING IN HIS EYES ANYMORE- NO LIGHT, NO LIFE, THEY’RE JUST DEAD AND EMPTY, BUT HE WON’T ADMIT IT TO ANYONE! ONE OF THESE DAYS HE’S GOING TO SNAP AND-
Cassian stopped walking and began counting backwards from one hundred, willing himself to see and hear the life around him.
WHAT ABOUT ME? One hundred. WE WERE SUPPOSED TO BE- ninety nine- BROTHERS- I WAS –ninety eight- DROWNING WITHOUT ANY HOPE- ninety seven-, I’M STILL DROWNING- ninety six-, AND YOU’RE OFF PLAYING COURT JESTER- ninety five- WITH THAT FUCKING BITCH-
Somewhere in the forties, Cassian finally stopped hearing it in his mind- the argument he was going to have with Rhys the second those shields vanished. Rage helped nothing, not while he was still trapped. His grievances couldn’t be aired, and so they kept swirling in his mind, poisoning him. In those first four years he’d let the poison seep into his very soul. He wouldn’t let that happen again.
Would you rather see him reappear safe and happy, hollow and aching, or would you rather that shield came down right now and Amarantha drop his mangled corpse on the city as her legions sweep in?
Cassian spoke to his own mind now, soothing the raging in his soul back. The truth was, he didn’t think he wanted to know what sort of shape Rhysand was in. If he was happy, Cassian might just kill the bastard to repay everything the Inner Circle had gone through- was still going through. If he was broken, guilt for all those imaginary fights might bury Cassian alive. If Rhys was dead-
If he was dead, then Cassian would turn Under the Mountain into a crater with every last ounce of power in his veins. What he would unleash on Amarantha even Amren would have to marvel at… and that explosion of power was not one Cassian would come back from. He’d follow Rhys into the afterlife and kick his damned ass there.
He never wanted to know how Rhys was fairing. He’d sell his soul for even a glimpse at his brother.
Some days were easier than others. This wasn’t turning out to be one of the easier days.
Slowly the cry of distant seagulls surrounded Cassian, calling him back from that raging tempest in his mind. He let them draw his steps forward once more, towards the calls of farmers along the banks of the Sidra.
When he emerged from between two buildings, Cassian was greeted by Mor’s project. If Cassian was to vent his frustration and rage teaching faeries how to fight, Mor had found her own balance in saving Velaris itself.
The Sidra crept slowly, its upper currents slowed by a small army of gifted water-inclined fae working in shifts day and night. Loose wooden rafts swayed in the water, each filled with crops and herbs.
That was what Amren had shown Mor that night Cassian had moved in with Azriel. She’d found the story of an ancient city built on top of a lake- and how they’d used that lake to their advantage by making it into farmland.
Each raft was nearly the width of the Sidra itself, and at least twenty feet long. Nets beneath the water’s surface held a layer of rock and stone that was topped with thick chunks of wood. On top of that soggy wood, above the surface of the water, was another layer of rock, then a thick layer of dirt into which the crops were planted. Their roots tangled into the Sidra below, and a bit of carefully applied magic and science helped make up for any missing nutrients. Mor had taken a river and turned it into wheat fields and herb gardens. She’d also built a network of underground tunnels, employed several more faerie farmers gifted with green thumbs (some literally), and beneath the surface of Velaris they’d managed to grow barley, flax, tomatoes, and- most importantly- grapes for wine. Now, instead of asking the fae to stop trying to conceive their precious young, there was actually a surplus of food for Velaris’ population. Mor had already dared plant a few caverns of flowers, just so that some light and color could be brought up into the city above and those without gardens to tend.
As much time as he spent arguing with Rhys in his mind, Cassian smiled at the thought of how that ass would respond to everything Mor and Amren had accomplished in only fifteen years. Fifteen endless, agonizing years full of more pain than Cassian had felt in centuries- but also more innovation, brilliance, and beauty.
So Cassian went out of his way every single day to walk along the Sidra and marvel at the farms planted there, and the promise of life they offered. He let the sun tan his skin, warm his wings, and watched farmers bringing in their harvests. There was time, perhaps, for a simple crop of late-blooming squash for winter soups before those rafts would be brought ashore and tied down for the winter.
Then the Sidra would host ice skating parties and races, then Velaris would lose itself to games and revelries until the spring came and it was time to get back to work. Only the caverns beneath Velaris could grow food year round, thanks to the magics at work. Cassian’s classes would likewise move underground in the winter chill, and afterwards he’d wander through those chambers and let the simple miracle of what Mor had accomplished give him strength.
“How is it going?” Cassian looked up to see one of his crews on the roof of a nearby building, adding in the archer footholds he’d ordered.
“Fine enough. I think we’ll get another eight houses outfitted today.” One of the males called down.
He’d been a street wretch when Cassian employed him. The male sometimes had trouble retaining information, and had a habit of talking to himself. He’d ended up on the fringes of Velaris, begging for coin or work. All it took was a patient mentor and a bit of repetition for him to pick up what he needed to learn. Cassian’s overseers on each crew had made a project of every poor, disenfranchised fae he brought to them, and now his team was respected and admired for their efforts to protect Velaris.
“That’s fantastic, keep up the good work!” Cassian waved with a smile and the male returned to work. He had another crew working on houses in the Rainbow that he visited, then ducked towards the western wall of the city to check on the new guard tower there. His other crews were underground, slowly connecting the four palaces deep beneath the surface of Velaris (deeper even than Mor’s farms), creating a network of reinforced evacuation tunnels.
Cassian had spent several months blasting at the rock until he was drained of both magic and physical strength. He told the others it was scouting for his evacuation tunnels, but they knew the truth” he’d been seeing if it was possible to tunnel beneath the shield around the city.
Fortunately for the people of Velaris, unfortunately for him, the shield extended into the earth with no end.
Rhys isn’t stupid… the stupid prick.
Within the next few months, Cassian would be beneath the surface of the earth for days on end, training and digging endlessly. Once thatwas done, he’d need to return to Azriel’s map and find his next project. Hopefully a big one, something to occupy his mind for a few years more. The Rainbow was woefully undefended, perhaps something could be done there without spoiling the innocence of the artists inside and turning their world into a military instillation…
Cassian reached the edge of a quarry and handed his bag to a winged faerie who in turn gave him a pickaxe. The quarry was up against one of the mountains that pinned Velaris in, and though they’d reached the edge of the shield already, the quarry could go deeper and deeper as needed. They’d even discovered a healthy vein of iron that ran through the rocks. What was mined supported the daily uses of Velaris, but Cassian had negotiated a deal with the master stonemason where anything he mined went to a smelter and blacksmith in his employ to build whatever he needed.
It was incredibly slow work, considering he was the only one mining the ore, but that just meant he wouldn’t have to think about doing anything else for a long, long time… As much as it hurt to think about the shields lasting another second, it helped to plan months or even years down the road. It gave him something to work towards.
So Cassian swung his pickaxe and ferried chunks of rock and metal to his own little mining cart, far from the stone carvers. He let his muscles warm back up, let the sweat begin to bead once more, and let the racing of his heart burn away all thought save for that of his task.
Hit. Hit. Hit. Hit.
The heft of his pickaxe was a now-familiar one, and Cassian let it slowly drain the rage and wrath from his muscles as he swung. His heart raced, the cry of metal against stone turned into a strange sort of music, and Cassian’s mind was lulled into a comfortable, numb silence.
No one bothered him, no one ever did. As well as he thought he hid the rage and pain from the citizens of Velaris, they knew the Inner Circle wasn’t happy. They knew that, for all the love his people held for him, Rhysand’s absence was felt by none more keenly than his friends. If Cassian was willing to work alone, they’d leave him to his peace. They humored every new defense he added to the walls, they let their children train at dawn before classes to fight a war that would probably never reach their walls, and they greeted him only with smiles and a wave when he was walking through the streets.
Cassian had his solitude, but when he ventured to the bars alone he was soon swarmed by laughing, joking fae who managed to ease his mood. If the clothier who’s shop was across from Mor’s apartment didn’t see her leave for a day or two, the baker down the street suddenly found themselves with an overabundance of Mor’s favorite muffins and delivered them personally- purely in the interest of preventing waste. When the light had flickered out in Azriel’s eyes, an underground conspiracy suddenly bubbled up- one so convoluted and nonsensical, Azriel still hadn’t found the end of it.
As for Amren- they mostly just plied her with new ways to season and spice blood. Ironically, Amren was the easiest person to draw a smile from.
As much as the Inner Circle protected Velaris, the people of Velaris protected them right back.
Cassian only stopped for a few gulps of water all day, until the sun began to dip behind the western mountains and the clock tower chimed four. The quarry bell rang with it- telling the workers it was no longer deemed safe to dig in the gathering shadow. Cassian’s hands were numb, his arms ached, and a knot of muscle twisted in his back. He ignored it all as he scooped up the ore he’d managed to dislodge, dumped it in his cart, and started the trek back up to the entrance.
His thighs burned, he was soaked in sweat, and covered in so much dirt and debris that even his wings felt heavier-
-but he knew he’d sleep well tonight.
A fae youth noticed how slowly Cassian was pushing his cart- it was grossly overfull. Without a word, he came over and nudged the Illyrian commander aside. Cassian adjusted, tucked his wings in tight to give the boy room, and together they shoved the heavy cart up the track to where one of his blacksmiths was waiting with a wagon and ledger to record the shipment.
“Thank you.” Cassian glanced at the boy. The youth simply nodded and went back to his fellow diggers. He was from one of Cassian’s classes- a mute. Cassian made a mental note to take it easy on his group when they trained in two days.
“Good haul today, huh?” the faerie who’d given him his axe guided the cart over to a large scale. While she calculated the weight of ore and rock he’d extracted, Cassian wiped stinging rivers of sweat from his eyes.
“Yeah, I guess it’s a soft vein.” His voice was hoarse.
“Oh, I doubt that.” She’d been watching- Cassian was swinging that pickaxe like he had a grudge against the mountain.
“You still want this turned into arrowheads for the ballistae? We’ve got around a hundred completed already.” The blacksmith came over to his side.
“No, how many swords can you get?”
The man raised an eyebrow at the load, “If that’s as pure as what we’ve already got stockpiled? Maybe thirty, thirty-five.”
“Do that then, tomorrow we’ll start another stockpile for the usual- nails and hinges. The building supplies are getting low again.” The male nodded at Cassian’s order and made a quick note in his ledger. Velaris had more than enough weapons built up, Cassian had officially begun preparing for war with Hybern. If Rhys escaped or somehow killed Amarantha, that would be their next step.
At least, after Cassian was done kicking his ass.
“Can you handle things here?” he asked the female and male both.
“Yeah, we only need you for the manual labor.” The male clapped him on the shoulder, “Go get some food, drink, and the warmth of a good female’s-“ the faerie weighing the cart coughed and shot the blacksmith a dirty look, “-the warmth of a good female’s heart.” He smiled innocently.
Cassian made to chuckle, though it came out sounding more like a cough, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good night.” He shot the female an apologetic smile.
She just rolled her eyes at the blacksmith and waved to the table she usually sat at, “You know where it is.”
“Thank you.” Cassian walked over to a row of cubbies behind her desk and pulled his bag and shirt from inside. He shrugged the shirt on to cover most of the dirt and walked through the quarry gates back into the city.
Azriel’s ‘hovel’ was only a few blocks away. Cassian spent those blocks furiously flapping his wings to dislodge as much of the dust as possible without taking flight. He’d still have to clean the tub once he was done bathing, but it had become a daily routine, as mindless as swinging that pickaxe.
Cassian kicked what dirt he could from his boots on the porch of the house, even though the first floor was all dust, debris, scum, and old vomit. He shouldered the door open and bolted it behind him. Some magic around the porch seemed to keep the vagabonds outside from noticing Cassian- though he was pretty sure at least half of them were Azriel’s men, likely hanging around waiting to give a report. Cassian wasn’t entirely sure there were homeless in Velaris- so many turned out to be Azriel’s spies.
Unknown to Azriel, at least four of them were involved in keeping alive the ‘conspiracy’ he was having so much trouble unraveling.
“I’m home,” Cassian called from the top of the stairs. He kicked off his shoes on the top of the landing and let them add their unique fragrance to the stench of the false first floor. When he opened the door to Azriel’s main level, he was greeted by the familiar sight of his friend pacing.
“Townhouse.” Azriel pointed to a clock on the wall. Four-thirty.
“Shit, that’s today. Alright, I’ll be fast.”
Once a week, ever since he’d moved in with Azriel, the Inner Circle met at the townhouse for a family dinner and to do some basic cleaning. His obsessive, compulsive need to feel useful in those early years had driven Cassian to clean that townhouse from the ceiling to the foundation. Now it looked less pristine and smelled more… loved.
It was easier since Rhys’ scent had at last faded to a bare whisper. Easier and yet- without even that there, it hardly felt like a home anymore. Still, when he returned it would be to less of a museum or mausoleum…
And then I kick his ass.
Telling himself that time and again made things so much easier.
“Are you alright?” late as Cassian was, Azriel was still pacing, and that wasn’t like him.
“I’m fine.”
“What is it? Az- we don’t keep secrets, remember?” Cassian folded his arms across his chest and waited, “The longer you go without answering me, the more my feet are stinking up the room.”
Azriel stopped pacing and absentmindedly started rubbing at a spot on his chest, “I don’t know what’s going on.”
“It’s called a ‘feeling’, is it a bad one or a good one?”
“Don’t be a prick.” Azriel’s fingers dug into his shirt, as if he could push the feeling away, “I honestly don’t know what it is. Something… Sharp? Edged? Like something is coming… Like an eye is being drawn here.” He shook his head and dropped his hand, “But also like the eye is being drawn from here.”
“I’ll get cleaned up, then we’ll head for the townhouse. Maybe Amren senses it too.” A thrill went through Cassian at the prospect of a threat in Velaris.
He hoped it was a big one.
A very big one.
—
Amren and Mor walked across Velaris in amicable silence. Mor was almost buried under the weight of the parcels she carried, but when Amren offered to help, she’d vehemently refused the offer. What Amren carried in her small hands was far, far too precious. Mor wanted her full and undivided attention on protecting that small bundle.
Amren set aside her quest to cut the Inner Circle’s bond with the shield around the sixth year they’d been trapped. She helped Mor and Cassian with their endeavors as always, but her new research had taken her into the deepest corners of the library- right to the bottom and the creature of shadow that lived there. What she was searching for had been a secret. When she found it ten years ago, it became something precious.
Now she cradled in her hands the greatest gift anyone could ever hope for:
Hope.
Or was it damnation?
Amren’s stomach twisted uncharacteristically as she walked with Mor across the city. What she’d seen, what she was going to show them- it could be more curse than gift. The faeries emotions could be so damn hard to predict, Amren had kept this secret for ten years for a reason, and not just because the spell took so damn long to take root.
Azriel, Cassian, Mor- they’d found the strength to hold on even with the screams that filled their hearts and blood. It was a precarious strength, once destroyed it would never quite rebuild. Azriel especially seemed to be teetering on some precipice the other two simultaneously ignored and flirted with themselves.
Ancient as she was, unfeeling as she pretended to be, worry gnawed at Amren’s gut. Ten years she’d debated telling the others about what magic she’d woken. And what that magic showed her-
It could very well be the nudge that shoved Azriel into a freefall he’d never recover from.
Or it could smother Cassian’s rage in his veins.
Or break Mor beyond repair.
“Hurry up, dinner’s almost ready!” Cassian opened the door as soon as the females were on the front walk, “We were late. You’re very late.”
Mor shoved most of her parcels into Cassian’s arms, “I don’t care. It’s a good day.”
Will she be saying that in an hour?
“What’s that?” Cassian looked at the wrapped bundle in Amren’s arms.
“Something that will wait until after dinner.”
“Fair enough.” He shrugged and stepped aside to admit the females, “Azriel might have something for the two of you to look into. He says something’s coming.”
Amren tapped the parcel with her hand, “I guarantee you he’s worrying over this. It’s fine. Velaris isn’t under attack.”
See- why does he look disappointed?
She stepped around Cassian as his excitement deflated and he kicked the door closed. His wings dipped slightly, his shoulders stooped, and when he went to deposit Mor’s parcels in the sitting room his footsteps were heavy.
“I’ll get this stuff out. We have a few minutes.” Cassian mumbled. Mor quickly went to his side and gave him a light shove, then bent down to help him unpack. Her mood was far brighter, but she knew Amren wouldn’t budge and reveal her surprise until after they’d eaten. Cassian could be disappointed for now, all that would change later on.
At the change of each season, the Inner Circle would change out the decorations in Rhysand’s townhouse to reflect the time of year. While Cassian pulled down blue curtains and wrapped glass seashells of summer for storage, Mor aired out the red and gold drapes to mark autumn. Crystalized leaves and intricately carved amber replaced the shells on the mantle. Sticks of cinnamon, cloves, and dried flowers filled bowls throughout the townhouse- even in Rhysand’s own room.
As Azriel finished preparing dinner, Mor and Cassian ushered in the fall. Amren sat quietly in the corner and stared at the wrapped bundle, debating over and over if she should even reveal it.
Hope… It was hope, but would revealing it to the others be granting them some kind of solace, or ripping apart what little peace of mind they’d found?
“Dinner’s ready.” Azriel’s voice actually managed to surprise Amren. She looked up- if he was standing so close then he must have called a few times. His eyes were dark, numb, though he was trying to hide it. Azriel had let grief and rage smother him, even as he took care of the others.
“Are you going to let them help you?”
Azriel glanced over his shoulder to where Mor and Cassian were filtering into the dining room, following the smell of roasted chicken and greens, “They need me more.”
“Liar.”
“Takes one to know one.” He said simply. Azriel turned and left Amren sitting there.
Fine. Just for that, I’ll see if insanity looks any better in those eyes, Shadowsinger.
—
They dined with minimal chatter.
Mor was too excited, Amren too nervous, Azriel on edge, and Cassian too disappointed to learn he suddenly didn’t have a mysterious enemy to fight. That it was an enemy he’d known about for all of an hour was beside the point. In the Inner Circle’s state, any minor disappointment felt like a crushing blow.
Their happiness was so damn fragile.
Only when the meal was finished, the dishes done, and Cassian had set out hot mugs of tea (and one mug of spiced blood) did Amren lift her parcel onto the table.
Mor’s grin stretched ear-to-ear.
Why did I tell her? Amren sighed, Right, because when I went to meet her she looked like shit.
What she’d given Mor was the best-case-scenario… A way to whisper through the shield.
“I’ve been… waiting to see if this spell would take hold. It’s an old one, designed to spy on only the most powerful of enemies. It takes years- decades to reach full potency, and even then what it offers is limited. This one may never reach full strength, the primary ingredient was almost too far degraded for the spell to even take hold.”
“Is that what I’ve been sensing?” Azriel’s focus was locked on the cloth, as though he could see through to what was inside. His hand was again rubbing at his chest.
“Yes. Once the spell had time to grow, I activated it. It’s like… like opening a window on a cool breeze. The first wave of it across the city is what you felt. That will fade soon enough. I think the last time I saw this magic used the scent took a week to wear off.”
Amren hesitated again, then began to untie the fabric, “I took one of Rhysand’s hairs. The spell requires them to be fresh, and his were already six years old. So… As I said, it may never reach full potency. If it does…”
Her nerves were enough to slowly pull the smile from Mor’s face.
Amren was never nervous, but now she felt like some mortal child. At some point she’d started feeling emotions for these faeries, and those emotions were giving her a distinctly unpleasant sensation where a heart would be on a true living form.
She cleared her throat, “The magic creates a link with Rhysand’s life force- his soul, his fate. Azriel, what you feel in the city is the eye of the Cauldron- divided as it is.”
Cassian’s eyes were wide and over bright. He took a deep, heavy breath, “Can we- can we communicate with him?” he barely risked a whisper. His greatest hope- and worst fear.
“I don’t think it will ever get that strong, I’m sorry.” Amren was already silently cursing the emotion that welled up as she spoke those words, “But… we can see if he’s alright. If he’s happy, or if-“ she swallowed hard, “-would you want to know?” she was holding the fabric on the thing inside tightly, not letting a single glimpse of it escape. She knew already what it would tell them.
“Yes.” Azriel said instantly. Amren looked to read his eyes- there was a flickering light in there. Emotion, where there hadn’t been anything before. He was breathing hard, his hand twitching as if he wanted nothing better than to rip the bundle out of Amren’s hands.
“Yes.” Mor was rubbing at her knuckles, as close as the female would come to wringing her hands.
“Yes.” Cassian was the only one not looking at the bottle. He was staring at Amren directly.
She nodded and looked down, “It’s like a lantern, I was going to sit it on the mantle here. This place- it’s Rhysand’s. Being here could improve the potency of the spell. According to the scrolls, in this rudimentary stage it can only give us a sense of what is inside Rhysand- his mood, his mental state. If it’s ruby-red, that means happiness or love. The darker it is-“ she cleared her throat, “the darker it is the worse it is… Do you still want to see it?”
They didn’t speak. They didn’t have to speak- Amren could see in their eyes that if she walked out with that lantern now, they’d attack her and rip it out of her hands. Her wrath would not be greater than their desperation for whatever that lantern would show.
Amren looked down and slowly pulled the last bit of cloth away.
When she activated the spell, she thought it’d be dark with flashes of red- or red with flashes of darkness. A balance between despair and happiness. Proof that Rhys had found something to keep him going, even trapped in Amarantha’s Court as the Lord of Nightmares.
It was blacker than the shadows that whispered in Azriel’s ear. It was wholly and utterly void of any semblance of life and color. What pulsed softly from that lantern was something dark and dead.
“Don’t touch it,” Amren said softly when Mor reached out, a tear slipping down her cheek. “As the spell strengthens, you might be able to feel some sense of his pain. You don’t- you have enough of your own Morrigan.”
“He’s my kin.” Mor took the lantern from Amren.
What whispered to her from within the darkness was indeed something cold and long dead. It was like a memory of her darkest days after Azriel had found her body on Autumn’s border- a depression so whole and complete, the soul inside could only be starving to death. It ached for a release from the pain that consumed it.
“He can’t hear me?” She looked up to Amren as tears fell. Rhysand’s darkness was overwhelming her heart, but she took it willingly. If it did anything to help him, she would take every drop of that pain and darkness.
“I don’t think so, I’m sorry.” Amren felt that ache again in her chest at the pain on Mor, Cassian, and Azriel’s faces.
Mor looked down and wrapped both arms around the lantern, holding it tightly to her heart, “You are the Lord of Dreams and Starlight. You are kind and brave and true. Velaris is protected. We’re all still here, waiting for you to come back.” She whispered to that darkness with both heart and mind, willing something to get through. “If you break, she wins.” Rhys had said something similar to her once, as she recovered from what Kier and the others in the Hewn City did to her, “Don’t let the bitch win.”
She held the lantern tight and let that icy cold seep into her blood until, at last, Azriel took it from her and stood. He didn’t take the lantern to the mantle, where Amren had intended for it to go. He took it to the seat beside Cassian- the seat no one dared sit in, the one no one acknowledged.
Rhysand’s seat.
“He wouldn’t like being stuck in a room with no life,” Azriel returned to his seat and looked down at his hands. “He’d want to be where we are together the most. That’s here, not in there.”
Amren nodded and reached beneath the table to squeeze Azriel’s knee. He’d hate Mor or Cassian seeing him weak- or what his proud heart deemed weak- but the covert gesture of comfort meant as much to him as anything. A small bit of strength shared from one friend to the other.
Rhysand was suffering.
Cassian had his answer, and if anything he felt guilty for the relief that gave him. He was a shit friend- a disgrace of a brother for thinking it- but knowing their pain was felt by Rhys as well- it was a sick sort of satisfaction that made Cassian’s stomach twist and shudder.
Cassian slammed his hand on the table in his haste to stand as his stomach heaved. He hunched forward and wrestled disgust, shame, guilt, and his dinner back under control. The others looked at him, waiting for the dam to break. Cassian only took several deep breaths and began to count back from one hundred.
Mor reached out to put her hand on his, tears still slipping from her eyes. Cassian flinched at her touch and took a step away.
“Where are you going?” Amren’s voice was as soothing as she was capable of as Cassian took a step away from the lantern and towards the hall.
“Rhys isn’t coming home to a city ready for war- that’s not what he’s going to need.” Cassian’s mind was shooting a thousand different directions.
Hope. Amren had given them hope-
And for Cassian that meant pain as well.
He took a step towards the door, then looked back to the inky depths of the lantern. Cassian snatched it up and held it tight. He stared into it as hard as he could, throwing everything he had at it. That empty, icy room in his mind he’d always left open for Rhysand felt like a crypt, but Cassian stood on the threshold to that room and screamed as loud as he could into the empty void, even as spoke to the lantern.
“Velaris is waiting for you. Come home.”
With that, Cassian set the lantern down and stormed out into the night.
—-
Someone Else was laying naked in the large bed while a female readied for the night’s entertainment in her throne room. Someone Else answered when she spoke with the same teasing glint in their eyes as when she’d been on top of them-
Someone Else did that. Someone. Else.
Not him.
He was the one curled in a ball deep inside Someone Else, legs to his chest, wings wrapped tightly around his body to protect it from that world beyond Someone Else. What she’d done to-
-that wasn’t him. That wasn’t his body. It couldn’t be.
You are the Lord of Dreams and Starlight. You are kind and brave and true. Velaris is protected. We’re all still here, waiting for you to come back. If you break, she wins. Don’t let the bitch win.
He didn’t hear the words, he felt them deep in his heart. A brief flash of golden hair- of warmth and light and color- made him stir. The cocoon he held himself in cracked ever so slightly. Someone Else- they didn’t hear or feel it- they couldn’t. They still had to smile when directed, laugh, tease, maim, scare, hurt, and do things they couldn’t if that cocoon broke.
In that body that wasn’t his- the body he’d never again claim ownership of after what had happened to it- Someone Else’s skin seemed to shift and rumble.
Someone Else felt the stirring of that other male and hurriedly shoved him down, smothered him and beat at him with memories too horrible for the male to face. Someone Else willed that male to slumber, to fade, to die.
Velaris is waiting for you. Come home.
Like the pounding of a drum, a shock ran through Someone Else from the male cocooned so deep inside.
A thousand miles away, somewhere far in the north in a city that had to be forgotten, in a townhouse that fell silent as the visitors filed out, on a dinner table that had seen such happiness, before a seat that had been empty for far too long, a black lantern was sitting.
There was no one to witness the brief rumble of red lightning within as Someone Else shuddered.
Deep within the ruins of Someone Else’s soul, Rhysand began to stir.
ALL COMMENTS LOVED AND CHERISHED (EVEN THE ONES CALLING ME SATAN)!
I promise the next chapter will be more cheerful, I swear!