Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Put that child down. That is no way to hold a toddler.”

Nesta's scolding sneer reached Feyre's ears as she stepped into the backyard of River House. She couldn't help but giggle, pitying the poor soul on the receiving end of Nesta’s sneer. Given the hint of faint amusement in her tone, it could be no one but Cassian who was being chastised by Nesta.

The backyard, if one could call a small forest that was full of towering ancient trees that formed a protective canopy overhead, their branches interwoven like a natural tapestry. The majestic trees that exuded wisdom had survived the devastating attack on Velaris and Elain had spent the last few years treating and healing the trees to the best of her ability.

Sunlight filtered through the lush foliage above, casting a soft, dappled glow over the ground below. Specks of golden light danced through the leaves illuminating patches of emerald grass. The distant sound of the river could be heard, it’s gentle murmurs providing a soothing backdrop.

Or it would’ve been a soothing backdrop, if Nesta and Cassian wouldn’t bicker like an old married couple.

Feyre found them sprawled on a luxurious teal blanket at the center of the grove. Nesta, her blue-grey eyes fixed on Cassian, leaned casually against one of the ancient trees, a book resting in her lap. She was wearing a simple blue gown that was form-fitting, although nothing looked simple on her. Cassian sat across from her on the blanket, his wings lazily dropped on the ground, his amber eyes shimmering with amusement. And there, in his grip, hung Nyx, her toddler son, giggling with joy. Feyre's eyes widened with both shock and amusement as Nyx fluttered his tiny, fragile wings.

"He's fine," Cassian drawled, feigning nonchalance. "I've got him. Besides, he'll probably fly or winnow away if I drop him." He loosened his grip as Nyx slid out of his grasp, only to be caught again by Cassian within seconds. Nesta hurled herself towards them, snarling as she reached for her nephew.

“Do not do that again.”

Cassian leaned back taking both Nyx and himself out of Nesta’s reach.

“You do realize, he is a future High Lord, right? He can probably make the stars catch him if falls.” He grinned, amused by Nesta's fierce protectiveness. Nyx babbled at the mention of the stars, warming Feyre’s heart.

“I do not care if he’s the future High King!” Nesta exclaimed. “As long as I’m responsible for changing his diapers, I will not let a drop of harm come to this child.”

Cassian grinned even wider at her fierce words of protection towards her nephew. They sure had come a long way from Nesta locking away anything and everything she ever felt in an icy iron cage in her deepest self to her openly showing affection to her family.

“Nothing good can come from coddling a male. Look how Rhysand turned out.”

Their heads snapped towards her, and Nyx, recognizing his mother, exclaimed, "Mama!" as he winnowed into Feyre's waiting arms. Feyre chuckled at her son’s display of raw power and pressed a gentle kiss on top of his head, joining Cassian and Nesta on the blanket.

“See?” Cassian gloated pointing at Nyx in Feyre’s arms. Nesta scoffed as she grabbed her book, and leaned against the tree once more.

“Thank god, you’re back.” Elain’s voice drawled from the bushes a few feet away from the blanket. She hadn’t noticed her other sister, kneeling in a bed of planters, kneading the grass with her bare hands. She wore a pastel yellow gown, with a large straw hat holding her soft brown curls back. Her dress, her arms and her face were covered in specs of dirt. She looked like she might have been one with the earth. Elain continued with a murmur. “The amount of bickering Cassian and Nesta exposes Nyx to cannot be good for a growing child.”

Shouts of disapproval came from both Nesta and Cassian, both claiming they didn't fight that often. Feyre grinned. "At least you two agree on that." As she pulled a stick from Nyx's hair, her eyes met Cassian's. "Do I even want to know?" Cassian shrugged, as if clueless about what she was referring to.

It was a common occurrence to find her son being watched by someone from her family when she returned from her studio. Mor played dress-up with Nyx, Elain taught him how to bake or garden, Nesta taught him to play with a toy sword, and Cassian... well, Cassian did whatever Cassian did with Nyx. Someone from their Inner Circle was always with her son. Feyre suspected Azriel was Nyx's favorite, especially when he played with his shadows, putting on little shadow shows that Azriel would never admit to. Even Amren couldn't help but be enchanted by their beautiful child, despite her exasperation over Nyx's latest skill—winnowing.

Nyx winnowed everywhere, wreaking all sorts of havoc. Thankfully, he was still too young to winnow far, but that didn't stop him from causing mischief. Feyre grinned, remembering the time he winnowed onto Rhys's lap during a tense meeting with merchants.

Three years had passed since the assault on the rite by Briallyn and Koschei. Although Prythian and the human realms had achieved a fragile peace, Feyre knew it was just that, fragile. The human armies had been gathering and growing for three years, and although the Fae were ready for a potential conflict, their quietness and the stalemate they were at made her uneasy. The calm before the storm had never been easy for her to endure.

The relationships with other courts were all in an amicable state. The solar courts had strengthened their alliances to a relatively friendly level, while the relationship with the seasonal courts were also rather amicable. The Winter Court had been a steady ally thanks to Mor’s and now her friendship with the High Lady of Winter Court Vivienne. The thought of the High Lady of Winter Court put a grin on her face. Although living in the coldest court, Vivienne was nothing but joy and sunshine. She and her mate Kallias had become a valuable ally to them, especially since Kallias seemed to follow Rhysand’s lead and sworn her mate in as the High Lady of Winter Court. As his equal. Not breeding stock.

Their relationship with Tarquin, the High Lord of the Summer court had also been repaired over the years. It took Rhysand and Feyre taking a humbling trip to Adriata, and explaining their motives plain and honestly to Tarquin. While the High Lord of Summer was hesitant to open their doors to them again, the gesture from the High Lord and Lady of Night Court hadn’t gone unnoticed. While Feyre’s friendship with Tarquin would probably never recover to the level when they had first met, it was at least amicable. The loss of the friendship would probably hold a soft spot in Feyre’s and Rhys’s heart forever.

Beron, the High Lord of the Autumn Court, had continued to be a nuisance. He had made it clear over the years that he all but tolerated the kernel of power of “his” Feyre held. If she was being honest, Feyre was counting the days Eris finally made his move and took the seat of the High Lord.

And then there was Spring. The court Feyre first came to know as home and then so diligently destroyed for revenge. Over the years, she had put the abuse and violence Tamlin had put her through in a box locked away deep, although she could feel the unmanaged feelings had been gnawing at her. She knew she could never forget what Tamlin did to hear, what he put her through, and how he tried to squash what made her… well her. But she regretted how thoroughly she destroyed the Spring Court, after three years of which, Tamlin’s home had not recovered. It wasn’t Tamlin she felt pity for, but rather the people of the Spring Court. While Tamlin might have gotten what he deserved his people didn’t.

From the reports Azriel delivered, she knew Tamlin lived alone in the manor, mostly in the beast form that used to terrify her. He did not deserve her compassion, but maybe his people did. Every time she brought up the topic of potentially mending the relationships with the Spring Court, Rhysand got contemplative and quiet. She knew he was keeping an eye on Tamlin, and suspected the situation was worse than he was letting on, but with everything else going on in the realm, fixing Spring Court was not at the top of their priorities.

She jolted as shadows formed in front of her, revealing the broad shoulders of an Illyrian warrior as the spymaster, Azriel, winnowed into the grove. His siphons were muted, and his face and brows were covered in sweat. Cassian jumped onto her feet, quickly followed by Nesta and Elain, as Feyre slowly rose to assess the Shadowsinger searching for injuries. He seemed unharmed, other than being covered in dirt and sweat. He must have traveled very far and very quickly, for him to look so exhausted and his siphons drained dry.

“What is it?” Feyre asked, her tone is the of the High Lady of the Night Court.

Azriel’s face crumbled with distaste as he said. “It’s the Spring Court. They’re under attack.”

Chapter Text

"I just don’t understand why this is our problem," Mor said with a shrug, sinking into the plush violet armchair in Feyre's office. Her demeanor was casual as always, a grounding force in the face of any and all threats.

After handing Nyx over to Nuala and Cerridwen, Feyre had immediately alerted Rhys who in response gathered their Inner Circle together at the River House to discuss the next steps.

“Because we made sure that Spring Court cannot defend itself,” Amren said dryly as she perched up on the side of the couch Morrigan was sitting on. She had winnowed into the house seconds after Feyre notified Rhysand of Azriel’s news. Although Amren usually acted as if she wanted nothing to do with any of them, her displays of dedication and loyalty to the Night Court never ceased to amaze Feyre.

“It’s not like they -” Rhys drawled from his chair next to Feyre’s at the head of the large mahogany desk, “- he didn’t deserve it.” Feyre winced at the indifference in Rhys’s voice laced with cool anger. She could’ve sworn the house trembled in response to her mate. She reached out, gently squeezing his hand, a silent reassurance that they were in this together.

“Regardless of whether the Spring Court’s rulers deserve our help or not, their people do.” She said softly, her voice full of the authority of the High Lady of the Night Court, as she turned to Azriel, who stood by the windows facing the grove. “What do we know so far?”

“My contacts at the Spring Court notified me a few hours ago that there’s movement in the Spring Court,” he stated in his usual flat tone.

“A few hours ago?” Rhysand blurted out in surprise. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” He asked as his hand traced idle circles on Feyres's hand.

Azriel's eyes squinted, annoyed by the question. "I wanted to see it for myself," he replied, gesturing to his dirt-covered attire. Soot seemed to mar his usually impeccable appearance. He responded dryly as he clasped his hands on his back leaning against the window, “Because, I wanted to see it for myself.”

He pointed at his clothes, covered in dirt and something else black and dusty, like charcoal. No, not charcoal - sut, Feyre realized.

Elain interjected, her voice soft yet assertive, "You went to the Spring Court alone?" Her surprise mirrored the concern of the others in the room.

In the past few years, both of the older Archeron sisters, Elain and Nesta, had made it a point to join any and all Inner Circle meetings. While Nesta learned to command small female soldiers in Rhys’ armies, Elain tended to work with Azriel as she learned to navigate her abilities as a Seer. While still unpredictable, her powers surfaced more and more often as she settled into her Fae life. The premonitions were usually cryptic and sometimes downright gibberish, but Azriel, having similar gifts as the Shadowsinger, tried to help her navigate her gifts.

A sly grin tugged at Azriel's lips, reminiscent of a mischievous boy. "I'll have you know, I am over 500 years old and perfectly capable of defending myself," he retorted playfully, earning a chuckle from Rhysand.

“That doesn’t matter and you know it.” Cassian interrupted, his voice full of annoyance. “You do not go to Spring Court, enemy territory yourself, without grabbing one of us.”

Azriel's smug smile grew wider, clearly amused by the banter. "But I did," he stated matter-of-factly.

Elain threw her hands up in the air in exasperation, as Cassian snarled with annoyance. Rhys’ smile turned upward at the mischievous grin on Azriel’s face, which made an appearance on the rarest of the occasion. He sighed as he responded, “What’s done is done. What did you see? Who’s attacking the Spring Court?”

Azriel’s smile vanished from his face as he responded, “Not who, what. The Spring Court is being attacked by Duskfire Drakes.”

The room quieted immediately as Rhysand’s gaze snapped to Amren’s. The ancient Fae’s eyes widened in shock and concern. Nothing concerned Amren. Her unease was noticed by everyone else in the room as looks darted between her and Rhys. It was Nesta this time who broke the silence.

“What the hell is Duskfire Drake?”

Amren squinted at Azriel as she spoke, “Are you sure that’s what you saw, boy?”

Azriel nodded, clearly annoyed by the question. “I know what a Duskfire Drake is, and I confirmed it with the literature from the library before announcing it to you all.”

“I’m sure that’s why you went to the library.” Nesta sneered back with a knowing smile on his face.

“If this is a Duskfire Drake indeed - “ Feyre turned to Azriel with a reassuring smile “Can someone tell what it is to those of us who are not a million years old?”

“Not even dear Amren is that old Feyre darling.” Rhys drawled as he leaned to his mate leaving a small kiss on her temple ignoring the not-so-subtle grunt from Amren. “A Duskfire Drake is a summoned beast whose breath can spread blight on a land and weaken magic where it touches the ground.” He said.

Feyre couldn’t help but chuckle, “So the Spring Court actually has a blight now?” She couldn’t help but grimace with the memories of the initial explanation for why magic was weakened she’d gotten from Tamlin. Rhys gently squeezed his shoulder, but Feyre could tell he did not remember those days she spent in Spring Court kindly. She sighed.

“We need to help.” She said eyeing the roses Elain planted outside of her window.

“Agreed. Cassian, Azriel, and I will leave for Spring Court within the day.”

Feyre shifted in her seat uncomfortably as she uttered. “No, I need to go.”

Rhys’ eyebrows shot up and she could tell he was about to object, but he knew better than to outright reject her proposal. Still, Feyre squinted her eyes and dared him anyways. A wicked grin passed Rhys’s face as he motioned with his hand to make her case.

“I’m the reason Spring Court has fallen, and I need to be the one to fix it.”

Rhys considered for a second, tilting his head to the side weighing her point and she knew he was considering, still telling her no. But not her Rhys. He would never tell her to stand down, it was always her choice. A few moments passed, and the room remained quiet. Their Inner Circle knew that a silent discussion was happening between Feyre and Rhys, not just with their minds but with their bodies. Rhys sighed, “Fine, we both go then.”

Feyre shook her head again, “We can’t both leave the Night Court, not when the danger is this large. Nyx needs one of us to be around, especially if this takes a more dangerous turn. Besides, since you can I am both Daemati and can talk, when we can’t winnow back and forth it leaves the communication channels open, keeping everyone updated. It’s the best option.”

Rhysand opened his mouth and closed it again. His body was strained and his arms were crossed, but his lips tugged upward regardless. Just as a hint of a star-kissed smile appeared on this face, Feyre knew she had won.

“Clever plan, my High Lady.” He leaned in and brushed a kiss on her knuckle. A static charge passed between them with a promise of how much Rhys was planning to show his appreciation for Feyre’s clever mind. Feyre grinned at him as Mor groaned as she further slouched in the couch, grumbling about mated Fae and their constant show of affection.

“Alright, then Feyre darling will go to Spring Court with Az and Cass, while the rest of us hold down the fort as best as we can.” Rhysand chuckled.

“I’ll go instead of Cassian,” Nesta interjected. Rhys’s eyebrows shut up, as Cassian sat up straight with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Absolutely not - ” He interjected. But Nesta throw him a stare that indicated more or less that he was about to be hung by his balls if they tried to reason with them with some chauvinistic rant about protection.

“You cannot leave while there is so much unrest in Illyrian camps.” Nesta eyed him. “I’ve been traveling back and forth with you for months now, and the only thing those barbarians respond to is your show of force. We cannot afford our armies to be weakened if this blight is the beginning of something bigger.”

Cassian tried to interject again, but a sly grin spread on Nesta’s face, one that promised violence and mischief. Feyre could smell Cassian’s arousal as he watched his mate proudly.

“Besides - I’m pretty sure Tamlin is afraid of me and he’ll behave if I’m there with Feyre. You’ve been training me for three years and I’ve done far more dangerous things than dealing with withering roses or whatever else is at Spring Court. And not to mention, you’d be so busy sneezing and whining about having to sneeze in Spring Court that I don’t think you’d be getting much done.”

A slow chuckle came from Azriel as Cassian closed his mouth. Feyre could not tell if it was rage at Nesta for volunteering to go to Spring Court, or pride that she knew Cassian was needed here more than her. Or was it the “our armies” that made him glow with pride? Regardless, the scent of arousal rose from Cassian. All of the above, Feyre decided, as a grin spread on Cassian’s face.

“Alright, let’s say you and Feyre go.” Cassian said, the grin still on his face. “Both of you have been known to have a temper worse than Az when he loses the winter snowball fight. Considering, Feyre has a score to settle with Tamlin, and you Nes are - well you, who’s gonna make sure you two don’t just feed the High Lord of the Spring Court to the Duskfire Drakes and come right back?”

Feyre and Nesta exchanged a sisterly grin between them, the thought clearly amusing them both. Cassian swore under his breath for giving them ideas, Feyre could tell he was about to rectify his mistake when the third surprise of the day broke the short silence in the room.

“I will,” Elain said with a soft voice.

All eyes in the room turned to her etched with shock and surprise. Elain had been much more adjusted to her Fae life and had been training with Azriel in smaller intelligence-gathering missions but her offer to take on such a dangerous mission was unexpected. It was now Azriel who interjected.

“Elain, I don’t think you realize -”

But Elain held up her hand to Azriel, and a soft but firm expression of resolve spread to her face. Feyre turned to Nesta, giving her another grin one that she knew the room was about to find out just how much resolve an Archeron sister had.

“I’ve been cooped up in Night Court for three years - gardening.” She pointed at the flowers outside. “While I appreciate everyone being concerned about how delicate I am -” She sounded like Nesta when she was angry. “I am just as capable as anyone else in this room to help figure out what’s wrong with Spring Court and the Duskfire Drakes showed up now. I’m a Seer and I can find out more. Besides - “ She gave the room a look so much like one of Nesta’s, Feyre’s grin grew even wider. “None of you have nearly enough experience to keep two Archeron sisters in check.”

Rhysand coughed, trying to swallow what seems to be a chuckle. “Alright then, it’s settled. The Archeron sisters will be leaving for Spring Court to lend them a hand at once.”

Chapter Text

Feyre winnowed Elain and Nesta to the large oak tree right at the border of Spring Court. A tight smile tugged at her lips remembering the last time she was under this tree, she hadn’t even know how to winnow at will. So much had changed since then, mostly for the better.

Over the past three years, despite their duties as the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court consuming their days, Rhys had continued to train with Feyre to help her explore her powers. Among the Fae, Feyre was still considered a youngling, albeit a very powerful one. Her powers were still growing day by day, although she felt more affinity towards certain gifts. She particularly enjoyed Tarquin's soothing water power compared to Beron's menacing wildfire. She had more or less mastered all aspects of her powers and had achieved basic control over them.

Her powers had proven to be unexpectedly useful. Just last week, her water wolves had joined her and Rhys in their bedroom, and she had conjured them definitely not for protection. As Feyre thought of Rhys's well-toned body pinned down to their bed while she slowly worked her way up his torso with deliberate slowness...

“I can smell you.” " Nesta snapped, interrupting Feyre's thoughts. Standing next to her under the canopy of the oak tree, Feyre, instead of being embarrassed of her not-so-subtle arousal gave her an easy grin and shrugged, “Sorry.”

Elain giggled softly in response. Feyre turned her head to Elain, her heart warmed by her decision to join them. Feyre was by far the most magically capable among the three of them, and Nesta had become a deadly warrior over the past three years. But Elain possessed a different type of resilience and strength. Her body was violated by being put into the Cauldron against her will, she was blessed with an ambiguous and dangerous power, she was kidnapped by Hybern in the war - gagged and bound -, and she took a life, the life really to end the war when she had never seen violence in her life. And yet, she still remained kind and sweet, unlike Feyre and Nesta who had hardened in the face of adversity. People saw Elain as the gentle and sweet one, but to her, she might have been the strongest of them all.

“So -” Nesta sneered, staring at the manor on the horizon covered in wines. “This is the Spring Court.”

Feyre nodded, eyeing her oldest sister. Nesta, like her, had opted for Illyrian leathers for the trip. She was smaller but much more muscular, having trained day and night either above the House of Wind with the priestesses or with the newly formed female regiments of Illyrian warriors. Her large greatsword, Ataraxia, was strapped to her back. The greatsword was by no means subtle, but subtlety was not Nesta's style.

Elain still felt rather uncomfortable in clothes that hugged her body too tightly and exposed too much skin. However, she had forgone her flowy gowns and opted for a pair of long black leggings and an olive green oversized sweater. She carried a small obsidian dagger that Azriel had gifted her, and a large backpack containing all kinds of food and potions in case they needed them. The Inner Circle had insisted that they come as prepared as possible, unsure of the condition they would find the Spring Court in.

Feyre herself had chosen the Illyrian leathers as well. She was less toned than Nesta, but still faster than her. An Illyrian bow was strapped to her back, along with a row of daggers and knives secured across her body by Rhys, who had taken an excessive amount of time making sure she was secure. Thoughts of him brushing against her body crossed her mind as she remembered Rhysand pouting at the midnight-colored lacy underwear she had worn beneath her clothes.

“Cauldron boil me, Feyre Archeron, you’re mated women – for three years now.” Nesta snapped at her again, as an even louder giggle escaped Elain’s mouth. “Instead of acting like a teenage girl who just got touched by a boy for the first time in a barn, start thinking about how to save this Cauldron-forsaken court.”

“Sorry,” Feyre mumbled as she exchanged an all-knowing look with Elain about Nesta’s feigned annoyance.

"She’s right you know". Rhys’ sensual voice drawled in her mind. Her body immediately tingled at the gentle caress of Rhys’ shadow-kissed talons.

"Busy body. Don’t you have something better to do other than spying on my sisters and me?"

She eyed up the manor which had seen much better days and had been one of the loveliest places she’d ever set eyes on. Rhys’ answer came quickly.

"Right. I do have more important things to do than worry about my mate, who so articulately convinced her entire court that she and her sisters should be the ones dealing with a major, ancient threat while basically leaving me to babysit. And I'm not just talking about our son."

Feyre grinned at Rhys’ playful retort and responded.

I do have you wrapped around my fingers don’t I? Remind me to thank you dearly, for being such a sweet, kind, loving mate when I get back.

This time the response was instant.

It’s a bargain. I know better than to tell you to be careful, but, Cassian does not. He says to tell Nesta to be safe and stick them with the pointy end. Nyx and I miss you. Be safe, kick some ass, and bring me a drake’s head. Oh end, please try not to kill Tamlin.

The Archeron sisters walked the cobblestone pathway up to the manor in quiet contemplation. The once grand Spring Court now stood before them as a haunting reminder of its former glory. The manor was in a state of despair, its one vibrant facade now marred with cracks and faded paint. Windows were shattered and the grand entrance was overgrown with vines that crept up the walls, entangling the structure in a grip of neglect.

They passed a few of the gardens leading up to the manor. The once meticulously maintained gardens now resembled a wild labyrinth ready to devour them. Flower beds were overgrown with weeds and entangled roots. The air was heavy with the scent of decaying vegetation, and the silence is broken only by the rustle of leaves and occasional scurrying of small creatures. A soft, disappointed sigh escaped Elain’s lips as Feyre turned to her sister apologetically.

“It used to be lovely out here, I spent hours if not days painting these gardens.”

Elain nodded her voice a bit winded from the walk up to the manor. “It’s not too late to fix it. Life can be brought back here, especially with the magic of the Spring Court. Just - “

“Just what?” Nesta asked, not sounding tired at all, which was unsurprising considering how much she trained.

“Just maybe you and Feyre stop dating and breaking up with High Lords and their sons, they seem to be taking it too hard,” Elain replied earning a snort from Feyre in response.

“Don’t you have a high lord's son as a mate?” Feyre asked amusement in her voice.

“You don’t see him tearing down courts, do you?” Elain responded as she scaled the steps towards the manor doors which were tightly shut by wines.

“It feels like a magical barrier,” Feyre murmured. “Tamlin must have locked up, before going out to hunt the drakes.”

Tamlin might have been an abusive brute, but he wasn’t one to shy away from a fight. Feyre knew without a doubt he was defending his court. “I bet I can unlock it the same way I unlocked the door before we got the Book of Breathings.”

“Didn’t you almost drown?” Nesta sneered back, her hand tightening around a small blade strapped to her thigh.

“But we didn’t.” Feyre smiled, as she pressed her palm at the center of the wines. Begrudgingly, she channeled the part of her that came from Tamlin. She used to struggle with the gift from Tamlin and how it felt like he owned a part of her, and after everything he wanted nothing to do with her. It was using her shapeshifting gifts to grow the Illyrian wings, and reclaiming the power from the High Lord of Spring Court as her own that made her comfortable with having a part of Tamlin in herself. And that reclaiming alone, gave her a new sense of power and freedom. She had taken something that hurt her and replaced it with something light. Something that gave her joy.

The door opened with an ominous creak as the Feyre looked at her sisters. Nobody took a step forward for a few seconds, when Elain eventually stepped forward to the main hall with a loud sigh, “Oh you cowards.” Feyre and Nesta fell into step behind her into the all too quiet manor.

With an ominous creak, the door opened, revealing the desolate main hall of the manor. Black and white checkered floors covered in mud and dust greeted them, and the grand furnishings that Feyre had once painted were now coated in layers of dust. Cobwebs draped across ornate chandeliers, and sunlight filtered through cracked windows, casting long shadows that danced along the walls, creating an eerie atmosphere. Feyre couldn't help but feel a sense of haunting, as if the ghost of the human girl who died under the mountain and the prince who loved her deeply still lingered in the air. One of which might have never existed, but still. The place felt haunted.

“No one is here” Elain whispered behind them softly. Feyre and Nesta both turned to her to find her eyes were closed with her hands clasped in her lap. Just like Feyre’s, Elain’s power had also been growing and shifting since the end of the war. Just a few months ago, she discovered that her Seer abilities sometimes applied in literal sense, giving her a much more keen grasp on their surroundings. Azriel and Rhys had been working day and night with her helping her navigate her surroundings, and seeing around her before looking.

Opening her eyes, Elain looked at Feyre and Nesta with a faint smile. A bronze glow shimmered beneath her skin, with rose gold vines traveling up and down her arms, making her look like a sunset on fire. "There's something here, though," she said, her voice carrying a sense of knowing. She moved towards the gardens Feyre knew to be the mating present from Tamlin’s father to his mother as if she was drawn towards them.

“Something?” Nesta asked raising a brow. “Not someone?”, Elain did not respond to her as she moved towards the grand double doors that opened the backyard.

“Elain, wait!” Feyre cautioned as she skipped behind her. She couldn’t get to her in time though as Elain stepped into what used to be the majestic rose gardens that thrilled Feyre with its beauty. Instead of the rows and rows of roses with the colors of the rainbow, the gardens felt like it was now a different realm.

Sinuous dark tendrils crawled around the ground and wrapped at the base of the rose bushes. The veins of the plants themselves appeared sickly, turning a greenish-black as if they were consumed by the poison. Venomous traces snaked through the soil, choking the life out of the one lush garden beds.

The rose petals had lost their vibrant hues and delicate texture. Some of the once vibrant petals had just withered, while others had greenish goo oozing from them. Shades of sickly gray drops fell onto the ground like rain. Air, smelled like death. Not like, Nesta’s kind of death, but the kind of death that hung heavy in there with a sweet, suffocating smell that cloyed all other senses. Nesta’s death felt final and decisive, while this kind of death felt like a parasite crawling on their skin.

“The flowers are bleeding,” Elain murmured. Feyre gently squeezed her shoulder as she took a step further. Nesta blocked her path with her hand, stopping her,

“Something does not feel right.”

“Nothing about this is right,” Feyre replied softly.

“What are we going to do?” Elain asked quietly as she surveyed the rows of plants that withered and died. Feyre, after sending a quick view of what they were seeing to Rhys, turned to them.

Be careful, was the only response she heard in her mind before putting her walls back up.

“I guess we follow the blight.” As she took a deep breath, and took a step down the steps into the garden.

“Great.” Nesta sneered. “Into the stench.” disgust lacing her voice.

The three of them took a couple of steps into the garden when a bone-chilling scream pierced the air. Its shrillness vibrated against Feyre's skin, carrying a mix of anger and anguish. The scream echoed through the empty grounds of the Spring Court manor with primal ferocity.

Feyre turned to Nesta, who had already unsheathed Ataraxia. She felt the surge of the Summer Court rising within her as four water wolves, as large as she was, materialized around her. Turning her head towards Elain whose eyes widened at the scream, Feyre snapped her palm towards her placing the unbreakable shield around her to shield her from whatever was coming towards her.

They did not have to look long for the source of the scream, as the temperature around them dropped unnaturally low and a subtle distortion filled the air, warping the colors and shapes of the decaying roses around them. The air became stagnant, smelling of decay and rot, devoid of the usual sounds of nature. The silence was suffocating, as a wave of sweet-smelling wind rushed towards them only to be blocked by Feyre’s quick shield followed by the most foul scent she had ever inhaled in her entire life.

The ground beneath their feet began to tremble, as a low rumble resonated through the clearing. Suddenly from the depths of the shadows, a large creature, no bigger than a war horse emerged. Its serpentine form slithered forward, leaving the same sickly ooze behind it, scales glistening with a sickly sheen. The drake’s eyes, glowing with an unholy fire, fixated on them with an unsettling intelligence.

"Is it... sizing us up?" Nesta asked incredulously, her voice resolute.

"Looks like it," Feyre replied, unsheathing her Illyrian steel shortswords.

The creature slowly prowled towards them the scent and the feeling of dread emanating from his skin suffocating with each step it took towards them.

“Well, I’m not gonna let it walk up to us.” Feyre declared as she lunged forward with her pack of wolves, the scent of dread emanating from the drake’s skin suffocating them with each step. Feyre made a quick attempt to command her water wolves, but they clumsily turned into puddles, unable to respond to her magic. She tried summoning fire and ice, but nothing formed. Remembering what Rhys had told them about the drake's weakening magic, Feyre realized they were too close to it, dispelling their abilities. It was practically Fae bane.

“Shit,” Feyre groaned as she tried to use any form of magic to no avail. “Magic does not work with this thing, I repeat, magic does not work.”

Nesta, now by her side, wore a mischievous smile, a rare sight reserved for Cassian and their enemies. As disturbing as the smile being the same for the two occasions was, Feyre could tell her sister was ready for the challenge. Nesta confirmed it with a cocky, “Good thing we know how to do this the old-fashioned way.”

She lunged at the Drake with Atarixia, as Feyre slid towards its legs. The smell got even worse as they were in its immediate vicinity as the air thickened. Feyre realized the particles of decay were floating around in the air forming a protective shell of dirt around the creature. She tumbled behind the creature's legs as Nesta swung towards his head. It dodged Nesta’s blow, but not Feyre’s as she stabbed its tail on the ground, earning a wailing scream from the drake.

The reprieve was short-lived as the creature whipped its tail, throwing the shortsword in the air. Feyre, quickly catching the sword as it fell to the ground, found her way back to Nesta covering her flank. The drake huffed as if it was annoyed by them, as he lunged towards Nesta and Feyre once more.

This time, it was Nesta’s turn to land a blow as she expertly maneuvered around the ancient monstrosity in from of them nicking it below its chest. The monster did not falter though, only losing a large chunk of rot from a newly formed hole that oozed blood. They kept throwing blows at one another, as Nesta and Feyre fended off the drake for a few minutes. Nesta, having landed another blow, this time one of the many spikes on the monster's face, leaned into Feyre.

“Did we learn how to kill this thing?” she asked, gasping for breath.

“The heart or the head, just like the other stuff,” Feyre responded, as out of breath as Nesta was. Nesta nodded, as she lunged back at the creature, unfaltering. The drake, as if it knew what Nesta was coming for, sidestepped her with unexpected nimbleness, as he bypassed Nesta and Feyre altogether.

Nesta screamed as she realized what the creature was after but it was too late, as the monster started gliding towards Elain with predatory determination. Nesta screamed and chased after it but with its size, it was much faster than both of them. Elain’s eyes widened as the shield around her fell the second the Drake was in her vicinity. It opened its mouth as sickly, gray-green saliva dropped from its mouth. It raised its head ready to clamp down on Elain.

A golden flash lunged out of the forest, leaping towards Elain and the drake. The horse-sized creature, shaped like a bear that moved as nimble as a cat landed between Elain and the Drake. The ground trembled with his impact. Its wolfish head and the massive elk-like antlers, accompanied by soft golden fur made him unmistakable for anyone or anything else. Tamlin.

The drake's jaw sank into Tamlin’s chest as he screamed with a feral snarl erupted from him. And then he exploded, his black dagger-like claws shoving into the drake’s chest. Elain gasped at the utter display of violence. When Tamlin pulled his claws out, a brownish-black lump of wet flesh came out with it, as Tamlin ripped the drake's heart out, tossing it aside. The drake's eyes widened and the creature wobbled and fell on its side.

“Now I understand how he was able to destroy an entire manor,” Nesta murmured, as the beast’s eyes snapped to Feyre’s.

Feyre straightened, her spine steeling, as Tamlin prowled towards her and towered above her. The wound in his chest had blood pouring out of it, but it didn’t seem to bother him. Physical pain or violence never did. A predatory smile spread on his face, the creature looking at them was not the golden prince she once knew. Only the beast was present behind those emerald-green eyes.

“Well well well…” He snarled, his voice more animal than man. “If it isn’t the Night Court coming to my rescue.”