A Song of Masks

by And_My_Axe16

Summary:

Sirius Nyx was dead, and yet here she stands on her own two feet before a killing field. Her hands are bloody, caked in mud and gore up to her elbows.

The cauldron is called a blessing; it's the maker of worlds created from the hands of the Mother and spilling into the world, creating magic in their lands. But all it had ever done to her was bring her pain, bring her back to a world that had forgotten she had existed. A world that had forgotten to care. A world that had forced her into the role of a villain after making a foolish bargain to help protect or save her family. She will not risk them more than they have already risked themselves, even if they will never know of her existence again.

But no matter how devastating the cost, no matter how much it will hurt her in the end, she will see it through, even if it kills her.

Sirius will see her choices through to the end.

Chapter 1: The Awakening

PART I: The Ballad of Black Death

 

Immortality came at a steep price for those who wished for it. If you were not born into it, there was a very slim chance of ever achieving it. 

The price of another life, however, is steeper.

It’s made of fire and ice and water and darkness. It’s the feeling of breaking the surface of a still lake, right before all the potential energy is released and all that power comes pouring out.

Sirius didn’t know it was happening until she was spat out onto the ground before a small audience of people she had nearly forgotten existed. And in the panic of being made again, she threw out what power she did have into that bottomless existence and pulled it back into herself. It stitched her back together, screaming at her for taking a piece of it, but it was too late to give it back now. That dark, bottomless thing was now a part of her for whatever spare eternity the Mother decided to give her.

For the majority of her existence, it was just darkness. Not darkness so much as it was a swift tide, letting her decide which way to go. In one direction, she could follow her Mother and Father into the easy forgiveness of the sea, letting it take her to a land that did not have pain or sorrow. A place of rest. A place to start over and have the time she didn’t have in her previous life.

And the other, harder path, where she could sit and wait and wait longer for those she cared about. A halfway point. A way where she could greet her family should they decide to join her too early in their lives.

The only bad part about her plan was that she had to sit and watch the world go by without her. It wasn’t her own death that saddened her most, it was the way others reacted that did. To have to watch as her family, her brother most of all, struggle and fight and survive. 

She could only watch.

Sirius had enough sense to pull herself away from the Cauldron as it wept out the remaining water it harbored her in. Enough sense to pull away from the power she stole from, the power that she could now feel in her veins along with the magic she had before death had swept her away with quick knives and sorrowful glances. It was almost too much. Too much power to bear for such a body, even herself, but she would have to manage if she wanted to survive. That much she did want.

“She survived,” she heard a deeper, baritone voice say from around her. The room felt like it was spinning, making idle circles above her head. Sirius put a hand over herself, naked as the day she was born, and up to her head to try and get it to stop, or at the very least, slow down.

Her body felt like it was on fire.

“Just barely,” another voice, male too, said. “It would have been easier had you had a soul like mine, my liege.”

A deep chuckle echoed throughout the room as footsteps sounded off the smooth marble floors. “Perhaps. But now we know something too. The Cauldron does not necessarily need a soul to be reborn. Tell me, girl, can you speak?”

Her?

Sirius peeked her head up from the mess of her dark, ebony hair. Her eyes scanned the room, locking eyes with the fae in front of her. His hateful black eyes seeped into hers, glaring at her as he was deciding what to do with her. Given his esteemed, well-tailored clothes, she knew who he was. The golden, wicked crown, only confirmed it. “The King of Hybern,” she whispered to herself.

He gave her a tight smile. “So she can speak,” his baritone voice rang out. “Go ahead, help her.”

Arms behind her grasped at her slick wet shoulders and hauled her to her feet. She was slowly beginning to get a grasp of herself. Her powers slowly seeped back into the usual cracks of herself. She could feel the people around her. Feel their minds, feel the very being of them.

Roses and wet grass hit her nose. 

She struggled in his grip, but it was useless anyway. She’d been dead for too long to fight her way out of anything. Sirius was as good as a newborn baby against a mountain lion. 

“Keep quiet and we can get you out of here,” Tamlin breathed in her ear, too quietly for anyone else to catch. He wrapped a cloak around her with one hand while the other kept her steady.

She looked at him with lowered brows, but he didn’t return her gaze, instead, focusing on the king in front of them. 

“Sirius Nyx, correct?” the King of Hybern said, closing the space between them as he took her face with his calloused hands. She tried to pull away, but he forced her in place. Tamlin too held her from behind despite the wings. Her struggle was useless.

Slowly, Sirius nodded. 

The King let her go. “Jurian said this might work. I guess I should trust his judgment more in the future.”

“I was a general,” he said, as a matter of fact. “Random knowledge and strategy are what I do best.” He gave her a quick, calloused smile, his brown eyes raking his gaze over her. She could have sworn Tamlin nearly snarled from behind her.

“Weren’t we all,” she said quietly, her voice raw even though she hadn’t screamed as far as she knew. 

Jurian chuckled. “No, I don’t think we all were.”

At least I wasn’t stuck in a ring for 500 years , she said to Tamlin, mind to mind.

No response. Nothing.

And here she thought they used to be companions. At least before he was forced to kill her. 

The King of Hybern paced back to his throne, and Jurian took his spot side beside him. 

“What will we do with her?” Jurian asked. “Get some information out of her. Surely, she must know something about the Night Court and its lands.”

“I’ve been dead for a while, do any of you mind filling me in,” Sirius snorted.

The King of Hybern gave her a small, curling smile. “Your brother is waging war against us. We just added another chip to the pile.”

She could feel the blood draining from her face, as if she was frozen in a spotlight. Rhysand… 

“We could hover her above him,” Jurian contemplated. 

“No, I promised Tamlin his prize,” he said quickly. He stood up again, walking toward her. “Take her to your manor, Tamlin, and I can send a few of my soldiers to see to it she’s well taken care of. Someone of her own liking, and enough faebane and ash to keep her under our chains. We may be able to get something out of her while we are at it.”

“You’re keeping me as a prisoner,” Sirius confirmed. 

“Just until we can find a use for you,” the King mused. 

“You would have better luck killing me. Again.”

He smiled. “We will see. Consider it.” The King of Hybern looked at Tamlin now. “You know what to do now, High Lord of Spring.”

 

***

 

Sirius released a sigh of tension as her mother received word from Rhysand that he wasn’t going to meet them halfway like he was supposed to. She shouldn’t be surprised. He’d been working hard to keep the Illyrians in line among their mountains. Now, instead of meeting them halfway, they would have to travel the wilderness, alone, to the war camp. 

She had suggested winnowing, a gift she had been blessed with all her immense power. Like her brother, she had plenty to spare and was able to use it sparingly. But to be fair, she had no idea where the camp was, so winnowing would be difficult. She actually had to see the place and imagine where it was before stepping into it.

 Her mother, on the other hand, wanted her to experience the wilderness, the nature of this world that she had loved, that Sirius came to love in her 227 years of existence. This was the one true place that she could call home, no matter how cruel they were to their people. She could tell the people to fuck off, but the mountains and the trees and the biting cold, that was home . 

She was still upset she couldn’t participate in the Rite, atop their sacred mountain. Upset she couldn’t have tattoos like her brothers, like Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian, but maybe she could make a mark somewhere else. She would make herself into something. Something more than a name like Rhysand’s Sister or his shadow. It felt like… destiny almost. In the back of her mind, she knew there was something else out there for her. Something bigger than herself. 

It was nearly time before Rhysand would become the High Lord of the Night Court. Technically, they should be in competition, but there was no chance of Sirius ever seeing the throne. Only separated by 30 years of age or so, Rhysand was always the better fit. Plus, who would the Court of Nightmares take orders from? Surely not a half-bastard female . It was already bad enough that her brother was a bastard too. The people of the Night Court would never take her seriously enough. No, she could leave the ruling to Rhysand. It’s not that she didn’t want to, but he always seemed to have a finer edge to things while hers was more calloused. Rougher. 

Another way to put it would be that Rhysand is just like their mother, while she was more like their father, even if both of them despised the male. Aspects of them both. Rhysand and Sirius would always be siblings though. Despite their father’s forced separation whenever he could.

They were family, by blood and bond.

“Siri, keep on moving now, we cannot just stand here and watch the snow melt,” her mother said, breezing past her. “We have to get there before nightfall, otherwise your father is going to throw a fit. Or Rhys for that matter.”

“I told you we could winnow there,” Sirius replied, picking up her pace as she left the cliffside with trees that looked like mere snow-covered flecks in the distance. Even with her superior eyesight, it was hard to make out the height. Snow barely covered the drop of hard stone made of flecked white, black, and grey stone. “And if something happens we both know I can just communicate with Rhys. We are both Daemati if you remember.”

“Oh, I remember,” her mother grumbled beside her, struggling to get through the snow and having to hike her dress up to get her boots up and over a rather thick patch. “You both remind me every time we are at the diner table and rather than talking out loud you just stare and start giggling.”

“It’s not my fault Cassian is a dumb brute who can’t use his words like a big boy. It leaves Rhys and I at a disadvantage.”

“And leave poor Az to fend for himself,” her mother added.

Sirius shrugged her shoulders and ignored the comment, huffing in the cold air.“Why not fly? If you refuse to let me use my magic.”

“Builds your stamina.”

“My stamina is built, Mother,” Sirius said, rolling her eyes slightly. Not in a rude way but rather in a teasing manner. “You and the boys have trained me well enough. I can hold my own if it comes down to it and you know it. Plus, flying also gets the heart pumping too.”

“We need to follow the river. It’ll lead us directly to the nearest camp, and therefore, a better spot to stay rather than out here.”

Meaning that she wanted Sirius to stick it out and shut up about it. Her decision was final. She would fly later tonight, even if it meant sneaking out like Rhysand did when he was young. Her poor, lovely mother with two, fiery, nearly 250-year-old children.

To be fair Rhysand was older and more of a menace than she was. 

Sirius shouldered her pack and kept moving. 

The worst thing about the cold wasn’t the wet snow or the cold bite of the air, it was the absence of things. No flowers grew during this time of the year. The sky always seemed dimmer than usual, only lifting when you flew above the clouds to a clear blue sky and lovely winds. The air always seemed… less. Just frigid air being sucked in and taking out its own warmth from her body. But despite that, there were always things to savor. Things to look forward to. The first falling of leaves in the autumn, the trees gaining them back in the spring. The landscape when it was covered in the snow seemed like it was something out of a dream. The wind, whipping and dangerous as it was, called to her soul and blood with magic that she had never seen anywhere else. 

Peaceful. Dangerous. A silver lining she could never find anywhere else in the world except maybe one other, the Rainbow of Velaris. The snow wilted past her, covering the landscape with a frozen death. She was a pinnacle of warmth in the snow. A statue of patience before she would swan dive off the side of the mountains, open her wings, and soar.

That was the Illyrian Mountains. 

She wished there was a proper way to capture it. Perhaps through a painting, but there was no way she could ever be able to get it right. She didn’t have a painter’s heart.

No, she rather expressed herself by singing quiet songs during the night, belting shanties at the bar with her brothers, or whenever she has to do a household chore. To cheer up her family, to lament a sorrow. That’s who she was.

Her mother stopped ahead of her, looking out into the cold. The wind shifted. Instead of at their backs, it hit them in the face.

“What is it?” Sirius asked, walking up and stopping next to her.

She frowned, shaking her head slightly. “It just smells…wrong. Do you smell it too?”

Sirius, despite her mother’s orders, cast out a net of awareness around them, searching and scanning for nearby minds. She inhaled, trying to catch a scent in the wind. There was… something. Like spring, almost. But it was the dead of winter. It was like catching a whiff of lilacs in the middle of a hot desert. A dream. 

That’s when it hit her like a blow to the head. She could feel the pulsing minds of four people, one extremely familiar to her. That’s when she knew they’d been sold out, that they weren’t here to be friendly, but here to hunt them. 

“Mother we need to fly,” she said quietly. Sirius palmed her Illyrian blades, waiting as she could feel their approach.“We need to get out of here.”

“Who is it?” she asked, pulling a dagger from her dress. 

“High Lord of Spring Court. His sons too. I can get in their heads, should I kill them?” 

Her mother shook her head. “You can’t do that Sirius. Not without causing a lot of trouble after. Even in self-defense.”

 “So we fly?” Sirius said. 

“They’ll spot us.” Her mother grabbed her arm. “We need to follow that river if we have any chance of finding the camp.”

“I can get Rhys and we can deal with this Mother. Let me do that.”

“No, we don’t have enough time. He would never make it in time.”

Out of time. Out of options.

Fuck .

“We can’t just wait for them to kill us,” Sirius urged her. “I can winnow us away. I’m not able to winnow to Velaris but I can get us somewhere . I’ll tell Rhys that we will meet him another time. We should go to the Court of Nightmares where they wouldn’t dare challenge us.”

Her mother took her hand, looking around, nearly cursing at herself. “Just get us somewhere.”

Before Sirius could visualize a place to go, an arrow came from within the treeline and pierced her mother’s leg. She screamed out, collapsing into the snow, staining it a bright red from the fallen blood. 

Sirius fell with her, grasping at her frantic mother, trying to get her to look at her. 

But instead of allowing her to help her, she pushed Sirius away. “Get out of here! Run Siri!” 

Sirius got up and backed away a step, eyes scanning her wounded mother, and turned back to face the trees. She wouldn’t leave her mother to die. 

“SIRIUS GO!”

Her blades didn’t shake in her hands as she tucked in her wings and scanned the trees. She could feel their minds pressing in around her, closing in. Even if she wanted to, they were too quick, winnowing around them before she could even register where they were, she wouldn’t be able to fly out. They would just shoot her down.

And more importantly, she wasn’t about to sacrifice her mother to these shape-shifting beasts. 

There was no point in trying to get in their heads. They had all had extensive training against people like her and Rhysand. It was hard to get into their heads. The High Lord and his eldest son would be a problem. Maybe she could try to reason with Tamlin.

“Drop your weapons, girl,” a gruff male voice called out from the trees. “Don’t make it more difficult than it needs to be.”

The High Lord’s eldest son indeed. Athelis, the manipulator and leader of their wretched pack.

“Go to hell Athelis!” she shouted back. She could see them now, slowly coming out of the foliage.

“I told you we should have covered our scents better,” Royce, the second eldest, holding a dagger to Tamlin’s neck as he led him into the circle of trees. She locked eyes with him. His green eyes were terrified. As if he knew this was his fault. As if he knew what was about to happen.

He knew . That guilty son of a bitch.

The High Lord of the Spring Court came from their left side, holding a sword in one hand and an open scar-flecked fist on his other side. All of them blond. All of them with strong brows and high cheekbones, a colder look in their eyes compared to Tamlin.

Immortal and ageless. Perfectly lethal.

“Where’s Rhysand?” the High Lord of the Spring Court asked them, twisting the sword in his hand, almost like he was nervous. But unlike his fidgeting hands, his voice was steady and monotone. Almost bored.

Her mother was writhing in pain behind her, crying out.

“Sleeping with your mother,” she replied with a gruff smile. She searched the rest of them. 

Just four of them…and one of them was a High Lord. Sirius didn’t like her odds. 

Athelis drew another arrow and leveled it with her. 

“Sirius,” her mother whispered. “Go.”

No. I am not leaving you , she said back to her. Mind to mind, so these pigs couldn’t hear them.

You are no use dead. 

Neither are you, Mother. 

“He was supposed to be here today,” Royce said with a sneer. Rhysand. They bet on him being here with them.

Sirius flashed her teeth back, her wings flaring in anger. “Well, isn’t it just perfect that plans changed.”

The High Lord almost seemed… disappointed. Tamlin looked relieved, even if all the blood had seemed to leave his face. 

The High Lord shrugged. “Kill them anyways. We can send their heads down the river for the camp to find.”

“NO!” Tamlin cried out. None of them even spared him a glance.

Sirius held her blades tight. She wouldn’t go down without swinging. She fully intended to walk out of the field. She fully intended to spill their blood that day, getting her mother out alive.

 

It didn’t end that way.

 

***

 

“Seems like you fixed up the place, Tamlin. Looks less gloomy than how your father had it,” Sirius admired, being escorted into Rosehall Manor at sword and spear point. 

She wondered if this would be the last time she would see sunlight before being locked away forever.

He didn’t reply, just stared straight ahead and led the group down the wall. Her arms were locked behind her, wings tied together and only a cloak covering her. Even though she was uncomfortable being so bare in front of the guards and Tamlin, even if he had seen her naked before, she tried to convince herself it was the finest of armor.

“You really look the part,” she kept going. “Look at you! Dressed up like you are. Roses and all. Keep up with the garden? That’s a stupid question. Of course you have.”

They led her down a hall and into the dining room, past it, and down a set of stairs. The door to the stairs was hidden behind a rather intricate painting of a vase of flowers. She glimpsed a confused red-haired male near the base of the stairs, a whirling golden eye circling itself as if trying to capture who she was. She gave him a half grimace. A nasty scar ran down his cheek and down to his chin.

Lucien, the son of Beron if she remembered correctly. 

Tamlin dismissed the guards at the top of the stairs, then led her down further and further, not checking to see if she followed, into the depths of the manor.

It was dark, only lit by torches that continued as they went down. It appeared as though it hadn’t been used in ages, dusty cobwebs clung to the walls like a lifeline.

“Are you going to answer me at all?” she asked him. Silence, more of it. Sirius sighed. “Can we please talk about how I’m, oh I don’t know, alive right now?”

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, he opened a heavy wooden door with thick iron across it. The padded lock clicked open as he placed his palm on it.

“No,” he finally said. He glanced a look back at her. “There are clothes inside. You are to be kept here for now.”

She walked through the door. He unlocked her shackles and untied her wings. She unfurled them, slowly growing used to the weight on her back, as they spasmed unintentionally after being bound for what seemed like hours. 

After being Made again, they threw her in a cell, tied her wings and shackled her, and left her there while Tamlin and the King worked things out. Bargained.

That left her enough time to ponder what she could do in the meantime. Flee to the North and try to find her brother, or stick it through and see what Tamlin has in store for her. Too many wards and spells were up for her to winnow away. Too old to break through and try, and it would take too much of her wavering power. 

So now she was here, stuck in another cell under Rosehall Manor with Tamlin as her captor. How fitting. The male that killed her is the one he’ll have to face every day. He was her ward. For the time being.

She would find a way to get word to Rhysand or someone from the Inner Circle.

“Is Feyre really worth—”

His snarl was enough to make her pause.

“What do you even know of it?” he growled out. “You’ve been dead.”

“Death leaves a lot of time to watch other people live,” she said quietly. She grabbed the clothes from off the ground, a pair of black pants and a white tunic. She threw them on, tearing holes in the back to fit her wings.

Tamlin didn’t answer her. He didn’t say anything else to her. He just gave her some food laced with the obvious smell of faebane as he left the cell, locking the door behind him.

Chapter 2: The Fox and the Shadow

Lucien stopped Tamlin at the top of the stairs, physically pulling him away from his intended path to look him in the eye. “Who is that ?”

Tamlin curled his lip. “Part of my bargain. To get Feyre back.”

Lucien’s face blanched. “With who?” 

“With Hybern.” Tamling shifted uncomfortably.

Lucien’s eye whirled as if trying to come up with some sort of comeback, something to say to Tamlin to make him change his mind. “You cannot be serious? Tam, I said to give it more time. I told you I was working with the Dawn Court to see if we could—”

He sighed, pushing Lucien off him, but not without his claws slipping out in his anger and despair. “They’re taking too long! Feyre has been away for too long. I can’t leave her there stranded with that monster in the Night Court. Who knows what he’s done to her there…”

Tamlin looked around the room, at Lucien and his three trusted guards. The chains and shackles that Sirius was kept in were made to suppress magic. Tamlin wouldn’t make that mistake—mistaking her to be fragile. He still had scars from that fight in the woods where his father and brothers had cornered her and her mother. He wouldn’t mistake that she wasn’t riddled with enough power to kill them all in one fell swoop. That room, that cell, was made to contain people like her. 

“We are the only people that know of her existence. Keep your mental shields up around her. She’s dangerous. We have to keep her here until she breaks. Understood?”

The guards nodded, shouldering their weapons and walking off. Tamlin, on the other hand, took a deep sigh and leaned against the dining room table. “Do not mention her to Ianthe. She’s at her temple right now, but if she hears even a whisper of her… she might very well use it. Security is what we need most right now.”

Lucien eyed him over. “What are you going to do to her?”
Raking a hand through his blond hair, he said to Lucien, “What I have to. I’ll do what I must to make sure Feyre is brought home safe.”

“I don’t,” Lucien started, throwing up his hands and beginning to walk away. “I don’t want any part in this. None. I’m not some kind of torturer .”

“I’m not asking you to do anything, Lucien,” Tamlin grit out in response. “I’m just asking you to keep her a secret for now, until the King decides he needs her more than he’s willing to risk her rotting in a cell. I’ve been telling him about her magic. Maybe she will be able to cut a deal for her freedom when the time is right.”

Lucien didn’t stick around long enough to hear any more of what Tamlin had to say. Better to hear nothing at all than know everything about her. If he knew too much, who knew what the cost would be?

Tamlin didn’t like this… unsteady alliance with Hybern, but it was the only alliance that would trust him. It was the only way that he would be able to get Feyre back guaranteed. It was the only thing that mattered to him. 

He wouldn’t abandon her again. When he sent her away to protect her, back to her people where he knew she wouldn’t be hated or hunted, she came back for him. This time, he was going to go back for her . He was willing to risk any battle for what she did for him. She died for him, and in the night he sometimes still woke up with the sound of her death hanging in his ears, like a tree branch in the forest. He didn’t know what he would do if she had died that day.

When the Night Court stole her, he ripped through her old room, enraged and struggling to grasp what had happened to her. She had just been taken . Taken by that monster of the night during one of the brightest days of spring. It wasn’t right. None of it. 

And when that note had come through… He knew Feyre didn’t know how to read or write. It just had to be Rhysand toying with him. Toying with his heart, with his feelings, like he always loved when Amarantha reigned.

Tamlin wasn’t the best person. He had done wrong. He had done many things he wished he could have fixed, but that was in the past. He was trying to be better after so many years of abuse and trauma. After his father beat him into his place and Amarantha just showed him new ways to pick at his tortured soul.

He wasn’t perfect, but the past was the past and he was trying to move forward.

And Sirius…

She’s another cruel reminder of the things he had done. Another way the King might extend control over him. It was his fault she was alive again, and it would be his downfall if something happened to her too. 

He knew shouldn’t care. It was such a long time ago. It was such a long time since they embraced each other, and then in the next moment held her down while he cut off her head. He could see her sometimes, in his dreams, when she was dead. Screaming and crying to let them go. To let her mother go so that she might have a chance. Then what happened afterward, cutting off their wings and head, all because his father was afraid of what Rhysand and his sister might become. Of the power they shared. 

Love was a wicked thing.

If only his father could see them now. Rhysand, the most powerful High Lord even if most didn’t want to admit it. Sirius, back from the dead thanks to the power the Cauldron granted, with perhaps hidden knowledge about what’s happened in the world if she knew about Feyre.

He will have to send out word to people in his court tomorrow to get them out of here. Tell them to flee for the East and those who stay will be at risk. The King of Hybern promised to keep his lands and people untouched, but he doubted that his word was enough. Not when his soldiers could go behind his back, raping and pillaging as they please, and not do a damn thing about it. 

So he would warn his people, tomorrow. After he had some rest and made sure Sirius was secure in the dungeon below the manor. He would ward it tonight. Set spells around it to make sure no one got in or out.

Tamlin got up from the table, slowly easing his anger into a small box he locked away. His claws slowly slid back in place. He took another deep breath, and they were gone entirely. 

For now, he paced back up to his study where he would start his work.

 

***

 

Sirius didn’t eat her food. There was no way she was getting any faebane into her system, even when the food she was given, an apple cut up into small squares with a platter of seared lamb, smelled so good. She knew it would taste just as good too… if only it wouldn’t damn her powers to hell and make her feel like shit.

All she had was time. 

Or at least until they decided that she was better off dead. Death didn’t scare her anymore. It was peaceful. Quiet. Washed ashore. Nobody knew she was alive anyways. She wouldn’t be causing any more grief if she quietly went back into that void.

Not that she would just yet. 

The lamb was so tempting. All she wanted to do was sink her canines into it and rip the lamb apart. Tear into the apple, and soak it in caramel and nuts. Mother knew how hungry she was, not to mention that she had forgotten how good all the scents and smells melded together, creating such a perfect, divine… 

She had to get her mind off the food. It was going to drive her mad. Her mind flashed back to the look on Jurian’s face when she first emerged. That gleam in his eyes.

She didn’t spend ages looking through a ring, so perhaps she missed the insanity part, although a lurking, hidden piece locked away in the back of her mind, almost urged her to.

Let them all rot. Let them all burn .

Sirius was not going to listen to that voice. Not unless Tamlin decided to try and kill her brother as he intended to the day she died. She might let them all rot then. She would make her enemies pay dearly for even thinking about crossing her family.

Tamlin is on top of that list.

Sirius knew about Feyre and her brother. Before she emerged into the world, she was watching over them, watching as Feyre grew… happy. Started to change. Started to fight for herself and the family she had grown to love.

It was a relief seeing her brother so happy, even if she didn’t know they were mates. Just the look in his eyes, on his face. She was slowly washing away the stains of years he spent alone and unhappy. It’s what Mother always wanted for him, and for her too.

She was extremely pleased when Feyre retrieved her Mother’s ring, although a tad pissed at Rhysand for sending her into the Weaver’s untrained and nearly powerless.

Sirius was almost about to leave them, to fade into that tide, when she realized he didn’t need her watching over them anymore. When she realized Cassian and Azriel had moved on too. When she found Mor beginning to slowly accept herself, despite everything that has happened in her life too. Her dear sweet cousin. What she saw… all she ever wanted was for her family to be happy. 

Amren was an oddity. She intrigued her, but at the same time frightened her. Now, they were almost one and the same. Two souls trapped in bodies that they didn’t know how to work anymore.

Sirius leaned against the walls of her cell as that heavy oak door opened up again. She didn’t want to fight them, not when she was at such a disadvantage. Not when there were so many people here. She didn’t need to kill more people than necessary, especially if they were innocent.

Tamlin peeked around the door, and then at the untouched food. But she was clothed, which they were both thankful for. 

“You need to eat,” he said quietly. 

She gave him a tight smile. “I’ll work on it later. I’m thinking of all the ways I could kill you right now.” He stared at her. His green eyes did not flinch. “Come on, you know I’m joking. After all, I’m just a pawn in your plans aren’t I.”

“Be fortunate that’s all you are,” he said. “There are much worse places to be.”

“Like the Night Court?” Sirius asked, raising a brow. “Please nothing has happened to Feyre. You can trust me.”

Tamlin kept his sneer contained to his mind, but it didn’t stop the hint of claws. Sirius noted it. “You’re just covering for Rhysand,” Tamlin remarked.

Sirius scoffed but kept herself against the wall. “I don’t blame you for thinking that with all the fronts he’s put up. I would like to think you’d know better than that though.” She paused, looking at herself and back at him. “I would have hoped you would trust me more than that. But, in regards to the situation you’ve dragged me into, I suppose you don’t.”

“You’re insulting me.” Less of a question and more of a statement.

“Take it how you want,” she said quietly, “I didn’t ask to be dragged back into your mess. I was hoping to leave this world behind. But it just keeps coming to bite me in the ass, now isn’t it?”

“Hybern soldiers are coming in a week.”

That means she had no chance of escaping while they were present. 

Sirius crossed her arms. “Is it worth it? Having the enemy invade your lands and have complete control over you. You’re a High Lord , Tamlin.”

“I don’t have much of a choice now do I,” Tamlin growled. “And stop talking down to me like I’m a child. I know what I’m doing. This is my home, my court.”

She looked away. “Whatever. Just…don’t you think it’s wrong? This is Hybern . I may not have been old enough to fight but I’ve seen what happened after. We all have, Tamlin. We have all heard about what Hybern did.”

“I’m doing what I can,” he said again, shoving the plate towards her again. “If this plate isn’t finished by the time I’m back I’ll make one of the guards shove it down your throat.”

Then he left and slammed the door behind him. 

She flinched at the noise, looking carefully over the plate.

Sirius picked up the plate and stirred the food carefully, mixing it. Fuck, it smelled better up close, despite the threat of faebane lurking over her head. But she was hungry, and she would rather not be forced. Even if her instincts screamed at her not to do it, or rather just to tempt Tamlin into making one of his guards make her . How delighted she would be when she ripped into that poor male’s mind for even touching her. 

But then again, it’s just a soldier under orders. She wouldn’t hold it against them. After all, Tamlin, with the few guards he did have watching over her, probably painted her out as a villain. They probably already feared her. Proving what they already suspected would not help her case. 

So, Sirius would bide her time, as she nibbled on a piece of the apple, and tried her best to disintegrate or mist what she didn’t.

 

***

 

“Don’t be an ass,” Mor chided, smacking Cassian on the arm while he howled in laughter. 

He couldn’t get enough air in his lungs as he tried to wheeze out an answer to no avail. “You—” another bout of laughter that left him airless. “You should have—have seen the look on that bastard’s face!” he cackled, pointing at the poor, stoned face Azriel sitting across from him.

Azriel cast a glance at Mor, his hazel eyes dancing as a small smile cracked his lips. “I didn’t know what to do so I punched the guy before I realized what I’d done.”

Mor shook her head, giving Cassian a rather hard pat on the back. “Mother above you two are children.”

Cassian stuck his tongue out at her, and she did the same to him. “You aren’t any better than us hooligans, you know.”

“No, but at least I know a thing or two about social skills and clothing choice.”

Cassian scoffed. “Please, do you know how many ladies fall head over heels for me?”

Azriel stifled a laugh. “Is it because you tripped them over your bawdy poetry?”

Cassian whirled and pointed his finger back at him. “For the record, Sirius wrote more crude shit than either of us care to admit. And second, when I really put my mind to it, it’s not bad poetry. It’s elegant and lovely.”

Mor laughed again. “Your poetry is about as lovely as a horse’s ass!”

Cassian deadpanned to her. “Don’t mock me!”

She raised her hands up in defeat. “It wasn’t mockery so much as it was—”

The door swung open with a bang as Rhysand stepped through the threshold, pale and clammy. The night was cold, and the stars hovered nearby from just outside the door.

The others didn’t stop immediately laughing. They were joking around while they waited for the moment Rhys seized the conversation with friendly banter. 

Rhysand didn’t let out a sound, not as he slung off his blood-stained cloak and drudged up the stairs. 

“Rhys?” Cassian called, getting up and chasing after him, the smile he had painted on beforehand vanishing without a second thought. “Rhys what’s going on?”

He was crying, Cassian realized. Crying… he never saw Rhys cry. But he didn’t stop until he was in Sirius’ room. 

“They’re dead,” he sobbed. He could still smell her here as it wiped away the scent of her blood. He could see all the things set up on her nightstand as if she was going to be there tomorrow.

Mor ran up next to them, holding onto Rhys’ shoulder, pushing him into her arms. He clung to her like it was the end of the world. He didn’t stop clinging to her as his shoulders shook as he sobbed.

“Who’s dead? Who’s dead love?” she whispered.

Rhysand shook his head on her shoulder, whispering back something incoherent. He dragged her down to the bedroom floor with him, as if all the strength in his legs gave out. As if it was all too much.

Cassian gulped and turned to Azriel. “Have you heard any word on this?”

Azriel shook his head. “If something happened it would have been recent. I don’t know what’s going on.”

Rhysand tried his best to stop crying, to calm down enough to get a word out of his mouth, but everything hurt . His whole chest seemed to cave in and spill out. He would rather be dying than feeling this pain. At least then he could be with her.

“My father’s coming,” he cried between breaths, sniffling and trying to wipe the tears from his face, but they escaped faster than he could wipe them away. Mor pushed his hands aside and wiped them for him as he continued to cry. “He—we just found out. I was supposed to meet them. I should have met them. This wouldn’t have happened…”

His face crumpled again and Mor shoved him back in her arms, shushing him quietly, telling him that it was okay. Everything would be okay. There’s nothing that they couldn’t face together.

“Meet them?” Cassian asked. His brow scrunched in concentration. Who was Rhys supposed to meet?

“Sirius…” Azriel whispered. His only confirmation was Rhys’ loud sobbing on the floor as his grip tightened on Mor. 

The room spun as Cassian also sat down on the floor beside them. Azriel’s shadows deepened around him. 

“Who?” That was all Azriel had to ask. His voice is deadly quiet. “Who did this?”

Cassian shushed him. Now wasn’t the time, not as Mor looked back at him, eyes red.

Sirius, his sister, was dead.

And his mother…

Rhysand tried to push it all away.

 

*** 

 

Sirius’ head snapped back, blood dripping from her mouth and nose as she spat it onto the dirty, stone floor. She’d been in here for a week, and that’s when Hybern finally decided to send someone to “look after her.” That included all the delightful torture the soldiers of Hybern thought of. It’s not like Tamlin could stop them, and it’s not like he would. He wouldn’t threaten their fragile alliance.

The male grabbed her by the hair, dragging her gaze up to him. Fuck that hurt. Not as bad as some of the previous interrogations, but it still hurt nonetheless. It was during these times that she slid into another place of herself. The one that always projected ruthless insanity. Trying to laugh and slide jokes in despite the pain. It always caught them off guard at first, until they grew used to it. It kept her mind off of the pain she felt. 

It was all she could do to keep up sometimes, and being drugged with faebane didn’t help her either. It made her feel like a doe in the woods, having only her main senses to rely on. She tried not to eat too much of the food, but even that was beginning to strain on her. With her magic drained nearly to the dredges, it was all she could do to hold onto that last bit of it. It was enough to sense when another mind was around, perhaps even scan base emotions or thoughts, but nothing in detail or clarity. 

Sirius would outlast them. She would make herself. 

Before the faebane completely kicked over she did find out one thing. Wards. This place, Rosehall Manor, was filled with wards and spells to keep people in and out. She found out, to no surprise, how Tamlin soon warded the place to specifically keep her in. 

Busy male indeed.

And here she thought he didn’t care about her.

“Tell me again how you don’t know what the Night Court’s territory looks like,” the guard growled out. He didn't even give her the courtesy of a name so she could curse him out. For now, the tall, bland brown-haired male, was called “Asshole.” His eyes were an accompanying dark brown, like the mud she would find in a sparring ring in the Illyrian war camps.

“Three hundred years is a long time. I don’t remember everything exactly,” Sirius said.

He sneered at her. “I don’t believe you.”

“Okay.”

He hit her again, causing the blood to spray onto the ground. She shouted in pain as he kneed her in the chest. The air in her lungs left her, leaving her breathless and wheezing. Every intake of air felt like fire in her lungs. All she could taste was blood.

“I can take you to the Court of Nightmares. I can take you to the coast and the mountains, but that’s as far as my memory serves me,” she breathed out. And then there was Velaris too, with the Sidra flowing out to the ocean. Ports and boats and a city of life. Truths and lies; lies and truth. It was finding that balance to keep Hybern at bay.

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

Asshole let her go, shoving her back into the wall she was shackled to, her arms limply suspended above her head. Her head snapped back, hitting the solid rock wall, causing it to throb more harshly than before.The faebane gave her a terrible headache all day. She kept her wings tucked in tight, not letting the male get the chance to rake his hands on them. If he did, she would very well find a way to kill him. And if he planned to kill her, she would find a way to bring him down with her.

“You are damn lucky the King needs you…” he muttered. The first bit of information she had heard from him. She was needed . By the enemy, of all people. But for what?

“Why would he need me?” she dared to ask, hanging her head as she gasped for air, blood from her nose dripping onto the floor in a small pool. She couldn’t imagine what she looked like after all this. Matted black hair? Dark bruises under her eyes, deepening that deep violet that she and her brother shared, although his more bordered on a blue. 

The Asshole spit on the floor next to her, not saying another word. Instead, his dead eyes peered into hers, suspending a look of pure, unfiltered rage, one that she only saw in people who thinks that they will always win. She didn’t let a smile show, not when her teeth sang in a symphony of ache.

He snapped his fingers, the chains on her wrists unlocking at lightning speed. She didn’t have time to prepare for it as she fell to the floor, arms barely able to catch herself. It didn’t stop the male from kicking her, just for good riddance, while she was down, and exiting the cell. 

Sirius finally had the lack of company to grimace, flipping onto her back. Just by herself. It was perfect. It was all she wanted in this damn place. 

She wondered if Azriel’s spies could get into this place. How perfectly unfortunate. They would have a reason to wage war against the Spring Court then. She remembered her brother debating it, on that shore somewhere in the deep, twisting sea, where she watched over them in spirit. Where she could meditate and see them, where she could think and sing. 

Sirius couldn’t remember the last time she sang to her family. Probably at some shady bar at the camps, where she sat next to Rhysand or Cassian, Azriel would smile faintly with them, softly adding to the lyrics while the other two belted them at the top of their lungs. Or maybe with Morrigan, out shopping close to the Rainbow of Velaris, when she found a particularly stunning dress with her. 

She could almost hear them now next to her, telling her to get up. To fight. To do something other than waste away. To not let the hard days win.

But she couldn’t, for all of their sakes. 

She couldn’t get up, she couldn’t risk exposure and making them start a war for her. Not with the threat of Hybern, and certainly not risking their ties with the Spring Court. Two fronts at once would be too much. Feyre was also another possibility to remember.

Humming silence was all that was left in her head, besides shadows and ancient memories from another lifetime. 

It must be winter by now.

 

***

 

It must have been late at night when she heard her door creak open. She didn’t remember when she fell asleep on the floor, an arm under her acting as a pillow for her head, but she could guess a few hours after the food had appeared in her cell. Of course, she barely touched it. The threat of more faebane mixed with what little magic she had was not a good combination. Sirius had only moments to hear the scuffle of boots that slid on the floor, despite being quiet, before she opened an eye.

The red-head… Lucien. His gold eye whirled, and the other amber one looked at her, slightly surprised. The door to her cell was ajar, but that wasn’t what concerned her.

He held in his hands a bucket of water and a rag.

“Did Tamlin send you?” she asked, her question hoarse and hanging in the air. The air around her stifled anything she wanted to say.

Lucien shook his head. “I came myself, to see what they were doing to you.” He paused as if he debated his next words. His accent was smooth and quiet. Like he didn’t want anyone to know he was here. “I couldn’t sit by.”

“You’re disobeying orders,” Sirius said back, a small, teasing smile caressing her lips. A game. It was a game of cards. She had to be careful which one she would pull from the draw deck, and what to discard to him.

“Tamlin keyed it to allow anyone who saw you down here. I’m not disobeying. He has allowed us down here.”

“Sorry, stepping around his orders.”

“Do you want this or not?”

Sirius eyed the bucket and rag carefully. “Thank you.” Her voice was low, sorrowful, something Lucien didn’t expect. He lowered it next to her as she sat up and took the rag from his hands. She dipped it in the water, carefully washing her face and arms.

He might have thought she was beautiful had it not been for the awful injuries scattering her body. A deep tan, common for the Night Court. Wings with only light traces of scars. There was a thin white line across her neck. One across each of her wings towards the base.

Lucien took a careful seat next to her. “I’ll see what I can do to get you out,” he said, testing the waters. “Tamlin is a hard male to reason with, but—”

“If you call locking a scarred female in a house reasonable,” she bit out. She scoffed. “Feyre deserved better.”

He glanced away. “So you know.”

“I’ve seen it in all your minds, before the faebane of course. Now I can barely even tell what you’re feeling.”

Lucien blinked, looking back at her. “That easily.”

Sirius shrugged. “Do you even know who I am?”
“No,” he answered honestly. “And I don’t want to know. Not when it could be used against you.”

A small, innocent-looking smile. “That’s probably for the best. I know of you though. Lucien Vanserra?”

“I don’t use my family name,” he replied, cold and drawn off.

She nodded, wiping away another smudge of dirt. “Fair.”

“I don’t see what you know of it.”

“When you’ve been dead for as long as I have, you learn to watch things in the world and see what happens. Observe.”

Lucien nodded. “What was it like? Dead?”

Sirius chuckled, digging the rag back into the water, muddied with blood already. It reminded her of when they butchered deer in the Illyrian mountains. Mixed with a little bit of vinegar, it took out the blood clots.

She watched him. “Curious?”

“Mildly,” he said, shrugging.

She put the rag back in the water, no longer crystal clear. He could magic it away. 

If he wanted to.

“Come back another time, and I may tell you.”

“You’re dangerous. Why would I do that?” he questioned her. He knew she was locked up for some reason, whether to keep Hybern safe or to keep her from striking against Hybern. It was a death sentence either way.

“Because curiosity is what we thrive on.” We, he pondered. A fox versus a… what was she? “Suit yourself either way, but as you said, I don’t want information used against me.”

Lucien got up from the floor, dusting off his cream-colored pants. He looked tired almost. Tired of this war before it has even truly begun. Sirius knew it was only a matter of time before the water boiled and began spilling over.

“I will consider bringing some food for you next time. I can’t properly heal you, not without them noticing.”

Sirius looked away.“Thank you anyway, even if it is the last time we meet.” She looked up at him. “I owe you.”

He didn’t like that. That she owed him something. Honorable, but what could she offer him? It was always handy to have an enemy's hand wrapped in yours. “Another time then, when the guards fall asleep.”

She gave him a crooked smile. “How irresponsible of them little fox.”

 

Chapter 3: The Cauldron

"Make her kneel, Tamlin. That is your next order."

Tamlin looked up at the King, uneasy. "What do you mean?" Although, he knew, in his heart, what he meant.

"We need her ready for the war, to prepare her. I want her on her knees and begging when that time comes. Do what is necessary, Tamlin. That is your next set of commands once you get Feyre back." The King turned away from him, as he said, preparing.

She didn’t know how long she had been locked and chained up down here, but she had been sick all fucking day. She didn’t know why, or what was happening. Worry gnawed on the edge of her mind. Did one of her wounds get infected? Did Asshole hit her one too many times and this was the last straw her new body could take? 

She knew the faebane didn’t help, and neither did the chains around her wrists. Both to suppress her magic. Both to keep her weighed down. At least the faebane had stopped being as effective. Being dosed this much, all the time, around the clock, it felt as though she started to build up a tolerance to it. At least enough that it was only a matter of time before she could strike with fangs again.

Sirius’ stomach grumbled and churned. It didn’t matter if she got food now. She wouldn’t have been able to keep it down. 

Lucien had only been able to visit her one other time since he first came to her, again with a bucket and washrag, but also with a slice of cheese and bread. She remembered sniffing it carefully, scenting for the unique scent of faebane, but it wasn’t there. He looked at her oddly before he realized with a stiff look of guilt.

 She was grateful nonetheless to have an ally in this. She liked his company mostly because he actually talked to her and didn’t hit her or call her a bitch or try to make her tell all her secrets.

Tamlin didn’t deign to see her at all. 

It was just herself, and in the darkness of her cell, only lit by a single candle that was sometimes replaced when the wax finally burned away to nothing, it started to get to her. The feeling of being so alone. So desperate. It was killing her, as much as it was killing her to sit back and do absolutely nothing but get tortured for information.

She was never trained against torture. Sure, she had lessons and tutors against this sort of thing, even had Azriel teach her a few things that she scraped her memory for in the dark, but it was different experiencing it. She threatened to tell them everything. Just to make it stop. But she would not let them know about Velaris or her family. That was her fault line, the line she would not cross.

But it was clear. 

Something was happening in the world, today of all days. 

It was a long time. A long time after she stopped vomiting and the shaking stopped. She couldn’t remember when, but she had vomited several times throughout the day. She was finally calming down towards the end of the night. It was her hidden salvation it seemed. She lay on the ground, trying to catch some sleep before the night escaped her. But of course, fate loved to toy with Sirius.

Her door silently creaked open. 

Sirius raised a weary head, looking, peering into the darkness. 

A torch peeked through the door, and then out popped Tamlin’s golden head. It was shorter than it had been when she last saw him. She didn’t have enough energy to snarl at him, to bite some reply. She just watched him as he placed the torch on the wall.

“You look…” he started, but her sharp laugh cut him off.

“I’ve been sick all day. I can look as well as you might expect,” Sirius said.

He gulped, glancing away from her. As if he couldn’t stand the sight of her, of what his actions caused.

“The Cauldron was used today. Perhaps that’s why.”

Sirius sat up. “What?”

“It’s a long story,” he sighed. He looked… tired. Exhausted. “Most of the manor is asleep now, so I thought it would be a good time to check on you. My bargain is almost fulfilled with the King.”

Her face paled as all the blood rushed away from it. “What does that mean, Tamlin?”

He looked at her. “I got Feyre back.”

Sirius blinked, slowly. She had never known the female. She had seen her fighting, fighting for Tamlin, and watched over her whenever she was with Rhysand. When she became an important part of his life, she began to truly pay attention. Especially after Amarantha’s reign. When he stumbled back into the House of Wind, he found Mor and sobbed into her arms after fifty years of separation. To sob into her arms as he repeated over and over in her arms, “She’s my mate, my mate.”

“Oh?’

“And I saw Rhysand today.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Sirius asked.

Tamlin shifted on his feet, taking a seat across from her at the farthest wall, closest to the wall. “I don’t know. He’s your brother. Or perhaps because I hate Rhysand enough and want to see you suffer because you’re family . ”

“What happened?” Sirius asked, breathless.

Tamlin shook his head. “It was bad.”

“Who died?” Her voice shook. Please, don’t be dead. Please. Why be brought back into existence if her family was dead?

“The Illyrians—they were badly injured. One’s wings were torn apart, the rugged one. Cassian. The Shadowsinger, Azriel, took a bolt to the chest. Rhysand… well he’s mostly alright.”

Sirius watched him, wide-eyed. Shaking. Trying to catch a single breath in her chest. “Show me. Please .”

Sirius reached out with her mind, with whatever strength she had, and found it already open for her. This single blessing. 

She was gagged—Tamlin was gagged—and on the floor, watching and struggling to get to his feet, to make that King just listen to him. To get Feyre’s sisters away from that cursed Cauldron, and get them to safety. But most of all, to get Feyre away from here. That was all he needed to do. That unbearable need to make sure she was safe and away from all this bloodshed.

He may have hated Rhysand, for all the lies and games and cruelty that he had been, all he had ever been to him, but he would not make Feyre see that. What he already did to Feyre was unmistakable. Unforgivable. He would make sure to pay back Rhysand tenfold for every wound, every word, against his Feyre.

Rhysand was across the throne room with his filthy hands wrapped around her as she vomited as her sister was dunked into the Cauldron, tucked into his chest. The Illyrians next to him were writhing on the floor, one trying to reach the sister that was thrashing against the guards. Nesta, he realized. That was Nesta. Her oldest sister. 

His wings were shredded like torn wet paper. It was all he could do to twitch and reach out as blood pooled around him. All he could do with pained eyes to watch that Cauldron as it tipped over and spilled that hateful and loathing woman. Female, now. The air around her seemed to still, seemed to cool and crackle with something. Nothing natural, even for High Fae.

Azriel, beside Cassian, was also on the floor, a bolt through his chest peeked out behind his wings. Blood from him mixed with Azriel’s as the Golden-Haired Queen held a hand to his chest, trying to stop the bleeding. She was crying, he realized.

Poison was in his veins. There was no telling when he’d die. 

Tamlin shook against the restraints again. Rage and despair crept into his vision.

Sirius was back in her own body staring at the male across from her. She was numb as she took in each bit of information. As each drop of blood sunk into place, and what it would mean for her. 

They were dying. Outmatched. Out done. 

She swallowed back her agony as it struck her square in the chest, even as Tamlin watched her with guilt in his eyes. He did this. But most of all, she did nothing.

There was nothing she could do. She knew that. But that was the point as well. She could do nothing.

Sirius had to do something.

Tamlin cleared his throat, getting to his feet. “I’ll leave you for now.”

She didn’t reply as he shut and locked the door behind him. She had plenty to think about now.

 

***

 

They all sat together eating dinner, Rhys was by the fire lounging in a chair with a book in his lap, and their brothers were on the couch drinking wine and telling stories. Sirius was in the chair across them with Mor.

Azriel sipped his wine, but Cassian chugged it, the bottom of his cup tilted into the air as he finished it.

Mor shook her head softly, the wisps of her golden hair curling around her neck. 

“This is why we never invite you for dinner,” Rhys said, turning to the next page before tucking a mark in it and setting the book down beside him. “Because you always steal the good wine.”

“And we shall keep doing it,” Cassian said, his grin feral.

“Mor,” Sirius said, turning to her as the boys bickered. “Are we still on for tomorrow?”

Mor looked at her, eyes scanning her face. Her lips pursed, blood red from the cosmetics she put on them. “To the Rainbow, right?”

“Yes,” Sirius laughed.

“Then yes,” Mor smiled. “I remembered.”

Cassian threw a couch cushion at them, hitting Mor on the side of the face. She turned back to them slowly with intent in her eyes. 

“Excuse me?” Mor said. 

Sirius picked up the cushion and threw it back at them. Another appeared next to her, the House of Wind supplying her with more ammo. Which she used gratefully.

“That’s unfair!” Cassian shouted, shielding himself from the onslaught.

“ All's fair in love and war,” Azriel hummed. 

“Oh would you shut the fuck up, Az,” Cassian replied, cutting him a glare.

Rhysand stifled a laugh with his fist. He glanced at Sirius. Look at what you started, his voice purred in her mind.

It was always a rule between them. Keep the borders open for each other. Only for her would he keep his mind open. For his sister. Guarded still, but always open for communication.

It’s not my fault that Cassian can’t back up his words, Sirius replied.

I’ve seen him take down battlefields with just pure rage by his side, and I think you make him the angriest.

Sirius grinned in delight. He needs to go to therapy.

“Mother above, they’re conspiring again,” Mor said dramatically, looking between the two of them. 

Rhys threw her a conspirator’s grin. “Oh, of course, we are. We have to team up. It’s in our nature.”

“Honestly, do you expect any less of us?” Sirius said.

Chapter 4: My Lady

Over the next few weeks, things were eerily quiet, a storm brewing in the sky where Hybern was concerned, and yet busier than ever. Even the visits from Asshole, who adored beating the absolute shit out of her, had decided that the Spring Court was no place for him. She was given food and water, enough space to pace and pass out on the floor, and enough time that it made the ages spent in death seem like heaven compared to here. 

She could feel the pulses of other people’s presence above her, but no sounds of their footsteps. No sounds in the manor. It was only because of the pressure of their minds, the power that was slowly creeping back in her, along with another slick and sickly power, that she knew that anyone still resided in the manor.

She spent a lot of time thinking about what Tamlin showed her.

Rhys… Cassian… Azriel… Mor…

Mother above the King was going to slaughter them. He may have slaughtered them, and Tamlin spared Sirius the image of their bodies in her head.

But if Feyre was here… if she was alive and well and as powerful as she rumored…perhaps they still were alive. Or maybe he really did take her and killed all the others. She wouldn’t put it past Tamlin, unfortunately, despite their history. Not that there was much. Her final lover. Her murderer.

Even so, there was nothing she could do to help them, even here. She would have to find her own way to support them. There was only so much she could do. Just wait for her time to strike. 

A hellcat, waiting to pounce.

Later that night her door creaked open and she was thrown against the wall and made to kneel. She could feel their minds coming down the stairs, foreign and unknown to her, before the two fae walked into the room followed by the resurrected human commander Jurian. Lucien was behind him, holding a torch, acting as though he’d never seen her face before.

The two fae, inky black hair with carefully painted blank faces, looked down at her. They were old, much older than her despite death. Even if she held the knowledge of the afterlife, they held a lifetime of knowledge ahead of her.

Jurian bowed to her and gestured to them. “Prince Dagdan and Princess Brannagh of Hybern. A pleasure to see you again.” His smile was like daggers pointed in her direction, his muted brown hair brushed and out of his face.

Lucien lingered behind them, his eyes carefully placed anywhere but near her. Like he was scared. His tense shoulders were enough to suggest that, and that golden eye whirled carefully. 

Sirius made a good show of smiling. “Your Highnesses…”

The female, Princess Brannagh, took Sirius’ face in her hands, eyeing her with a lip curled. Her hair wasn’t nearly as long as Sirius’, and it was hairpin straight. It hung over her face like a drape as she studied Srius closely. 

She knew they were testing her mind when the inky tendrils started to snake closer and push her barriers. But, with a look of surprise flashing in their minds, they were unable to breach it. They only found darkness, a smoke, covering her mind.

Sirius didn’t know why they looked so surprised. She double-checked her mental shields, triple, but it didn’t occur to her they didn’t want to venture any further. It was that mist around her mind that kept them at bay for now, a mist that Sirius didn’t realize existed until then.

It swirled around her mind, making it impossible to determine where her mind began or where an illusion was. Deceptive. Valuable, most importantly. To both her enemies and her allies.

“What brings you here to me tonight?” Sirius asked, eyeing all of them.

Jurian took a knee in front of her, letting the two royals circle her like vultures. “Well, His Highness wanted to see how his prisoner was faring here at the Spring Court. He doesn’t want to see you suffering.”

“How wonderful. Staying long?”

“Long enough,” Princess Brannagh said. “But not long enough for you to slit our throats.”

“If you ever gave me the dagger,” Sirius replied, looking up at her.

Jurian huffed a laugh. “Always the sharp remarks, this one?” He turned towards Lucien at the end of the room.

“This is the first time I’ve been down here,” Lucien said coolly. He looked at her, inquisitive, as if it truly were the first time he ever saw her.

“Liar,” Jurian chided, but didn’t reprimand him. Just… curious. That dark gleam in his eyes was nearly identical when placed next to Sirius’. That gleam Lucien sees slip in every now and then. They both seemed mad. 

How much time had she spent locked away in death?

Princess Brannagh looked up and smiled at her brother. They seemed to be having a silent conversation. Sirius could only guess what it was about.

“The King must find you valuable to see to it you’re here…” Prince Dagdan said, the first words he spoke to her. “And for him to send us here… for you. How much power do you have as the lost heir to the Night Court?”

Lucien locked eyes with her. Startled. This was news to her. The Prince must be fiddling with the truth since Lucien was in the room, or maybe these two didn’t know who she was. Tamlin must have kept it from them, kept it from all of them, either for their “safety” or because of his own selfishness. His own guilt.

“I don’t see why it matters when all I’ve eaten this past… oh I don’t know… perhaps a month or so now, is faebane and drugged water. Trust me, I know what it smells like now,” Sirius responded.

“Let’s hope you enjoy their company then Sirius,” Jurian said. “Because the Prince and Princess are going to take special care of you while they are here. Starting… tonight?” He looked at the two. 

Prince Dagdon nodded. “We start now. Leave us.”

Sirius cracked her neck as she felt her limbs return to her and was being pushed back against the wall. To chain her? To make her bow? She didn’t know. All she knew was that she was in deep shit and that there was nothing Lucien could do for her as he and the human commander left the room and closed the door behind them.

 

***

 

“Oh, Sirius… .” Rhysand purred. She knew he was in the other room as he crept closer. She was only ten or so at the time, too young to understand why he couldn’t fly with her late at night and why he limped behind her instead of running. Even Cassian seemed to have hidden shadows, even though his smiles still came easy to Sirius.

Sirius held a hand to her mouth, trying to contain her giggles. Tucked away in the back of her room’s closet, Sirius piled a bunch of her clothes on top of her to hide from her brother. She even quieted her breathing, trying to blend into the pile of clothes as best as she could.

She heard her door open, and soft footsteps padding into the room. Sirius shifted slightly, a smile spreading across her cheeks. It almost hurt smiling this much.

“I know you’re in here,” he cooed.

She could hear him checking the obvious places—under the bed, in her bathroom, under the sink—but not the closet. She had been saving this hiding spot for as long as she could remember, saving it for this very moment to use it.

“Oh, Siri, where are you?” Rhysand asked. He paced outside the closet, his steps uneven because of the injury she knew he had underneath the bandages of his knee. Her Mother would never let her help when it came time to clean it, even though she always wanted to. But it always made her feel better when Rhys would pat her head and tell her to go into the other room and would meet her there once they were done. He would always read her bedtime stories or tales from the Illyrian camps or outside of the Night Court.

Here, in the House of Wind, it was comfortable. It was fun . Spending time with her brother was always so much fun, especially if his friends joined or Mor, their cousin. She didn’t visit as often though.

Rhysand paused outside of the closet door. She could see his hands pause on the handles before he pulled the doors open. He had an easy smile on his face, even as he tried to make it look like he was searching for her on the higher shelves and in between the dresses she had hung on the rack. Her mother always made sure she was clothed in the finest, most of them made by her. 

Sirius held her fist up to her mouth, biting down to keep from laughing. Rhysand must have sensed it, his eyes lighting up as he inspected the back of the closet more, moving a few articles off the stack surrounding her until the top of her head peaked out.

She looked up at him, grinning wildly. “Found you,” he said.

Sirius laughed then, finally able to make noise without him figuring out her hiding spot. “No way! That was an awesome spot! I had been saving it!”

Rhysand helped her up with a hand, groaning as she sprung to her feet, some of the clothes flying off from the movement. “That may work on Cassian, but I know where you like to hide.”

“Well, I don’t think Cassian can fit in this closet,” Sirius said, walking out of the closet, Rhysand trailing her.

Rhys let out a laugh. “No, I don’t think he could.”

“He has too big of wings!” Sirius said, jumping onto her bed.

Rhysand scoffed. “I’d like to think not. I definitely have bigger wings than he does.”

Sirius paused her jumping and gave her brother a once over, shaking her head in finality. “No, you don’t.”

He looked away, bristling. “I’m never going to hear the end of this,” he murmured.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said casually, sitting on the edge of her bed. She plopped down next to him, leaning against his sturdy shoulders. “Cassian just likes to tease me. Trust me, when you get old enough he will do the same to you.”

She drew her lip back in confusion. “He already does.”

Rhysand tried his best to contain his laughter. “I suppose he does. Well, what—” He paused, turning his head to the door. “Go hide in the closet again Siri, just like what you did.”

Sirius frowned in confusion. “Wait, why?”

“Please darling, just go hide for a minute. It’ll be fun. But you have to be quiet.”

She hopped off the bed and ran to the closet and shut the door, piling the clothes on her again. She heard it, or felt it, a few minutes later, as Rhys got up from her bed and went over to one of her many windows and closed the shutters.

“Rhysand,” her father’s voice rumbled.

“Father, how was your trip?”

“As good as can be expected in the Court. Scheming courtiers, Keir trying to get me to bend to him.” He sighed. “Glad to be away. Your knee?”

“Healing,” Rhysand answered him. 

“And Sirius is…”

“Studying with her tutor. She’s doing extremely well for her age. And with Azriel training her in his spare time, I think she will make a fine warrior.”

“She isn’t a warrior, Rhysand. One of you will inherit the title of High Lord, and it won’t be her. She will never be taken seriously. The Court of Nightmares will only see that as a weakness.”

There was a long pause between them, with Rhysand finally breaking it with, “I’m already one of the strongest males of my time, power and strength. Sirius will get there with time. I doubt whatever weakness they will see, it can be overridden with what they know I can do.”

Her father grunted, pacing across her room, towards the closet. Sirius shrunk back farther.

“She might be a weakness used against you,” he said. “Against all of us.”

She could almost hear Rhysand swallow. “Perhaps,” he said shallowly. “But I doubt they would approach us now. Wounded and scattered as we may be, we are still strong. They will not attack us right now. Although, I wouldn’t put it past the Autumn Court at this point. Beron is…”

“Beron is a High Lord, whether you like him or not. You will learn to put up with him, and with everyone, you don’t like.

“I understand Father.”

Sirius took a small breath from her chest as her father’s footsteps began to recede. “I have to check on a few other things before dinner is served. Your mother?”

“I don’t know. She’s probably sewing on one of the balconies.”

“Go check on her and Sirius. I’ll be back in an hour or so, and I want you to start your studies again. Azriel will be here for dinner too. He has some information to tell me.”

“Understood Father.”

His steps faded into the hall, but Sirius didn’t dare move from her spot. Not until Rhysand finally whispered, “Alright Siri, it’s safe.”

Sirius got up and peeked out of the closet. He was over by the window again, looking over Velaris and the sparkling Sidra. “Is everything okay?” she asked quietly.

He turned away from the window and leaned against the ledge. “Of course, but you know how he gets. Come on, let's grab you a few of your books from the library and sit up with Mother.”

Sirius grinned and darted out of her room.

 

***

 

Sirius wept against the pain in her body as her wings were pinned against the wall behind her and her hands strung up above her body in chains. This was one of the worst of the twins' tortures. Leaving her up like this for hours, nights, at a time, while trying to penetrate her mind. It took all of her will and strength to keep it up. It left her vomiting towards the end of it from the strain on her mind and body. From not being able to fully access her powers. That hurt too.

It had to have been weeks. She hoped it had been weeks. It would have made things easier to deal with. She knew some kind of event happened by the music she could barely hear in the walls of her prison, and maybe a little bit after then. 

It had to be summer already. The Summer Solstice had to be the only explanation to why so many people were out congregating all day, too busy for her thankfully.

Jurian was there with the two twins today. He stood, leaning against the far wall, the entire time, chipping in a few times with comments but nothing special she could glean from it. The two decided to push things today. It was only after a few of their snide comments that she put it together.

Ianthe, the priestess, was believed by Tamlin rather than his guard, which ended in a whipping for her mistake. Princess Brannagh spoke of it the most, talking about the disgust at how Tamlin had hesitated. How he shouldn’t have hesitated, and that she herself would have gladly taken the whip and given him the twenty-one lashes, then a few more. 

Jurian was as unreadable as ever. He accompanied them every now and then. That look in his eyes unnerved Sirius. The tarnished look when the Prince struck her or when he knew that the twins were trying to get in her head, was usually indicated by her screams.

Like he couldn’t do anything. Like he was sidelined and stuck to only watching. Like how he had remained for the last five-hundred years.

Sirius could relate to that at least.

There was another look to him that she couldn’t quite decipher. Pity? Guilt? It kept him from joining in the fun and offering her a few bits of food if he brought it down to her.

He wasn’t pleasant, but he wasn’t cruel to her. Maybe it was the threat of her brother, but she doubted it. There were many layers to this vile painting, blood, mud, and tears being the paint.

It was only when she was alone like this that she let herself sing. A comfort to soothe the many hurts. It was the only thing she had left. There was no one here to protect her, Tamlin was long out of her reach either by guilt or hatred. Lucien had since stopped trying to see her. No one was there but herself, and it was only with the company of herself that she allowed herself to sing in this low, raspy voice. If they knew she enjoyed singing, they would have found a way to take that away from her too.

The melody was slow, solemn. She called to her mother whom she knew was out of her reach as well. She wanted to dream the way she used to when she was young, before she knew that friends were as easy to betray as enemies. Before she knew how much was on the line for herself and Rhysand. Before she knew that she was only a way to get to Rhysand, a shadow of who he was. An extension of his fell swoop.

Singing, even like this, was better than no music at all. When she was a child, she would go to the theaters and opera houses to just sit and listen to the music that went through her. At bars, she would sit and drink and sing along with the bards. 

It reminded her of a place where she could forever dream in the stars and not this dark damp cell that closed off everything that she knew.

Her voice abruptly stopped though as the lock on the door clicked and slender hands pushed the door open. Sirius couldn’t shift her position any further, any strain in her back causing cascading pain down her wings and arms and…well her whole body.

The last person she expected in her cell was her brother’s mate. 

Feyre stepped into the cell, her eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room before her eyes landed on her. Her eyes locked on the wings, and then on her. Sirius did her best to shield her eyes from her, used whatever scraps of power to shade them or glamour them better. She was terrible at glamours though. She couldn’t tell what her power was doing. It was no longer her servant and ally. It was its own living thing, something she had no say over.

“I…” Feyre trailed off. 

Sirius’ breathing was shallow, watching Feyre.

“It doesn’t feel as bad as it looks,” she whispered, gesturing to her wings. She was trying not to scare her, although, she knew it was far past that point now. Sirius watched her as she stepped closer. “Feyre Cursebreaker… never thought I’d have the pleasure of meeting you this evening.”

There was a small cut across her cheeks, almost completely healed. But she looked… tired. Unwell. 

Sirius’ stomach churned as the thought of Rhysand rose in her mind. What would he think of Sirius like this? Of Feyre down here with her. The fact that she was shielding herself from him and their family.

Feyre swallowed, dropping to her knees in front of her. “Who put you down here?”

Sirius looked away. She couldn’t look at her. No, she couldn’t let her see the pain in her eyes. There was such pity in her eyes, such devastation at her wings. “Who do you think? Hybern is…” Sirius didn’t let herself finish.

“Who put you down here.” Her voice was stern, the very female she saw in the Night Court. Not the pretty Bride of Spring. Commanded.

“Tamlin.”

She swore, and Sirius chuckled slightly, wincing from the pain it caused. “Let me help,” Feyre said quietly, moving from her main body to the wings outstretched and pinned using ash spikes. She added, “It’s going to hurt. Start talking, talk about anything. Where are you from?”

Sirius cleared her throat but didn’t know if she should. How much of this would be used against her? Would this be used against Feyre?

Feyre wrapped her hand in her shirt so she wouldn’t have to touch the ash wood. The first tug of the spike sent Sirius’ head spiraling and crying out from the pain that lashed down her wings and back. Her wings spasmed from the jolt, leaving her head pounding with a headache.

“Talk, right…” Again that pain. It left her breathless, panting. Clenching her teeth only did so much. “I’m from the Night Court, raised mostly in the mountains near Ramiel.” Feyre wrenched out the first spike and put it on the ground quietly. “How-How did you find this place?”

“I heard you singing,” Feyre replied, moving to the next one. “And I could feel… I heard you singing and knew it wasn’t normal for noises to be coming from underground.”

Sirius chuckled. “You felt my mind?”

Feyre wrenched the spike out. Sirius grunted and blew out a long breath.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Feyre said back. “I don’t have any powers.”

“You may fool the others, but not me. It’s too bad… Can I ask you something personal?”

Feyre kept working but nodded, and she wrenched another spike out.

“The High Lord… Rhysand is alive, right?”

She blew out a long breath and carefully put her wing on the ground as the last spike was removed and put in a neat pile on the floor. There was no strength left. Nothing to keep her wing from draping on the ground.

“Alive and well in his Court of Nightmares, unfortunately.”

“And his Inner Circle?” Sirius asked carefully.

Feyre also chewed over her words. “They could be worse.”

She let out a sigh. They were alive. And then her sigh turned to a yelp as the spikes were slowly freed from her wings. Feyre pursed her lips as she carefully laid her other wing down and then began to work on her hands, unlocking them. Sirius didn’t know how.

Her hands fell into her lap, unaccustomed to their weight anymore. Feyre sat down in front of her, eyes carefully watching her and scanning.

“Perhaps you just unleashed the most terrible thing the world has ever seen. Maybe Hybern had wanted me chained forever,” Sirius teased, voice cracking in places.

“I doubt that,” Feyre replied. Her eyes drifted to her wings. “I’m sorry,” she breathed.

“Don’t be. There are worse fates than this,” Sirius said back, equally quiet. She should have expected this kind of kindness from Feyre after all she’d seen, but it still hit like a blow to the chest. “Thank you… For this. I owe you my life.”

Feyre shook her head, smiling slightly. “Don’t say that. It was the right thing to do.”

“Others would object to that.”

“I don’t.” 

“Thank you. I owe you. I will repay you one day, Feyre Archeron.”

Feyre again had that look in her eyes. There was always this look whenever she was debating saying something, debating a plan, but finally, the look settled. “This Court… tomorrow will be better.”

“You…?”

“This Court is going to fall. Get back to your family, and go where they can’t find you. I will leave this door unlocked. I leave tomorrow for my family.”

Sirius breathed. Freedom. Freedom at last. 

“And if you can’t make it, know you will have allies in the Night Court. I will see to it.” Feyre got to her foot, brushing off her nightgown.

Sirius swallowed again. “Thank you for hearing my song.”

Before shutting the door, she heard Feyre say quietly back, “You have a beautiful voice.”

Chapter 5: Discovery

“Mother above,” Sirius whispered. Rhysand was hovering beside her, patiently waiting for Sirius to get through her little rampage after having to sit at the Court of Nightmares beside their father for over three hours. Keir, one of her father’s main generals and holder of the Nightbringers, was having a wonderful time harassing her family. “I wish we could kill him and be done with it.”

“Alas,” Rhysand said, fitting his hands into his pocket, as he sauntered beside her. Although his smile was easy, there was an identifiable rage in his eyes. “We cannot. We need him alive, believe it or not.”

“At least we got to see Mor. He always hides her away when we visit.”

He thought quietly to himself for a long moment. “It’s always good to see her.”

Sirius sighed, running a hand through her hair to push it out of her face. Their expressions were set like stone, still as the carvings within the walls of the mountain, but she was ready to go to the palace above them. One of their many homes. The Moonstone Palace. Rhysand had cool violence spread across his face. Their father was most likely torturing the poor citizens behind them, pushing them down before they could whisper rebellion or uprising. Up on that wicked throne that would one day be for Sirius should her powers shine. A proper steward for Rhysand, as her Father liked to put it. 

What do you say about a glass of wine when we get out of here? Rhysand asked her, mind to mind.

I would love that. Sirius replied. Only for him would she open up her mind like this. It was easy for her to slip into his, and easy for him to slip into hers. Of course, there were some barriers, but speaking came easy to them. It was their only rule between each other.

Just don’t tell Father.

Of course not. I may be stupid but I’m not an idiot.

His laugh rumbled in her mind, and there was just a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, almost like they were caught on the end of a fishing hook, pulling at them.

We could get Cassian drunk and start singing again , Sirius said, trying to get him to smile. Just a genuine smile to melt away the horrors of the Court of Nightmares and this awful mountain. 

Drunk Cassian singing with Sirius is one of my favorite passing times.

He’s all of our favorite passing time when he starts singing. At least he can hold a tune; he just doesn’t sound great.

Rhysand cleared his throat, coughing into his fist to cover up his laugh. “Let’s go,” he said, holding out a hand for her. She took it with collected grace, grinning at the citizens of the Court like she was going to go bury them all under this place and let his shadows consume them. They winnowed into the mountain palace above them. Maybe one day she would bury them down here. It had crossed her mind several times. She had the power to as she began growing into her full height, rivaling Rhys’ magic. 

Rhys was already laughing as they appeared in the main quarters. The walls glittered, and the view from the palace was one to die for. A much-needed change from the dreary halls of the Court of Nightmares.

“Wine and dinner. Let’s get it started.”

Sirius’ sigh was faux as she flopped down onto one of the expensive, lavish cushions of the couch. “Oh, what would our mother say?”

His footsteps padded down the hall, towards the wine cellar, although it wasn’t much of a cellar. She could hear him clearly shout back, “We are fiends and should be punished for our crimes.”

Sirius barked a laugh and rolled onto her side as her wings stretched from being cramped in a chair all day. Rhysand came back with two glasses of wine and the remainder of the bottle. Sirius sat up, taking the glass from his hands eagerly.

He filled hers up first, and then his own. They clinked their glasses in cheers. “For not killing Keir in his seat,” Rhys saluted. 

She blew out a breath, smiling. “For not killing the whole Court.”

They took a long sip from their drink and sank back into the couches. His wings were out, sunbathing since the sun’s beams flushed through the windows. “I don’t know if I want to be High Lord,” Rhys said quietly. “It’s too much. There are too many people after me. That depends on me.”

Sirius sat back contemplatively, pondering on how best to respond to him. She knew he thought about this, probably more often than he should. “You would make a good High Lord. Your intentions are right. You are a good person, Rhys, despite what everyone says.”

“I know.”

“You don’t hear it enough then. By the Cauldron, I don’t think anyone would ever think of you like Father.”

Rhys shrugged. “Except for the Illyrians. And the Court of Nightmares. And everyone that isn’t my family and isn’t from Velaris.”

“But maybe you don’t have to be that way… You don’t have to be like him.”

“That’s the only way people will respect me. That’s the way it’s always been.”

“What have you and I always said?”

Rhys turned to look at her, his wine all but forgotten. Silver lined his eyes. “What is it, Siri?”

She placed a hand over his. “Tradition can suck my dick.” He choked on a laugh. It was partially a cry as well. “No, but seriously. We don’t have to follow the rules that were made for us. We can change.”

He took a deep breath. “When I’m High Lord, I want you to be part of my Inner Circle. I want Cas and Az and Mor and anyone who I love to be part of my Circle.”

“The people really won’t like that.”

“I don’t give a shit,” he said, smiling. Shrugging, he sat up a little straighter. “I honestly couldn’t care less. I’ll be their High Lord. It’s bad enough I’m a half-breed…”

“Rhys—”

“But that’s fine. As long as my Little Siri and all of our family are here, I don’t care. I care about you. I don’t know what I would ever do if something happened to you. That’s why I want you by my side. Not just for your powers or wit or songs. I want you for you.”

She shifted in her seat, looking away. What he was offering… It was a lot. If she denied the offer, she was sure he would take care of her regardless. His own Court, unnamed just yet. In her heart though, she knew she could take it. She wanted to be part of this. She wanted to see this world, her world, in a better place than it started off, starting with making Rhysand as High Lord. 

“As long as we fight, fight for what we believe in,” Rhysand said, eyes to the skyline, looking forward, “We will survive. But you have to fight first.”

But she was her father’s daughter.

“We will see,” she replied, downing the rest of her drink.

 

***

 

Either from her bloody wounds or the anticipation of the morning, Sirius couldn’t sleep. She tried to rest her eyes, but it was locked on the door she knew was unlocked. The door that would be her freedom soon. She just had to wait until morning. At this point, she could feel it in her bones. Dawn had to be off by only a few hours.

Feyre’s warning had been enough. Thankfully, the Daemati Devils nor Jurian visited her before they were off. She could feel their minds pacing around despite her headache, and off they went to what she assumed to be the stables and into the Spring Court. Another outing—to see where The Wall was the weakest, where they would strike first. That much she gleaned.

The only difference was that Tamlin’s mind went with them, along with Feyre’s and Lucien’s. The Manor was empty with the exception of a few select servants.

 She didn’t know how long they would be away. It could be a day, three days, or an hour, but regardless, Sirius decided to make her flight at night when the darkness would cover her the best. She wouldn’t eat anything or drink the water for fear of more poisoning from the faebane. 

Besides her waning power, her wings were still… They weren’t in any condition to fly home, to fly anywhere. She would have to find an alternative to get away from this damned manor. She knew this place like the back of her hand, though. That was her only advantage.

There was a dim hope that her wings would heal before then like how they used to. Before ash was struck through them. Before she died. Before she used to walk the mountain paths in peace without worrying about a certain High Lord killing her. That was a long, long time ago though.

But, the day dragged on, and the healing that her wings should have undergone didn’t heal nearly as well as she hoped for, thanks to the faebane. She wasn’t surprised, just disappointed. It was always like this. It had been like this for the past month, maybe a few, after all. She was sure her face and body were covered in bruises from all of the beatings the Twins liked to deliver. The punches and kicks they delivered whenever she didn’t let them into her mind. If she couldn’t see them, she was sure they were there from the stiffness of her cheeks. The way her jaw creaked whenever she opened or closed it.

Sirius didn’t remember the last time she looked in the mirror. After being dragged back to this world, she didn’t even glimpse her reflection. 

The day’s long minutes turned into hours. Sirius stretched her legs. It was strange being on her own two feet again rather than chained to a wall. It was a welcoming relief despite the shake in her legs. The way she felt unsteady. Too top-heavy with no muscle to support it. If she wanted to do anything in this war, her physical strength would have to be one of the first things to come back.

She still remembered how to train, those long hours in the rink with her brothers during her stays in the Illyrian camps. And then the training she did in secret. Rhysand wouldn’t let her go untrained anywhere, and Cassian and Azriel gladly taught her everything they knew when they had the time. She wanted to take the Blood Rite when she was younger, to earn tattoos like them, but the times weren’t right. The females weren’t allowed to fight, let alone hold a sword. They were pushed back and back, away from the public eye. Submissive, subservient. Wings clipped. Dark eyes.

If she was thankful for one thing, it was her Father never clipped her or her Mother’s wings. Damn his soul.

He may not have liked the females fighting but at least he wasn’t a complete monster. An asshole, for sure, but not the kind of monster to hold down his daughter as he maimed her wings to make sure she never touched the sky again. Never held the wind in the palm of her hand.

He wasn’t all sunshine though.

Rhysand disagreed with him for the most part. Ever his Mother’s son. He wanted the women to fight those kinds of monsters. He sought freedom for more than their females wings getting clipped. He saw a future that not many did, a future where the females could defend themselves as well. Sirius was right behind him. He spoke out about it to their Father, but couldn’t pressure him to fight about it more. They needed the Illyrians to fight for them. So Rhysand, nor their Father, pushed the issue much more, at least until Rhysand became High Lord and outlawed the practice.

Sirius knew it still happened though, even in death, she could see it. It wasn’t enough. It enraged her to her core. Rhysand didn’t stop it either, despite all the promises he once told her. He once promised her.

He was a dreamer, not a planner. That’s what she was originally for. What their Father trained her to be.

Velaris hung in her mind like a weight. There would have been a full-scale attack, all because of her, if the Twins were able to get in her mind. She would protect that city with all of the power that sang in her blood. She would spill as much blood as needed to make sure that the city would stay safe.

Ever bloodthirsty Hellcat…

Sirius shivered and pushed the thought out of her head. She had never killed anyone before, never had to. Unlike her brother, she was too young for the first war against Hybern. But killing someone? She always threatened it against people, but she never thought she would be capable of it.

The pacing did little to help her mood as her thoughts raced through her head like a turbulent river. None of the thoughts truly stuck, just passing by as she waited and waited for the sky to turn dark. As she waited for the time to escape. 

Darkness would be her ally in this. 

Sirius pulled the door open, looking up at the long stairway expectantly. Her mind was buzzing, and she couldn’t help the small smile that crept into her lips. There was an endless chant in her head, clinging to her very being.

 

Freedom. Freedom. Freedom.

We will make them pay Hellcat… Hybern will fall to its knees.

 

She could see the hidden door as she slowly and carefully climbed the stairs. Sirius didn’t have any weapons. Her magic did little to help her. But she couldn’t sense any minds around her. The dining hall seemed to be empty.

Sirius grabbed a torch from the wall, the fire licking up at the top, as she held it out in front of her to light the way.

There were no more cobwebs from the frequent traffic. With so many people coming down after centuries of being abandoned, the stairwell was no longer dusty. 

The edges of the hidden door were made of that same cobblestone of the hallway. Most of the manor was made of this stone, at least on the inside of the walls. The fine white outside was a pretty lie for what lay inside. 

A pretty little manor made of roses and blood, where her wings once hung beside her mother’s. But at least Tamlin had enough respect to take them down and stash them away when his father was dead and there was no one to force him.

It only took a light shove to push the hidden door open and into the brightened dining hall. Sirius cringed away at the sudden brightness of the sunset through the windows along the walls. Even with a hand over her eyes, it left her clinging to the walls and putting the door back in place with her foot.

Quiet… she had to be ever so quiet.

She didn’t think she had ever heard the manor this quiet. Usually, there was the rustle of servants, their idle chatter in the halls or in the kitchen nearby, but there was nothing at all except for birds chirping outside the estate. Sirius didn’t remember Tamlin letting this many servants go.

Sirius snuck down the side of the walls, peering out the window as her eyes slowly adjusted to the setting sun. The breath was stolen from her lungs as the sun hit her directly. How she missed the sun. The warmness of it. The way it snatched the color away from the sky.

It was easy to find a way out of the manor, it was just the matter of finding a more secluded way out that proved difficult. She could get a basic idea of where servants were, but there was no assured way of telling. The area around the stables were ripe with soldiers. 

Stealing a horse would be easy, but it would be too loud. Traveling on foot seemed easier, but she didn’t have any supplies, food, or weapons. Sirius was stuck and without options. The guards would surely just turn her in.

But it was all she had. She would have to risk a sprint and hope her magic would come back soon enough for her to start winnowing back to the Night Court. Perhaps she could even start to fly again.

She could smell where Tamlin used to be just hours ago, following his horse’s trail to the woods. She then veered off so they weren’t too close. She needed a way out, and the forest provided plenty of camouflage. She just had to keep following this forest and to a rolling field of grass before she met the border between The Middle and the Spring Court. One of the paths that led to Under the Mountain, but she wouldn’t be taking that dark path. She knew what would be there. 

No, once she got out of the Spring Court, she would be relatively safe. Safe from Tamlin and Jurian and the Twins.

Only the sound of her footfalls and her heavy breaths followed her. She couldn’t make much ground very fast, her legs still as fresh as a child's, but it was still progress. She was out of that place. She was free from the manor.

As the night continued her footfalls slowed to a brisk walk, and she started sensing the presence of other minds in the forest. Although, it wasn’t their minds that gave them away.

Sirius climbed a tree as the crashing of limbs and a creature’s roaring grew closer. It almost sounded like whole trees bellowed as they crashed, but knowing Tamlin’s temper, he probably was toppling them like sticks.

“Slow down!” the human commander yelled. Jurian ran after Tamlin as he tore down the forest around her, kicking up everything in his path. Sirius could just spy them from her spot in the tree. She did her best to tuck herself into the bark, to blend in, but it was hard on these lower branches with not enough leaves to hide in. She couldn’t move without giving herself away, and the next branch was too high for her to reach.

“Fucking hell, Tamlin! You aren’t going to find her like this!” The resonating growl caused Jurian to stop in his tracks. “You know what. Fine, I’m going back to the camp. You can stay out here all fucking night for all I care. We have to see the King in a day and bring that damned girl still in your creepy ass dungeon.”

His paws slowed its prowl as Jurian stomped away, right beneath her. Sirius held her breath, a hand over her mouth.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Tamlin huffed as he begrudgingly followed him back through the forest, but paused under the tree she was under. Sirius began pleading with any higher force to save her. The Mother. The Cauldron. The Three Sisters. Something to save her, to hide her from the beast below her that surely could smell her or the fast breaths that came out in quiet pants.

But the Mother did not bless her that night.

Tamlin looked up into the tree. There was no magic to shield her, no magic to spring to her senses to save her. There was nothing in this world to save her as Sirius stared at Tamlin, and he stared back at her. 

His shock could be felt between them like a physical line.

Jurian stopped, turning back to look at where Tamlin stared up at her. It took a moment for the shock to register on his face, his mouth hanging open as he realized who exactly was in the tree.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Jurian breathed.

Sirius didn’t know whether to bolt or stay frozen, a deer staring at the hunter.

Tamlin grunted and shifted back into a male, no less intimidating than it was before. She wasn’t armed and wasn't capable of magic.

She was just a girl in front of two males very capable of killing her.

There was only ever one way to meet fate. The only way she had ever met it. Head on.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Sirius slid out of the tree, wincing as her ankles braced on impact. She wished her voice was more steady as she spoke out, “Care to point me in the direction of the Autumn Court?”

Chapter 6: From Within

After being marched by swordpoint for hours and hours, they made it back to Rosehall Manor exhausted. Popped blisters began to throb. Her feet ached like she was being stabbed with needles every step. Sirius was about ready to snap.

“You are truly fuckers. Fucking assholes,” Sirius grumbled, stumbling on her feet as she passed through the doors into the dining hall. 

Apparently, Ianthe had been brought here earlier. Her hand was shattered completely and rendered nearly useless. She’d be lucky if she could salvage the flesh, the bones. Sirius couldn’t help the smug feeling that passed over her at the priestess' injury. 

“I wasn’t the one who decided to try and escape,” Jurian replied, poking her in the back with his sword for the added effect. He led her to a seat at the table and watched her sit down. “But I don’t blame you.”

She glared at him. But sighed in relief at the weight off her feet. She couldn’t savor the feeling for long, though, as her wings hit the back of the chair and she had to awkwardly stretch them to fit. 

Tamlin watched her at a healthy distance away. “The King is going to want to see her, you know.”

“He will.” Jurian looked at Sirius. “With his nieces gone, he very well may offer you a deal. I suggest you take it.”

“And why the fuck would I do that?” Sirius snapped. Exhaustion and rage clung to the edge of her eyelids as they threatened to slip her into that infinite abyss of night and dreams.

“Because the other options won’t be good,” he replied, tossing his sword onto the table next to him. He paced toward Tamlin. “He won’t be happy about all this. You were in charge of his nieces, and now they’re dead. And Feyre is gone . And Lucien.”

“I know what this looks like,” Tamlin said, his eyes glinting like daggers in the moonlight, but now that Sirius thought about it, it was likely dusk rather than dawn.

Sirius eyed the sword on the table.

“You know I’m right here, right?” Sirius said, arms crossed. 

“Do you want to go back into the cell?” Tamlin shouted. 

Sirius flinched, glancing away. There was immediate regret in his eyes, but she didn’t care. Let him feel bad. She wanted to be in a hot bed with her belly full of food that wasn’t laced with drugs. She wanted to go home.

Jurian sighed. “We are in a deep pile of shit, Tamlin.”

Tamlin rubbed a hand over his face and paced, back turned. Jurian watched. Sirius couldn’t tell if there was a hint of glee at it, but there was certainly something in Jurian. She suspected it was because of whatever happened to him. Something she didn’t quite understand yet, but related to in another sense because of their unique positions.

But it was enough of a distraction. 

Sirius lept from her seat and grasped Jurian’s sword before he even knew it had left the table. He whirled around, but she was already past him, headed straight towards Tamlin. 

He may be a High Lord, but she was dead and reborn. 

Sirius shoved him into the wall, sword pressed to his throat, as a snarl ripped from her throat. 

Oh, there was hatred in his eyes, but it was nothing compared to the fear. The fear that made her blood sing in delight as he stared at her with a blade under his throat. To let her feast on that fear. It was an utter delight to see it pass on his face before he shuttered it off.

“Give me one good reason not to slit your throat here and walk out those doors,” Sirius hissed out.

Tamlin visibly swallowed as he looked at Jurian behind her, then back at her eyes. Those eyes that haunted him, the eyes of an enemy he hated so fiercely. 

“The King of Hybern has the magic to track you after you were brought back. Anywhere you go, he will know, and he will find you. Always.”

Sirius didn’t let it register. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know when I took the offer what it would mean.”

But it did mean one thing. She couldn’t go back. She couldn’t jeopardize their positions, jeopardize Velaris. Their war camps, their armies… Everything. She may be able to protect her mind from those secrets from spilling out, but she couldn’t physically shield that kind of magic. 

At least, she hadn’t learned how to yet. That would be the first thing.

Jurian cleared his throat behind him, but Sirius only looked at Tamlin. He likely pleaded behind his shielded mind. 

“Feyre left you, didn’t she? She’s not here,” Sirius said.

“She did,” he replied, tightly. 

Sirius watched him carefully. “Are you going to get her back?”

He glanced away, just for a moment, voice tight and drawn like a bowstring. “No.”

Mother above, she could kill him. Kill him and be done with it. But if that happened, Hybern would only use it to swoop in for the killing blow. They would leave only horror and destruction in their path. And while she did hate Tamlin, he didn’t have anyone to take his position in the Spring Court. 

It was weird to believe them as friends in their youth. More.

But she remembered the male he used to be. Even if time and circumstance have changed now, she knew who he used to be.

That was all she needed as she released Tamlin from her grip. He blew out a breath, straightening his shirt. He looked tired, used. Feyre did her job well, and now no one would help him. Not even the guards were here; everyone abandoned him, including Lucien. She couldn’t say she was surprised, but she didn't expect that. Out of all the people, she would have thought Lucien to stay. Sirius was sure Tamlin thought the same. 

Sirius turned and held out Jurian’s sword to him. “Thank you for letting me use it.”

Jurian was grinning as he took it back from her. “I’ve got to admit, you’ve got balls. But please, refrain from using my sword again without permission.”

Sirius snorted, a small smile on her face. “We’ll see.”

Jurian looked at both of them. “I suggest cleaning her up before the King sees her. She may not have magic, but beauty is equally a weapon.”

Sirius didn’t know whether to grab that sword again and kill him, but she let it slide—he did have a point.

“And food that isn’t drugged,” she bargained. “I haven’t eaten a filling meal since I got here. Which means… two hundred or more years.”

Tamlin didn’t roll his eyes like she expected, didn’t flinch, nor turn away. He just nodded and gestured to the kitchen. “I can’t say any of it’s drugged. The Daemati Twins… they were poisoning the food with it. That’s why it has been harder for all of us to use magic lately. It explains why shifting was harder for me.”

Sirius’ eyebrows rose. They drugged their food, too? It must have been too light to smell it, but over time… yes, she supposed it could work. Quite clever too. 

“It’ll still be better than what I was given,” she replied, heading towards the kitchen. She left out that it was he who fed her, that it was his fault that she had been drugged and beaten most days, but didn’t out of pity for the male.

Tamlin started, “There’s a room with a bath down–”

Sirius stopped in her tracks. “Are you going to fucking bathe me too?” she snapped. Her eyes found his once again. She knew he would find nothing warm in hers. At his silence, she continued with, “That’s what I fucking thought.”

While she blamed him for most things, she didn’t think he could help with other things. Yes, it was his fault for his stupid bargain, but what choice did a desperate male have? Sirius herself was ready to make some rash decisions based on his words, even if what he told her could be a lie. She didn’t want to believe him, but he was a dead man walking. Why would he lie?

The King knew where she was. She couldn’t go home now. 

 

***

 

Twirling in her new dress, Sirius looked back into the mirror to see the dress her mother had sewn for her. The bodice was a deep blue embroidered with silver thread, made into what looked like falling stars, which ran down into the flowing, gauzy skirts. The night sky sleeves puffed out from her arms just slightly as she twirled and examined it in its entirety.

Sirius’ heels clicked on the solid stone floor as she made her way to the door, skirts swishing at her feet. She had to admit, she looked good. Powerful, even.

Her wings were tucked behind her as she closed the door to her room and headed down the hall to the many terraces in the House. Tonight was a special night. 

Tonight was Starfall.

She met her brother in the kitchen, stealing from the plates with fine cheeses, olives, and crackers. He popped another cube of cheese into his mouth as he looked up at her in the doorway and smiled. 

“You look beautiful, Little Siri,” he said, dusting off his hands on his pants and holding out an arm to her.

“You’re stealing the cheese ?”

He shrugged. “It tasted good.” Rhysand led her out to one of the terraces, her mother leaning against the railing, gazing at the sky, and their friends hanging close to her. Their father was nowhere in sight.

Mor grinned as she saw Sirius and made a small squeal as she ran towards her and wrapped her in a hug. “You look fantastic !”

“So do you!” Sirius replied, looking at her red dress that hung close to her hips, dripping down the floor with golden accents that mimicked her long hair.

Azriel and Cassian hung back as Rhys approached them, clapping them on the shoulder before giving an arm-breaking hug.

“Please, please tell me you have wine here,” Mor said. She pulled Sirius in close. “We need to make this a bit more fun and not so serious.”

“Right, that’s my job.”

“Because you’re—”

“I’m Sirius .”

It was then that two large Illyrians spotted Mor and Sirius, waving them over.

“Hey, hey, there’s the Princess,” Cassian said as she bounced over, crushing her with a hug.

“You know I hate that name,” she chided, pinching his side.

“Ow! I know, why do you think I use it.”

“Asshole.”

“Hate the game, not the player,” he remarked.

Azriel started between the two of them, hazel eyes dancing under the stars. “Hello, Sirius.”

“Az! It’s good to see you,” she grinned, giving him an equally big hug. “I haven’t seen you around.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“You haven’t seen me around either,” Cassian grumbled. “Why are you giving Az all the attention?”

“Because I like Az.”

Cassian clapped a hand over his heart. “Ouch, you wound me, Princess of Starlight.”

She lightly shoved him. “You know I hate that name!”

Azriel smiled at her. “Just call him–”

“Don’t you dare!”

“– a pigeon. He hates it.”

Cassian scowled. “Way to ruin my night.”

Mor held a hand to her mouth, reeling in a laugh. “You’re joking,” she cackled. “Oh, I’m totally using that.”

“Sirius!” Rhys called to her, gesturing to the sky. “Look, it's starting.” 

Rhys pointed to the sky where the barest glimpses of light started to soar through the sky. And then bigger ones until the sky was sparkling with them, raining down upon them. 

Like a waterfall, the lost souls soared through the sky and cascaded into the distance. Far across the horizon and into the night they flew, to the next life or the afterlife. Whatever may come after this.

Death was so distant. A dream so far from here. It would claim each of them, so far away in their immortal lives, that none of them dared to think of it. None dreamed of it, none dreaded it in the night. 

But here it was, evidence that death was here and watched over all of them like a peaceful shepard, waiting for when it was their time.

Rhys threw an arm around her shoulders, calloused hands softly taking in her warmth. Her life. “I love you. You. Mom. Our family.”

Family, as in the people beside them. Azriel. Cassian. Mor. Their family. Bound both by blood and by bonds.

“We love you too, Rhys,” she said, gazing up into his violet eyes. Eyes just like hers. He wasn’t looking at the stars. He was looking at the one in his arms. At her. “Even when you’re being an ass.”

“Oh-kay. There goes my heartfelt speech.”

“Oh, please, don’t get sappy on me. I don’t want to cry my eyes out in front of all these people.”

“Cry all you like. Fuck them.”

“And what would Father say?” she challenged, raising a brow to him.

“Fuck him too.”

She laughed at that, leaning her head on him. 

Every year, they gathered up here to watch the stars. Every year on this day, Sirius finally let her shoulders drop and just sat and watched and loved the night. 

Celebrated that today they were alive, and tomorrow they may be stars.

 

***

 

The King of Hybern was as Sirius last remembered him as she was dragged out of the Cauldron and into the throne room. She could almost feel the Cauldron nearby, if she sensed it correctly. It was never out of his sight.

Sirius was put on her knees, Jurian beside the King's throne, Tamlin standing at the edge of the room. The throne room was as big as ever, brighter than before. The same people who watched her be brought back into existence again. The same ones who may watch her demise.

“My Commanders are dead,” the King of Hybern said, venom coating his lips. “And yet here you are, still whole.”

Sirius replied, trying to erase the fear and waver from her voice, “And still biting.”

He got up from his chair on the dias, looking at Jurian. He gestured for him to leave and then for Tamlin to leave. Sirius’ heart picked up its pace, leaping into her throat as her eyes bounced back and forth between the two. She may not like them, but they were her chance of getting out of here. They were her shot at freedom, if she ever saw it again. A lone cloud in the sky.

Once they were gone, the King kneeled in front of her. He smiled—if any male could have a wolf's smile, Sirius decided it would be him—as he looked over Sirius. 

“You think you know pain. I could show you so much more, child.”

She wouldn’t give in to him. Not for her family. Not for herself.

She would never grovel and scrape for this pathetic bastard. Never would she dream of it.

“Then you’ll just have to show me,” she bit back.

But even if she did escape, or they let her go, however unlikely that was, there would be no escaping him . 

The King of Hybern knew where she was. He would always know where to find her, whether a connection through a bargain or through the Cauldron itself. If he couldn’t, Sirius felt it in the very core of her being that it could. The Cauldron sitting in the corner could show him, drag her back her, make her crawl.

“Do you want me to cut your wings off?” He asked.

The sudden comment made her go still. 

“Do you want me to lock you in the lowest dungeon where you will never know the sky or the feeling of warmth again? Where monsters will hunt you, and your powers pushed down until insanity eats at you from within…”

Sirius looked at him, eyes glowing with rage and vengeance. She opened her mouth for some sort of reply, but nothing came to her. No words to combat that. She was helpless. Useless. Hands tied behind her back.

“Join me,” He said, “Join us , and I can let you freely use your magic. I can let you gain power beyond your imagination… perhaps even protect your people, with a few limitations. You’re just in luck, too. I’m out a few Commanders.”

Sirius gazed at him. A bargain. He was offering her a bargain.

Thoughts of Rhysand and his servitude Under the Mountain floated into her mind. Those awful nights when she tried to reach him at his lowest. 

He played the villain in that story…

But he still fought. Fought for what he loved and what he had to protect.

So Sirius could, too. She would fight—even if it villainized her. Even if it made her a monster. After all, who would protect them? Who would protect Rhysand, or Mor, or Cassian and Azriel? Who protected them?

If Sirius couldn’t be there with them, then she would find a way. They had faced the King and failed. 

Never again.

She would not fail them again.

It was either this or no chance of ever seeing them again. Being wrapped in chains and tossed away into a dungeon with no key.

“A bargain,” Sirius whispered. “You want my power. And I need to use it.”

“Exactly.”

Sirius looked at the floor, debating her options. Rotting away in a cell, beaten and tortured. Or given a new chance, a new life, as a traitor to her family and crown. To save her cowardly ass. Or to protect a family that didn’t know she was alive.

Damn her pride. Damn it back to the endless sea that was her home.

Traitor, it was.

“What kind of bargain are we talking about?”  

 

Chapter 7: The Deal

“You will abide by me and my every wish, my servant and my Commander of Hybern. You will be my Right Hand. You will wear a mask for your protection and I will protect you. You may only take it off alone or in the company of the other generals or trusted officials. You will only be addressed as Commander of Hybern, your name holds no weight here. I will allow you to use your powers, but never upon me. I will allow you weapons, but your weapons must never strike or be used upon me. You cannot have magical healing unless asked permission, your wounds will be your own fault. You will be taken care of, but if I find you disobey an order, I will deal with you at my discretion. Do you understand? Do we have a deal?”

 

“Yes, we do.”

 

“You will address me as my Liege. ”

 

“Yes, my Liege. ”

 

“Good.” 

 

And his hand struck her hard enough that Sirius hit the floor as he walked away. Her blood seeped into the cracks of the floor as she slowly peeled herself back up. 

 

“Your equipment will be given to you. You will have a tent with the rest of the army. Put them in line however you need. If they disobey you, then you will deal with it. I will put the first initial order out to obey you, but after that, it’s up to you.”

 

“Thank you, my Liege.”

 

“And if you break our bargain.” The King’s voice leaned in, almost like it was in her ear. A shiver crawled down her spine. “I’ll kill you, and the magic between us will eat you away and tear you into nothing.”

 

“I understand.”

 

The King gave her that wolf’s smile again. 

 

“Good. Through that door there is a bath ready and the clothes you will need. I will have your mask ready by tomorrow, my Commander. After that, we will introduce you to your people.”

***

 

It was Starfall again, but it was far, far away. 

Here, locked in the dark, Rhysand tucked himself away from Amarantha and onto a balcony that overlooked the night. One of many nights. 

Tonight was special, though, because he knew his family looked at the same stars too. They searched for a way to find him again, and their only solace was the stars. The very stars that didn’t quite whirl overhead like they did in the Night Court, but the very ones that still shone. 

Amarantha loved this night. It was because she knew what it meant to him. She knew what it meant to be locked in the dark with no way home, what it meant for him to see those stars and make him worship her like a goddess. The Goddess of Nightmares, that’s what she was. Rhysand didn’t fear her, though. He feared what she might do, but never the female herself. She was… fae. She was less than him. The only reason she had the upper hand was because of trickery and lies.

If Tamlin could work a little harder at finding a girl, that would be nice.

Rhysand gripped the rails of the balcony, shirtless in the black of the night. The wind touched his shoulders from up here. The only bit of wind he had felt for what seemed like ages.

Tamlin… What madness had led them up to this point? He didn’t particularly care if he found the girl anymore, but he still wanted him to try. He had given up the hope that Tamlin actually would. But there was still that glimmer of hope left, some shred Amarantha hadn’t touched yet. 

There was a bare hope in there somewhere, carved into his very chest, along with dreams he couldn’t quite shake yet. Blurry, but there.

It had been forty-seven years, and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling he was utterly alone. No family here, thank the Mother, no allies to help him. A villain. Even to his own court.

And then there was Sirius.

Sirius, despite Rhysand’s knowledge, stood beside him that night because it was the only thing she could do. It was the only thing she taught herself to do, to phase into this world. Her halfway point in the sea of darkness, and this is where she could visit. This was where she visited the most. To check up on her brother.

Her brother, lost and alone in the storm.

A ghost, it was all she was. A whisper of power on the wind. A shred of something that used to be here and alive and breathing. Living.

Except she wasn’t alive. Not anymore.

Her spectral hand tried to reach out to her brother, but all it did was pass through. Sometimes, when she had enough power, she tried to reach out a bit more. She could have sworn a couple of times she saw him shiver, could have seen him glance around the room, but nothing more. And even if he did, he never spoke about it. Even before Under the Mountain.

She tried with the others, but it was the same way. 

Sirius just wanted them to know that she was there. That she was still with them in spirit. That if she couldn’t support them while living, then she would support them dead.

Part of Sirius knew that they would never come to see her. At least, she hoped none of her family would. Alone on that icy mountain, where Rhys had buried her and their mother. 

It was like they all forgot. 

Her mother and father moved on, but Sirius couldn’t. She just couldn’t bring herself to leave them all behind, leave this world all behind. This was her home. Not the smothering sea that tried to pull her under, only dragging herself from drowning on a lone island where she learned to meditate and come back in spectral forms. No, that would not be her forever. 

This, this was what she had left of her old life. Living memories and shared secrets. She knew everything. She was dead, after all. It left a lot of time to gather knowledge.

Sirius phased out and away from Rhysand, drifting back to Velaris, where she knew she would find Mor. Beautiful, stunning Mor, dressed in her regal red, sitting on a couch and drinking a glass of wine with Cassain and Azriel beside her. They were at the House of Wind, watching Starfall. 

They didn't know that Rhysand had made it out to a balcony to watch the stars, too. They didn’t know. They just hoped and prayed and listened for any word on Rhysand. 

Another high fae who wasn’t quite high fae, black hair, slanted eyes that looked like misty storm clouds, sat across from them. She didn’t have wine; it was something much darker and deeper than wine. Blood, Sirius knew.

“Happy Starfall!” Mor said, raising her glass, but they all knew they were missing someone. A scale missing from a fish. They knew exactly who was missing. Another year, Rhys was gone.

Azriel and Cassian raised theirs as well, but Amren didn’t even spare them a glance. Didn’t take her eyes off the horizon.

“Nothing like another night of drinking with the boys. And Amren. And Mor,” Cassian replied with an easy smile. He downed his glass in two gulps. “No offense to you ladies.”

Amren waved him off. “You dogs can keep your drinks. I’m content with just this.”

Azriel cast a glance at Mor. “How long do you think it will take Amren to stop calling us hounds?”

Mor gave him a sweet smile. “As long as it's true.”

Cassian gave Mor a nudge with his shoulder, a secret smile dancing across his lips. Mischievous, but content. He used to give Sirius those smiles when they snuck out and met at bars in Velaris, when they used to have snowball fights, and he saw the perfect opening, when one of them made a sly comment and their eyes met across the room. She missed that smile. She missed all of them. Now it was merely a shadow of that old life, a million stars away.

A star just barely missed the balcony, causing a few groups of people to outright gasp or gape at the spectacle. Sirius looked at her friends, her family, and watched them huddle together and talk and drink and laugh.

And then she turned again, the image shifting, like watercolor paints being swirled in a glass of water.

She was in a snow-covered forest, the trees bowing from the weight. Here, there was no celebration. It was just quiet. It was cold and barren. Here, from the tops of the mountains, she could see everything. The valley, a few Illyrian camps lit in an attempt to keep warm, a few rocky outposts with nothing but sheer cliffs at the end. Here, she felt at peace. 

If she had one place that she wished to have been buried, it would have been at Velaris’ Rainbow Quarters, or here. Here, where the wind blew with a might so powerful it made trees grow in the wrong direction. Where there were no city lights to drown out the stars. Where everything cruel and vibrant and dangerously beautiful came to life.

Sirius still remembered what it felt like to have the wind roar against her wings. To fly and fly and fly until her muscles shook and she just couldn’t anymore. In those moments, the clouds were her home, and the sky was her freedom. No father to push her, no mother to hold her down, no brother to tease her, no burdens and responsibilities. Just herself and the open air. 

But Sirius couldn’t feel the wind anymore. Couldn’t feel or touch the snow. She didn’t leave any imprint that she was there at all. 

But the stars… the stars could see her. 

And that was how she spent her Starfall that year.

 

***

 

The King of Hybern at least kept his promises and a little more. Sirius had probably soaked in a bath for two hours now, nursing a few of her wounds and bruises that hadn’t healed up yet due to the faebane. The hot water was a welcome relief, a luxury she had forgotten in her time under the manor. There must be magic attached to it, just enough to keep the water from cooling itself. It was just what Sirius needed.

Right Hand to the King of Hybern. His eternal slave, for however long her second chance at life may be.

She mulled the idea of it in her head a lot as she soaked in the bath. The kinds of things she’d have to do. The people who would suffer because of her actions. It was overwhelming and much easier to shove down into a different, darker corner of her mind. 

For now, the wound on her cheek throbbed, not healing, and she was more focused on getting all the muck and blood off her body.

For now, she would focus on who she would become behind the mask. The Mask of Hybern. The Commander of Hybern.

At least her hair was clean, wavy from the bath, reaching the bottom of her back. Her hands were a cleaner shade of brown. No longer bloodied and bruised to an unnatural shade.

Emerging from the bath, she found clothes waiting in the antechamber, all black with leather straps connecting different parts of her armor. It reminded her of the Illyrian leathers she used to wear, but it was a much darker, harsher style. 

It did account for her wings, which she appreciated. The shoulder piece stretched across her chest, plated on the inside, along with the pieces that fit snug against her thighs and shins.

A few casual outfits were in a small chest. A finely crafted longsword leaned against the wall, catching any reflected light. It was fitted with a scabbard, which she strapped to her waist, and a few knives that fit into her boots or on her thighs, polished enough that she almost made out her reflection. 

Weapons fit for the Commander.

This outfit, these weapons, were all made to make her look powerful. And like hell they did. She was a nightmare in living flesh. A walking being of fear and malice that she could use as another weapon in her arsenal.

Sirius did have a room here in the castle, not close to the throne room, but not far away either. Jurian had a room across from her. She wasn’t sure where Tamlin was staying, but it was Tamlin who was lounging in a seat next to her bed as she came out of the antechamber.

She stopped dead in her tracks as Tamlin looked up from the book he was reading.

There was no title on the spine. Just a plain brown book with old-looking pages and obscure writing.

Her eyes narrowed at him.

“You made a bargain with him,” Tamlin said. Less of a question than it was a statement. Of course, she made a bargain. What other choice did she have?

Sirius resisted the urge to reach up and touch her cheek. “Why does it matter to you? I thought you hated me.”

Tamlin sighed, closing the book in his lap. “This wasn’t how I wanted things to go.”

“How exactly did you want it to go?” Sirius said, raising an eyebrow, her anger slipping. 

He watched her carefully. “Not like this.”

She laughed slowly, letting the words fully soak in. “Wonderful. Fantastic! Would you rather I waste away in a cell? Perhaps the one in your manor! Would that better suit you?”
“You sound like Jurian,” Tamlin sniped, rolling his eyes and looking at the door. “I made a mistake, and you were put in the middle. I am sorry.”

Sirius huffed, throwing herself on the bed. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Tamlin leaned back. “I don’t think any of us do.”

“Jurian, is he to be trusted?”

He shifted in his seat, obviously uncomfortable. “No, but I don't think you can trust anyone here. But he hasn’t shown any signs to indicate to. We’re all just the King’s puppets now.” Tamlin’s anger slipped at that, claws gleaming just under the surface. He got up, moving to the door. “Your mask will be here by tomorrow. He wants you in the throne room in the morning. That’s why I came.”

Sirius nodded, burying her face in the pillows of her bed. How she longed for a restful sleep, but she wasn’t so sure how much of one she’d find here. 

Enemies were everywhere.

She knew what Rhysand felt like, trapped Under the Mountain, with no allies, no weapons to defeat this. These were mind games, except she was the brute.

Rhys was always better at that. Knowing how to get to people. How to get under their skin, make them talk, make them friends. Charismatic. Loyal. Faithful. Fair. He was everything a ruler needed. 

She was her father’s cruel creation, made to seduce and beat any threat that stood in their way. The best her father could do was pray that a favorable male would be willing to stoop and marry his half-breed daughter. The best her father did was beat into her the importance of magic, and how to hide things that shouldn’t be seen.

How many times did he tell her she needed to glamour her wings? To hide them?

She didn’t have the same luxury as Rhys. She couldn’t just tuck them away for a more convenient time. No, she was stuck with them, lived with them, every day.

Tamlin lingered in the doorway. “You can trust me,” he whispered. “I realize I made mistakes, but we don’t need to be at each other’s throats.”

Sirius turned to look at him, smiling. “In your dreams, Stone-Heart.”

He blinked, and without another word, he left the room, leaving Sirius to her damning thoughts.

Chapter 8: The Commander of Hybern

Notes:

SO so sorry for the long wait time. It's hard to find motivation and... well you know how it goes hahaha. Anyways, thank you for all the views and Kudos! I see them, along with all the wonderful comments. I appreciate all the support and honestly keep it up. It makes my day! To those who Kudo at 3 am, I see you too. Please do try to get some rest will you? :)

As Sirius suspected, sleep came easy, but it was not restful. With the faebane wearing off, she could slowly feel all of her power easing back by the armful in overwhelming amounts. After not using her powers for weeks, it was becoming apparent how much she needed to use it, that pressure building up in her shoulders and chest, all the way down to the very core of her being. 

She wondered how the High Lords, whose powers were trapped by Amarantha for fifty years, dealt with this. Surely they would be able to handle the amount of power that settled back on their shoulders. But if she knew Rhysand as well as she did, it probably took some time to adjust again. In part, how it affected Tamlin as well.

Her magic was different than before. Shadows, oily and coiled, rather than the restful darkness it used to be.

Tainted, by the Cauldron.

Or from her death.

So she spent much of the night depleting her magic or singing quietly to herself, making the room go dark, making stars dance around the room, using the darkness as a weapon. She felt around the various minds, felt Jurian’s even. She didn’t pry though; she didn’t want to see what lurked behind his eyes. Whatever horrors he saw could stay with him. She also didn’t want to alert him of her presence in his mind, still so new to Hybern that she knew she needed to build that trust before she could make any move against them.

“Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer,” her father always said. 

But that all involved proving loyalty to a King she despised.

Beyond that, dawn came much earlier than Sirius would have liked. Then, it would be her first day “on the job.” It took all of her willpower to put on that armor and still be able to look at herself in the mirror to tie back her hair in a braid. It wrapped around her head like a crown. This… this was Sirius. But who she was about to become, who she would have to be, that would be another person entirely.

From a falling star to a fallen angel of hell itself.

It was a loud pounding at her door that startled Sirius, making her turn. Jurian’s voice called through the door, saying, “Up and at ‘em Princess.”

Sirius pushed down the sneer at that. Princess. 

He didn’t seriously intend to call her that, did he?

She gathered herself together, casting one last look into the mirror in the bathroom as she passed it, and left the room. The halls were somewhat lit, the stone older and more worn than she remembered from last night. Then again, she wasn’t truly looking, and her mind was fogged by the bargain she made with the King, the stinging that she still felt on her cheek. The only difference between the wall and the floor was how whitewashed the walls were, old scratches tainting their ingenuity, while the floor was a shade darker.

 Jurian stood against the wall opposite her room, waiting.

He smiled upon seeing her. “That was quick. I didn’t want you to get lost on your way to the throne room.”

“I remember how to get back there,” Sirius replied in turn. 

Jurian held out his hand then. “If that’s the case, lead the way, Princess.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Jurian chuckled as he trailed behind her as they walked. She did remember the way there… at least she hoped so. “Then what do I call you? I can’t call you Sirius, that’s for sure.”

“Commander will do just fine.”

He tsked. “Not a Commander yet. What exactly are you, Princess?”

Sirius ignored him and his questions and kept walking. The rest of the walk was silent as they entered the throne room. Sirius pushed out the image of who she was and traded it for who she was supposed to be. 

There was no one else in the throne room besides the King. Even Jurian fell out of line to wait outside. She could already see the pure black mask dangling from the King’s hand as she stopped in the center, her dried blood still on the floor. She could have sworn she saw more bloodstains, maybe even Azriels… but that couldn’t be true. It must have been cleaned by now anyway.

She kept her head high, face blank, as the King handed her the mask.

It was pure black, but as she studied it closer, as she held it in her arms, she could see the careful etchings all along the sides of them, the vines and carefully placed stars that ran along it. Then, a solid, thin line across the cheek that mirrored the one on her cheek.

 Marked, she was marked as his, and he to her.

“Do you find it fitting enough?” he asked her.

“Yes, my Liege. Although, if we truly wanted to scare your enemies, wouldn’t it be in better interest to make it a bit more… intimidating?”

“Our enemies now, Commander. We serve the same banner.” The King was watching her. He was smiling.

Sirius opened her mouth and closed it immediately. She took a moment to let her cheeks cool off. “Excuse me, our enemies.” A stupid, simple mistake.

He seemed satisfied enough by that. “I assure you, the mask will be enough, Commander. Your tent is ready, ward it how you see fit. Introduce yourself, and make company with the soldiers. I’ll send you specific orders, by letter if need be, but I will always be there,” the King of Hybern said, tapping the side of his head. “I’ll know where to find you.”

Sirius suppressed a shiver. “So I will be staying with the men outside the castle?”

“Along with Jurian and Tamlin. I believe that’s all you’ve met so far. Ianthe could also keep you in good company if you visit her. She’s always looking for someone, a female most of all, to keep on her hip. There are a few others but… you’ll meet them soon enough.”

Ianthe… Where had she heard that name before?

That’s right. She had almost forgotten. She had met the female a few times before, each encounter just as unpleasant as the others. She always reminded Sirius of the Court of Nightmares. A kind face with a viper underneath. 

It didn’t matter as Sirius put on the mask, clipping it on her head from the back. She took a breath in, smelling the leather and magic and metal of it. It was fairly comfortable, not too heavy, but enough that it grounded her. She could see well enough out of it, the sides of her vision somewhat limited but manageable. 

The King’s look was almost gleeful if she could ever see such a thing.

“Come, we’ve got a host waiting for you, Commander. It’s time to introduce yourself to the world.”

Sirius quickly found herself in front of a large host of soldiers, nearly a whole war camp, cheering and gazing upon her as she tucked her wings in, making a great show of herself. The world was her stage, and the others were merely players. Her confidence was a farce, something she paraded about like she was proud of it. 

Most were unpleasant, others gazing at her with hungry eyes that went about with her status, but all of them shaking her hand and greeting her. She couldn’t for the life of her remember all of their names, even the few other higher-ranking officials, but it’s nothing a little mind-reading couldn’t fix. 

As far as she knew, she had the highest rank being the King’s Right Hand, his masked Commander, but still only ranked Commander in his armies. More accurately, she would have been labeled Field Marshall, but her status was ceremonial until she saw real combat. 

Jurian, Sirius, and another male called Cadel were the King’s council. The closest people to him. Technically, Cadel was another one of the King’s family, by distant relations and as a royal member of the court. Like Dagdan and Brannagh, before their unfortunate demise.

He had shorter hair, only resting above his pointed ears, with wicked scars that ran across his arms and body. His face was mostly untouched except for a few places, like a small one above his eyebrow that she couldn’t stop staring at. Not that he could tell with the mask in place.

It was amazing how much she could see now that people didn’t quite… see her. She kept shadows around her at all times, a quick way to burn off her power, but while she was talking to Cadel, while people thought she wasn’t looking, she could see the sneers from her soldiers. 

A quick look into their minds was enough for her. Foul words and strikes of jealousy.

How could they let a female into his closest ranks? What good would a whore do at the top of the ranks? I bet she can’t even hold a sword. It would bruise her precious fingernails.

To say it set her teeth grinding was an understatement.

Put them in their place, with hell fire, and vengeance.

She would set all of them right later. For now, she would focus on remembering… fuck what was his name?

Her tent was in the heart of the camp. When their ranks traveled, those who could winnow would take everything with them. A mobile camp, able to travel at faster speeds than before. She didn’t mention the fact that she could do it for everyone, but she didn’t want to try winnowing just yet. Her magic still seemed out of touch to her, the faebane still working its way out of her system. But everything about her magic was unfamiliar. It was like she was relearning the basics again with her father.

As Sirius left most of her men to do what they pleased, she felt Jurian’s presence before she heard him step up beside her.

Keep your family close, she reminded herself. And enemies closer.

Sirius stopped outside her tent, the shadows curling around her wings like fire. It was well-made and spacious. Guards stood outside of the adjacent tent, likely for meetings between captains and generals and well… commanders.

Jurian smiled as he passed her, and gave her a quick pat on her shoulder. She slapped away, scowling. She absolutely could not show weakness here. Not to anyone. 

“Now,” he said. “It’s Commander.”

She watched as he walked away, fists clenched.

“If you need to find me,” he called back to her. “I’ll be out in one of the dens with the soldiers. You ought to join us! Show us what you are exactly.”

Sirius turned away to face her tent and walked in, wanting to adjust herself to the new arrangement. 

 

***

 

Jurian was six drinks deep when he spotted the familiar mask of the Commander of Hybern near the edge of the bonfire in the heart of the camp. He smiled wide. He knew she could see her.

He waved her over, “Commander! It’s good to see you’ve decided to join us.”

The other soldiers around him glanced warily as the Commander sat down next to Jurian. They couldn’t see past the mask, couldn’t see who she was looking at or the expression on her face. Just blank and desolate.

“Jurian,” she spoke quietly. 

“See, I told you it’s good to get out. There’s not much else to do in this Mother-forsaken camp.”

There was a murmur of agreement among the other soldiers. Drums played, drowning out the silence that surrounded them. They could feel the drums deep in their chest, all the way to their core.

A few bodies were strung up, hanging on racks. Some were alive. Most were dead. But it was enough cause for celebration.

The Commander glanced up at them, analyzing the corpses. They were tortured more than anyone she had ever seen. It put what she saw Under the Mountain to shame. Even Azriel was more merciful than this.

“Why are they strung up?” she asked Jurian. Sirius couldn’t pull her eyes away.

Jurian shrugged, taking another swig of his drink. He said quietly to her, “Could be for anything at this point. Doesn’t matter who. Everyone here just likes the bloodshed.”

“I see,” Sirius hissed. Disgust laced her voice.

Jurian’s eyes darted to hers. “Be careful of who you speak to like that.” Like he was worried about her. Like he was trying to look out for her.

Sirius turned back to look at him. The mask felt suffocating. “Why?”

“You don’t know how it could be interpreted. You wouldn’t want to be tried for treason would you, Commander ?”

A clear line in the sand, a clear indication. 

Treason. As if she wasn’t committing that by joining Hybern. No matter how much she convinced herself that she was doing it for her family, that she was doing it to save Prythian, it still sat heavy in her gut. 

The other soldiers around them were looking at them. Whether they heard them converse she wasn’t sure. But they trusted Jurian. The fact that Jurian was talking to her gave them some clues to trust her. But they still watched her. Still sat with hunger on their tongues and lust in their eyes. 

“I wouldn’t dare,” she said finally. 

Jurian settled again, amusement in his eyes as he took another drink from his tankard. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

She didn’t say anything, just watching the fire dance around them. Darkness settled around the camp like a blanket. She could feel her magic gravitate towards it, to use that darkness as her tool. She let it collect around her, let it pool at her feet up to her shoulders. Her wings were closed tightly to make sure no one touched them.

“What should I do if I ever need to talk to you alone?” Sirius asked him. 

He smiled. “You can always come to my tent, sweetheart. Or, if it's urgent…” He tapped the side of his head. “You can always reach me here.”

Sirius looked back at the bodies. The smell was terrible, muddled with the scent of smoke and campfire. She thought she’d be sick. How anyone here could stand the smell was beyond her. 

Her mind wandered as she watched the bonfire twirl. The soldiers around her were talking idly, some with Jurian. She could feel the pulse of everyone’s minds here. Even Tamlin’s, most likely in his tent, to the far side of the camp.

She wanted to speak to Tamlin. Maybe try and ask him why he brought her back or why he never burned her wings. He burned her Mother’s…but not hers. It had been bothering her for centuries. And now she was back because of it.

He owed her that much. He owed her an explanation.

Tamlin did say he wanted to be allies. She didn’t trust him, not after their history together, but she still felt that gravitation towards him. She wanted to trust him. But he had changed so much in the years they had been apart. Whether their history mattered enough to him to change the tide of her trust. 

Jurian nudged her foot, dragging Sirius out of her mind. He nodded to someone beside her.

She cleared her throat. “My apologies,” she said quickly. Cadel sat next to her. She would recognize that scarred face anywhere. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

She didn’t even notice that he sat down beside her.

Cadel was High Fae from what she could tell, his delicately pointed ears just barely covered by his short hair. “I was hoping to get to know who our new Commander was. Jurian put in a good word for you.” The Commander glanced at Jurian, who was deep in conversation with another soldier. He didn’t even notice the comment, or if he did, he ignored it. “Ambitious, young, untrained on the battlefield but well versed in magic.”

“I suppose I am untrained when it comes to the battlefield,” the Commander said. Slipping into her role. “But I do know some basic battle strategy, and I can fight just as well as any male here.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Would you like to test it?”

He chuckled, rubbing a hand over that scar over his eyebrow. “I think I’ve had too much to drink for a sparring match. Perhaps another time.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?” he jested.

“What do you do for the King?”

He shrugged his shoulders, resting his elbows on his knees. “Well, I help plan most of our battle plans with the King. We talk about where to position armies, the best places to rest, best places to attack. I’ve seen my share fair of battles, good at it too, but I’ve seen enough to help strategize more than fight. The King has seen that and offered me the position.”

She folded her hands carefully. “I see. What an honor it must be.”

“It is, but I didn’t come here to talk about myself.” He leaned in closer. “I’d like to know you, Commander. How did you end up here?”

The Commander repressed her shiver. “I found myself on the wrong side of the war,” she said carefully. Lying through her teeth, trying to mix the truth in it. “I offered myself to the King. He seemed to find what powers I had to be useful.”

Cadel hummed, looking her over. “I take it Rhysand wasn’t a kind High Lord to you. I’ve heard of the Illyrian camps. Terrible places they are, especially for a female. You’ll find we do none of that here.” He glanced at the corpses as well. “Well, we treat our soldiers with utmost respect. How did you learn to fight?”

“My brother taught me. As you said, the war camps are terrible. He wanted me to be able to defend myself. I’m one of the lucky few who didn’t have their wings clipped, but it was all from what my brother taught me.”

“He sounds like an honorable male. Is he here fighting with us as well?”

“He was an honorable male.” She gave him a sidelong glance, trying to indicate his fate. “That’s why I’m here.”

Cadel’s eyes seemed to sadden. “I’m sorry for your loss. I’m glad we have you here, though.”

She didn’t expect any sympathy from Hybern. 

“Thank you,” she said quietly. 

They watched the fire together in silence, listening to the beat of the drums and the singing of fae. She almost wanted to join them, but their voices were too shrill compared to hers. It was akin to screaming, almost.

How she wished to sing. But if anyone knew what kind of joy it gave her, Hybern would find a way to strip it away eventually. It would find a way to destroy her completely.

Jurian was laughing with the soldiers. 

The Commander sat stiffly with Cadel, uncomfortable. It was her first day. She should try and act a bit more natural and at ease.

But those minds around her. She could feel their minds pulse with hate, staring daggers at her back. She didn’t need to search any deeper in their minds to feel her hate.

An outsider. That’s what she was. 

The Commander stood up, needing to stretch her legs. “I’ll see you both later,” she said to Jurian and Cadel. 

“See you later, Commander,” Jurian slurred. Drunk as all hell off of Hybern whiskey. 

“Do you want me to walk you back to your tent?” Cadel offered. “This place can be confusing if you don’t know where to go.”

The Commander looked around her, at the various soldiers loitering around after dark. There would be no battle tomorrow. They could spend their time how they wished. If their captains didn’t like it, she would leave it to them to deal with. 

“Sure,” she said. 

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

Cadel stood and walked alongside her. A healthy distance was between them, but it was clear that Cadel was looking at her from the corner of her eye. 

“How long do you think this war will last?” the Commander said quietly.

Cadel thought for a moment. “It’s hard to judge. It could be months, it could be years. It all depends on what Prythian can muster up before we strike. Amarantha ran them ragged. It leaves them in a precarious position.” He smiled, looking at her. “Hence why the war starts now. They don’t have nearly enough defenses, soldiers, or alliances to help them.”

It was smart. Terribly smart. And with the Cauldron…it would make them unstoppable.

Rows and rows of tents, some soldiers sleeping soundly outside on cots and others alive with chatter. They all stared and watched them pass.

“I see,” the Commander said. She warily glanced at the fae they passed. 

“The fighting will start soon. They’re eager, as you can see.”

“Yes, I can. I can’t imagine being trapped on Hybern has been wholly pleasant.” She could at least sympathize with that. While they wasted away scraping what they could off the barren rocks, she had lived in luxury at Velaris.

They stopped in front of her tent. It was close to the King’s tent. “Well, I would say it gets easier to figure out where you are,” Cadel said. “But it never really does. It is rather a confusing mess at times.”

The Commander folded her hands behind her. “Thank you for showing me. I appreciate it.”

“I’ll see you, Commander. It’s been a pleasure to talk to you. I’ll be sure to spread some good word of you,” he said, a smile on his face. 

The Commander frowned behind the mask. “See you soon,” she replied. She closed the tent door behind her. The mask slid off her face, leaving her barren and alone in her tent.

On her oak desk was a book. She had no idea who left it. But as she picked it up, she read the title, History of Wars: Strategy and Battles . 

Indeed, someone was certainly looking out for her.

 

***

 

Sirius crept down the darkened hallway, peering around, looking for any hidden figures. A glance with her Daemati powers suggested a few sleeping bodies, but nothing much as she snuck down the hallway and out to the middle of a balcony located on the House of Wind. 

Even though she was supposed to be in bed hours ago, the real life of the city appeared now. The Sidra was aglow with faelights and candles from the bustling city of Velaris. She could see the Rainbow from up here, brilliant and glorious.

The wind tore at her braided hair. Sirius blew out a side of relief. It was always such a relief to feel the wind, feel it sing to her.

“And what do you think you’re doing up?” Rhys said from behind her.

That sigh of relief turned to one of irritation. “Mind your own business, will you?”

He sidled up beside her, a cat’s smile on his lips, and leaned against the balcony’s railing. “You weren’t thinking of sneaking off, were you?”

One glance into her mind would have told him otherwise. He didn’t even have to read her mind to suspect it. 

Sirius rolled her eyes. “No. Of course not. I’m not stupid.”

“And there aren’t ten thousand steps to make it to Velaris.” He tilted his head, watching her carefully. Humor danced in his eyes. 

“Okay,” Sirius admitted. “Mor is waiting at Rita's, and she knows I’m awake… but that doesn’t mean I was going to sneak out.” Her voice was too pitchy, and she knew Rhys could see clearly through her lies. But she didn’t care. This was her brother that she was speaking to, not their father.

Rhys chuckled slightly, looking back at Sirius. His smile made her shoulders ease a little more. He glanced at her. “You look nice at least.”

Sirius tossed her head a little. “Thank you. I can see you weren’t planning on sleeping either.”

“No,” he said, looking down at his silk shirt and slacks.

“Care to join us?” Sirius offered, an eyebrow raised to strike a look at him.

Rhys shrugged. “I don’t see why not. It’s only one night, right?”

“Of course,” She said, tugging on his arm. “Az is going to be there too. Mor begged him to join us and he just couldn’t refuse, so look forward to him being the designated flyer.”

“Great,” Rhys grumbled. “He always gives me shit whenever I stumble.”

“Let's hope you do! I hope you embarrass yourself on the dance floor. Especially in front of the ladies.”

His cheeks turned bright red, to Sirius’ utter delight. To Rhys’ utter defeat.

“At least I’m not cheeky like you. Sirius is the most delightful sister. Sirius is the best partner anyone could ask for. Oh, darling, I am —”

“Mother above, I have one too many drinks one time and then—”

“— The most delicious thing you will ever eat, was it?”

Sirius put a palm against her eyes as she wiped away the remaining shame at her attempt to court a male. It worked, to be fair. It was the first time she ever took anyone home. The first time she saw Rhys glare someone out of the House too, staring at him so intently from his coffee cup the next morning. She didn’t see the male again. Didn’t remember his name either.

“I hate you… so much.”

He shoved her lightly. “If I’m going to marry someone, I’ll remember those words. I’ll try and use them and see how well it works.”

“Just say, Rhysand is the most delightful High Lord and that anyone would wish to be me or be with me. That should surely work.”

Rhysand laughed into the wind. “Come on now. Better not keep Mor and Az waiting for too long now.”

Sirius gave him a grin. “Race you there?”

He returned the smile. The last one has to take the first shot.

Well, if that’s the case, Sirius said, mind to mind. I’d be happy to lose this time.

His echoing laughter was all that it took to dive off of the balcony and into thin air.

Chapter 9: Meet Boot

Notes:

Wow, two chapters in a relatively short time. That almost never happens pfft.

“Raise your arms, Sirius. I’ll get through with that stance,” Cassian instructed her, standing by her side and adjusting her arms a little higher. 

She shrugged him off. “I know. I’m just sore.”

“I told you. Shouldn’t have been out that late.”

“I wasn’t up that late,” she laughed. “Plus, Mother said I could be out later than usual.”

Cassian walked to the other side of the rink, the mud sticking to the bottoms of his boots from last night's rain. It clung to everywhere; their clothes, and hands, and the stain went through to her very bones. This was where she was born, and this was where she would die.

“Again,” he ordered. A soldier at war. Still at war.

Sirius punched him, hitting him in the hand like they always did. 

“Again.”

1, 2. Left hook, right swing. Jab. Punch. 

“Again.”

She started changing things.

Right leg. Punch. Jab. Left leg. Punch. Jab. Punch. Punch.

“‘Atta girl. Come on!” Cassian urged her. 

Another and another. Another punch, now Cassian joining in rather than being the punching bag. He was light, bouncing on the balls of his feet and arms in the air, ready to defend himself. His wings were tucked in tight, not allowing a single blow to go near them. Sirius was the same way. 

Hand-to-hand combat was always dirty. Messy. Like the ground beneath them. If there was an advantage in battle, a way to get past your enemies, they would take any chance they got. A weak leg, an outstretched wing. Those weak spots will be the first things they will go for in a fight.

He dodged her attacks, countering with his own. Sirius had to be quick, swift like a snake. She lunged for him, almost nailing a blow to his face, but he ducked underneath and railed her into the ground.

The wind whooshed from her lungs as she coughed into the cold air.

Cassian laughed at Sirius as he got off on top of her and held out a hand. “Looking a little muddy there.” Indeed, she was lathered in it now. She glared at him as the light danced in his eyes, but took his hand. 

Boot, meet Sirius. 

 

***

 

She kneeled before the King of Hybern, armed and ready for battle. Knives glinted from the tops of her thighs and shoulders, over her wings. The mask fit snugly against her face, and the straps held it secure.

It was good to be out of that fucking camp. Bonfires lit every tent up with pent-up beasts on chains. On occasion, a few of them would reach out with their claws or fangs but meet only a shadowy mist that poisoned the air that they breathed. Like a dagger to the throat. They stopped doing that soon enough. 

. She was about to her wits end to the sneers and people spitting at the ground around her as she patrolled the camp and watched over her men. They were scared of her, yes, but not enough to respect her. Fear was easily acquired, the respect she would have to work for. So fear is what she would have to work on for the time being. The two, truthfully, go hand in hand. If you fear someone, in a way, you do respect them. The same way they respect Rhysand in the Court of Nightmares.

Soon… she would get that chance soon.

The King of Hybern said he had an assignment for her, and as his newly assigned Commander of Hybern, her official title to the rest of the world, she would have to get used to these missions. Or at least she thought so. She never exactly got to experience what being a commander was like with her brother. 

Sirius wasn’t even sure if Rhysand would have even given her the job, instead tucking her in a library or out with the Illyrians. Either, to be fair, would have satisfied her, but it seemed like an interesting job to command an army.

Well, now she got it. Just for the wrong side.

He didn’t even spare her much of a glance. “You may rise, Commander.”

Sirius stood, her knees aching from the cold marble floors. “You called for me, my liege?”

“Indeed, I have,” he said, rising from his perch on the throne. Jurian was nowhere to be found; neither was the other commander. He must either be out with his troops or drinking away his sorrows of Miryam. She had forgotten about the woman until she had heard whispers around the camp about it. Sad, sad stories, made to pity him, made to respect him and his cause.

“Has all the faebane exited your system?”

“It has, my liege.” My liege. She felt like she could gag on the words. He wasn’t her anything. He was a villain. A tyrant. He made her wish that there was a way around the bargain so she could throttle him or slit his throat in his sleep. Maybe that would solve things.

“Good. There is a creature I want you to slay, locked down in the deepest cavern here. I want you to kill it and turn it to ash. The only rule is that you cannot use magic. At all, for that matter.”

“What is the creature?” she asked, daring a glance up at him. He could probably tell, but perhaps not. Tamlin had shivered when he saw her wearing the mask as she strolled by, a slight grimace on his face. Had shivered and cowered away from it, telling her it was unsettling. 

She didn’t doubt him.

Not with the intricate details of the mask. The single, white line, and the bloody white line like blood trailing down to the bottom of it. The same line gracing her face.

Her bargain mark.

“It’s been locked up for a long time. Longer than I have been alive, to be exact.” That made Sirius pause. “From another world and another time. Slipped in while there were still cracks in this world. While it could be used in battle, bound to my bloodline, it is more useful to me dead than alive at this point.”

Sirius followed him with her eyes. “A creature from another world?”

“Indeed,” the King said, letting out a small chuckle. Like rock grinding against more stone. 

Sirius’ mind flashed to Amren, Rhysand’s Second. A being locked inside a fae body. What kind of creature would she meet? Someone like Amren, or… something else entirely?

“No magic?” Sirius questioned, her wings involuntarily shifting. 

“None at all,” he answered, deadpanning towards her. “Come, I’ll take you to the spot. From there, the mission is all up to you. Deal with it as you will.”

Sirius followed the King of Hybern down long, winding paths and darkened, damp tunnels under the castle. It was how you would expect a dungeon to be. Musty. Dark. This place had never seen a ray of sun. No glimmer of light. None except for the torch in the King’s hand and whatever dim fae lights they had where the ceiling and walls met. It barely produced any light at all, just vague outlines of the floor and surrounding areas. 

It got to the point where Sirius didn’t know where she was anymore. Didn’t know how long they had been walking. How long that torch in the King’s hand had been burning. How easy it would be to kill him down here, but not without killing herself too. That damned bargain. She needs to find a way around it. 

You could, little Hellcat. You could.

She shoved the thought aside. 

While she did loathe the King, there was a necessity. She trusted her family, but she did not trust the King. Not for one second. Her father always told her to keep her family close and their enemies closer. What better way than to sell herself out to a bargain with her enemy? Make him believe that she was an ally. Believe that she wholeheartedly would devote herself to him in order to protect herself and whatever shred of a family she had left.

Tamlin did it too. To protect Feyre. That got him far enough, and now he was stuck with this bargain. And whatever else he bargained away to protect the person he loved. Loves.

He was a fool, but she finally understood a glimpse of why he did it. Why he went to such desperate measures as to befriend the King of Hybern. His father used to ally with the King, it was only natural after all. While she knew Tamlin also hated him, it made for a good ethos. A good cover of trust.

That was what she must do. Get the King to trust her. To get into his head without truly looking into his mind. And this was a step closer to it.

To protect her family, she had to remind herself. She wouldn’t allow Cassian’s wings to be ripped apart again, hearing that tearing of flesh in her mind as Tamlin saw it. Rhysand was defenseless, Azriel hanging in Mor’s arms. Feyre doing what she could.

She’d find a way to bear what she could do for them. 

After another millennium, it felt like, the King paused in front of a door. She almost slammed into his back had it not been for the space between them giving her enough reaction time. 

It took her a moment to realize they were standing before a door. It almost blended into the wall. Swirls of stone stood, arched into a point at the top. 

Monsters engraved it, concave tiering until more stone met it. It appeared to look like a solid wall, but she knew better than to believe that. Not when magic older than the blood of this earth sang out to her, thrumming her blood like high notes in the melody of things. 

“It’s beyond here. You may have to use your wings to get down there. Beyond is only a sudden drop. There is a single, eternal fire down there to light the way,” the King said, his voice barely over a whisper as if he didn’t want to alert the being of their presence yet. It chilled her to think about it.

“Is there a name for this thing?” she said equally as quiet. 

“It’s too hard to pronounce in its own tongue, but here it is considered a Drakagor. There was only one other of its kind, and it has been lost with time.”

Sirius had never heard of anything like that. Never heard of a creature or fae by that name. 

He placed a hand on the wall. It disappeared slowly and translucent under his touch, and he stepped away. “I expect good things from you, Commander.”

Sirius didn’t even dare to bow at the waist like she knew she should. Not as she stood upon the threshold, looking down into the black depths of the open cavern. It was deep. Darker beyond compare. Darker than any cell she had ever been in or any cave she had taken shelter under. 

This was pure, unfiltered darkness. Not even death terrified her this much. This was hell itself.

The fire, the King mentioned, was just a speck at the bottom from the sheer drop above. She would have to jump into the dark before she could release her wings. The door was too narrow to expand them here. She would have to jump .

She didn’t know what was worse, jumping into the black or the creature that lurked here just beyond. A creature that the King had kept locked inside the lowest depths of Hybern, of the castle, never to see a shred of daylight. Perhaps it was allergic to it. Perhaps this creature survived by hunting in this pure darkness.

No magic. Just her weapons and her wit at her disposal. She could do that. She could do that.

Without as much as a scuffle, Sirius free-fell into the open abyss and aimed herself towards the eternal fire down below, the only light in this place. Just a glimpse of orange. Her savior. 

The air caught under her wings as she carefully soared closer to the fire, finding a landing path or at least some kind of ground stable enough she could land on. She had no idea where the walls met the ground here. No idea except for where it suspended the entrance to the cavern. There, she could see the faintest outline. The silhouette of the door, but nothing more. At least she had an exit. A clear one, at that. 

It wasn’t as dark down here compared to the open drop above. She stood in the circle of light, drawing the sword from her back to her side and holding it in a ready stance. Sirius cracked her neck, taking a careful look at her surroundings.

Beyond the circle of light the crackling fire behind her provided, situated in a large-scale red chalice, burning brightly in vibrant oranges and reds, she could make out nothing but the grey, jagged rock of the ground. It reminded her of cooled magma. Coarse. It looked like freshly whipped frosting, except she knew if she fell on that it would not be a sweet, soft landing. It would be hard. It would hurt. It could kill her if she fell just wrong and got impaled.

Sirius circled the fire, catching boulders in the dim light outside the initial width of the fire. The circling shadows made her pause every time they moved, thinking it was whatever dwelled here. The Drakagor. 

Please be an Amren. Please be an Amren , she begged to any kind of god out there. Mother above, Crone below. Please be an Amren.  

Scuffles behind her were the only warning she got before she twisted around and caught a glimpse of the thing as it launched itself over the fire and at her. She jumped to the side just as it got near her, close enough that she could feel the claws cutting through the air like a razor blade just by her side. It would have disemboweled her if it got close enough.

It was not an Amren.

Grey, wrinkled skin, almost like dried-out leather. Black eyes peered at her with nothing natural in them, as it skidded to a halt just outside the circle of light, watching her. Observing its prey. 

Its long, gnarled arms hung on the ground, on its haunches ready to attack her again. Bones stuck out at awkward angles but maneuvered in a way she knew was only natural for the thing. She had never encountered a thing so graceful yet so awkward in movement. Sliding across the jagged ground with enough speed but rigid in movement. 

“What the fuck,” she breathed. “What the fuck .”

There was no way out of this now. She could barely keep it in her head not to use magic. That she couldn’t just mist the thing or break its skull in half from the inside out. She so desperately wanted to, but she knew that wasn’t the point of this mission. 

The mission was to kill this thing by any means necessary.

She swallowed her fear and held her sword close, her feet naturally going back into a fighter’s stance, and readied herself for the next attack. 

The Drakagor opened its mouth in what she assumed to be a smile, teeth sharpened and wide. Prey. Predator versus prey. 

It took her a moment to realize that it wasn’t red paint on the massive chalice. It was most certainly blood.

Sirius only had a millisecond to raise her sword before it dove at her again. She parried it out, kicking it away from her with a huff of breath. It was smaller than her, so while she had the reach, it would always have an advantage over her legs.

Sirius slashed at it, only to find its claws singing against the metal, trying to get to her face. The sword didn’t seem to affect it at all. Only one extra obstacle. It clawed at her black gloves and the hands beneath it, only shredding the fabric as she could feel it against her skin, but she ignored the quick slice and used the hilt to jab it in the head. She kicked out its leg and used that time to take a step away.

There was only a short second that it took to deflect its claws again as it met her blade before she got underneath its arm and cut where she knew the main artery for a fae would be. It backed away a step, hissing, but there was no blood. No cut at all, as she peered beyond the mask and at its skin. 

Healed already. 

It already launched at her, toppling Sirius to the ground. She rolled to keep her wings from hitting the ground first but in the process tore the fabric of her long sleeve shirt and padding on her arms. It left her nearly breathless as she scrambled to gather her sword from the ground as it ran at her again like lightning ready to strike the ground. 

Sirius swung widely as it approached her, but this wasn’t a person with common sense. This was a wild animal, ready to hunt and make her beg as if she were a trapped rabbit.

But Sirius wouldn’t let herself be a rabbit. No, she was a hellcat.

While the fear in her bones made her heart ache, she could feel it slipping out of her fingers as if she was going to another place. A place where she knew she was strong, and her stance changed. Desperate, but eager. Ready to face it.

1, 2. 

She punched the thing in the face, scrambling as she got up and got back to her sword. She got a couple of good hits on it, and if it were a soldier, they would be dead by now. 

1, 2, 2.

She whirled, using her blade as an extension of herself. She would earn her name as Black Death on the battlefield, starting here. A name she had conjured in the dead of night from the rumors of the soldiers around camp. Masked and black, ashes from an old world. If she could defeat this thing, the thing that no man has ever been able to face in the black, she would be Death itself. 

She would make herself be feared.

She threw the Drakagor down to the ground, pacing around it with her sword gripped tightly, dragging slightly on the ground. The metal rang in the air. 

It ran at her again and she launched it in the air, or at least tried to. She could feel the searing heat of the eternal flame as she slammed back into the chalice. It gripped at her shoulders, tearing the armor around there until it pierced all the way into her flesh. She screamed as it cut down the top part of her back, down her shoulder, and all the way to the collarbone. She flared a hand out to meet its rancid mouth, hovering inches from its face, only to have it bite down into it. 

Sirius flipped them, pushing its face into the flames as it too let go of her hand, but instead found that its body shifted. The mouth of the Drakagor was no longer on its face, it moved down to her utmost horror, and had the strength to take her and throw her to the ground. Her wings scrapped the ground, making her hiss in pain at the sudden shock. It took her a moment to realize it was on top of her as she threw up her hands to keep it from eating her alive. It cut into her mask, tearing at the straps as it slipped slightly from her face. 

Then, it grabbed her by the hair and slammed it into the ground. 

Sirius gasped. She took her defeat as a distraction to clumsily grab a dagger from her thigh and cut off its arm. It roared in pain, the sound almost made her want to hold her ears from the scream, lurching off of her, and gave her enough time to use the full power of her legs and kicked it.

The only downside was that, as she watched it scramble off, she could see the damn thing regrowing its arm. Slowly now, but still coming back.

She carefully brought her legs up and crouched on the ground, ready to pounce. Her shoulder and neck throbbed as blood pooled on the ground. She could have sworn it grinned in delight at the sight and smell of her blood.

Her wings flared as she waited for the thing to come at her again before grabbing it by its slippery neck and launching in the air with it. It dug into her arm, and she was pretty sure its claws pierced all the way through.

She almost dropped the thing had it not been for the grip strength and an extra hand, but her sword was lost in the depths below in the process.
The Drakagor realized what she was doing a second too late. She tucked her wings in and dove straight for the ground. She kicked it down just as she opened her wings and rolled into the ground, scraps, and cuts scattering her unprotected body, bruising at least. Sirius adjusted her mask and unsheathed the last dagger from her thigh.

Sirius limped up to it, gripping it with a fit of rage that she had never experienced. 

“I’ll take you to your maker, fucking animal,” she growled at it, and beside her better judgment, stomped it in the chest and straddled it. 

Its leathery hands wrenched at her, but there was nothing it could do as she stabbed it in the chest and ripped it down its body. Black, oily blood oozed out. It was like tar. Then, she grabbed its heart and tore it out of its body, tossing it aside. 

The Drakagor screamed in agony, thrashing beneath her, but Sirius wasn’t done yet. She started carving it apart, piece by piece, so the damn thing wouldn’t regrow. Slowly, taking small chunks and throwing it in the fire. 

Sirius didn’t know how long it took, how long it screamed and cried, but she took as long as she needed as she bled on top of the damn thing. She no longer cared about her wounds, no matter how much they throbbed. This thing wouldn’t let her leave alive unless she cut it apart and burned the whole thing. Even when her head ached and her body shivered.

She stuck the dagger into its skull as she neared the end of it. Even though it had stopped screaming long ago, she just needed to be sure. And when its leathery, ugly head had finally burned in the eternal flame, she took its heart from beside her and burned the last of it, releasing a breath.

It was over.

And with no magic.

Sirius gave a limp pat on her back.

The fire went out as the last of it burned to pure ash. She gathered it in a cloth, tied it up, and held it in her hands as she winnowed to the throne room, bloody, scarred, and messy. He never said anything about magic after she had killed it, and she wasn’t sure if she could survive the flight up to the doorway and up those stairs. Or the halls, for that matter.

Jurian was standing in front of him, making some casual talk as she arrived. Then, they both stopped as she walked up to his throne, dropped the ashes, and kneeled before him, head low.

Her mask was broken and cracked from the Drakagor lashing out at it as she cut the thing to pieces. Only hanging on by a thread.

“My liege,” she said quietly, her voice coarse like the stone she got thrown against like a ragdoll.

It was a long enough silence that it made her look up. Jurian and the King were both looking at her with… shock? Jurian was shocked, she could feel it pulse in her mind, but as for the King, she could not tell.

“My liege?” she asked again.

“I am… impressed, to say the least, Commander. No one has ever survived it. How did you do it,” he said, a satisfied, small-lipped smile on his face. An order, not a question.

“I cut it apart and fed it to the fire.”

Jurian looked her over, head to toe. “You look like you’ve been through hell.”

She cut him a glare. “And you were gambling again, weren’t you? While I did actual work.”

The Mask of Death. The Commander of Hybern talking. 

That’s who she was when she wore that mask. She had to remember that. Remember who she had to portray to the world and to everyone here at Hybern.

“Rise,” the King said. “You didn’t use magic, otherwise you’d be dead by now.”

When she didn’t say anything, he continued. 

“The Drakagor has a unique ability to mimic the magic it sees. The eternal flame isn’t magic, but something deeper, so it can’t use that. But, if it saw you wielding something, even the powers of a daemati, it could rip you apart inside out. By using just your strength, it shows not only that you can listen to orders, but that you saved your own life.”

The breath seemed stolen from her lungs.

“What was it for? Why the ashes?” Sirius asked.

The King collected the makeshift bag from the floor. “For a spell. A powerful one. One that we will use in the future to decimate our enemies by the legion.”

Sirius was killing her people, but she pushed the nausea and guilt down as she listened.

“Old spells, one that needs the ashes of another worldly being, a victim of death, and the power of the Cauldron.” 

“The blood of the dead?” Sirius questioned. She looked up at him, watching. “You… when we made the bargain.”

His answering smile was all she needed.

Sirius looked away, at Jurian still there and then at the blood on her boots and shirt. “May I receive healing? Magical.”

“Permission granted,” the King of Hybern said. “See to it.”

Sirius nodded and limped out of the throne room.

 

Drakagor, meet boot.

Chapter 10: Beginnings

Summary:

Plans in the making. The beginning of something larger.

Rhysand looked at the files Azriel gave him, a furrowing working its way onto his brow. Azriel didn’t even bother looking over his shoulder, his own face stern like stone. Shadows curled around his ears, whispering about things he already knew and were in that file, but he ignored them as best as he could. They eventually retreated into the base of his hairline. Just like the cold rage that retreated into the corners of his mind.

Finally, Rhysand set down the file. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his forehead. From the look on Azriel’s face, he was trying to do damn well the same thing. “Feyre has only been back for a day before this happens.”

Azriel gave a cool, slight chuckle. “Unfortunately.”

“What do we have on this Commander of Hybern, Az.”

He peeked over at the file he handed Rhysand. “Not much more than we have there on paper. My shadows haven’t even been able to get a glimpse of her face. She’s Illyrian, she’s powerful, and she’s supposedly the King’s Right Hand. Nobody knows where she came from. Nobody knows exactly what she’s capable of.”

“So do you think she’s a Shadowsinger?” Rhysand asked him, who set down the papers and looked toward his brother.

He shrugged. “So the rumors go.”

“What rumors?” Feyre said, skipping down the steps and to the table. She wore her Illyrian fighting leathers, geared up and ready to go. “I need to meet Cassian soon. At the House of Wind for training.”

“I’ll drop you off,” Rhysand said nonchalantly, ignoring the look Azriel gave him. “Just tell me when. After lunch, I’ll take you down to the library for your research.”

“Promise?” She asked, a teasing grin on her face.

“Of course, Feyre Darling,” Rhysand purred, his mouth curling like a cat knowing he would feast later.

Azriel cleared his throat, shifting slightly on his feet. “She doesn’t go by any other name, just Commander. She supposedly has excellent fighting capabilities, although no one has seen it yet. Best hope we figure it out before we see her on the battlefield.”

“Shadowsingers are more used as spies, though. The King probably has more use for her as a spy than unleashed upon a legion of men. I doubt the soldiers will listen to her,” Rhysand mused.

He shrugged. “Maybe, but regardless, we don’t know what she can do yet.”

Feyre paused at the table beside them. “Illyrian, you say?”

Azriel nodded, his shadows twirling and twisting around his ears. The damned whispering never ceases.

“Does she have scars on her wings?” She asked.

Rhysand frowned. “Why?” He twisted to meet her gaze.

“I saw an Illyrian,” Feyre said softly. “Back at Tamlin’s manor. I forgot to mention it. I don’t even remember what she looks like, just that she was there.”

From the far-off look on Rhysand’s face, he was watching the memory. His deepening frown only confirmed that he couldn’t see what she looked like either. Then, he showed Azriel. Her face was blurred; smudged in time and memory and the blur of emotions before the Spring Court fell. Her hair was in a tangled mat, curled and dirty. The Illyrian wings were pinned to the wall with ash spikes, made to keep the poor thing from healing. Azriel watched as Feyre unpinned her wings, watched as they slumped to the ground, and lay there limp. The defeated posture of the female on the ground. Tired and broken.

Azriel blinked back to reality. “It… It’s a possibility.”

Feyre looked almost disappointed. “I told her she would have a place here in the Night Court if she needed one. To come find me. Things must have changed.”

Rhysand put a reassuring hand on the small of her back. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know,” she said quickly. “It’s just… It’s difficult to understand.”

“I’ll try and see if I can’t glean anything more,” Azriel said, gathering himself and straightening towards the door. “I’ll see you this evening, Feyre—for flying lessons.”

To her credit, she at least tried to look excited. The prospect of the soreness that would come after would not be a plus to the training. But every extra hour counted.

“See you then,” she replied, taking Rhysand’s hand and helping him up. “We need to go. Cassian will make me do two extra sets if we’re late.”

Rhysand gave a sensual chuckle. “That he will.”

 

***

 

Sirius lay on her cot, nursing her sore wounds that stretched from her right shoulder to her chest. Even though she received healing for it, courtesy of the King, a deep tenderness resided, leaving her unable to really move. Her whole body hurt to move. Which was why she started training as soon as the flashing pain faded to a more subtle ache close to her bones. Gnarled, twisted scars sliced down the upper half of her torso. Even her hand, where the Drakagor had bitten her, was twisted and pink.

She continuously checked the wards of her tent again and again and again, beginning to become a nighttime ritual of sorts. 

Walk in: check the wards. 

Before sleeping: check the wards. 

After waking up: check the wards. 

It would only allow her to winnow in, nobody else. It cut off all noise from the outside and the inside.

It was her tent after all. She was going to protect it however she could.

Someone had already tried to assassinate her. She strung up his body outside her tent as a warning to others who would follow suit. The first one of her soldiers she’s had to kill so far. She took no joy in it.

It earned her the name Black Death .

She had to be the Commander of Hybern whenever the mask was on. Any spare moment alone, though, the mask was off.

 She hated that thing. 

Hated it. 

It represented everything she didn’t want to be. Everything she wasn’t. But that was the job. This was her life now. Switching back and forth between Sirius and the Commander of Hybern.

Tonight, she would have to drag herself out of the cot, put on that mask and all of her garb, and see the King with all of his commanders. It had only been two days since her encounter with the Drakagor; she slept as sparingly as she could because of the nightmares. She found the night to be a good time to get work done. Constructing letters and plans. Back-up plans and points of failure.

Mercifully, she actually enjoyed her tent. It was her personal space, furnished by the King himself. She was comfortable , which she couldn’t tell was a relief or not. There was a large oak desk towards the edge of the tent, chairs scattered around, and a chest full of her belongings. Rugs made of fur and other animals rested on the floor to keep the heat in. 

Sirius couldn’t tell if the King was trying to manipulate her with the comfort after being locked up in Rosehall Manor for over a month. After constant torture, it was strange to be able to rest, to be able to retreat to her tent and take her mask off. 

She decided it had to be manipulation.

He couldn’t possibly be that kind, could he? He didn’t view her any more than Rhysand’s sister. No more than a tool to be used in the war.

Sirius turned onto her side, holding her shoulder in place as she winced. At least her wings hadn’t been injured. A small mercy. There wouldn’t have been much she could have done if they were.

She tossed the sleeping bag and blankets off herself as she hopped up and started to get ready for the meeting tonight. She finally dared to ask Jurian where the alcohol was kept and stole a few bottles from the pantry. Well, not exactly stole as she just took it. Walked in, grabbed the bottle, and left.

Nobody raised an eyebrow, not even a disgusted one, which was a relief. Jurian just smiled and waited by the door, watching.

Sirius didn’t plan on drinking. Not often. It was just in case she wanted it with a meal.

When she lived with Rhysand, she often snuck bottles out of the wine cellar to drink with her friends on social occasions. 

Otherwise, she didn’t drink at all.

Sirius was pretty sure there was still a note in the wine cellar in the House of Wind, apologizing for taking a rather expensive bottle in the back. Whether they found it or not, she didn’t know. Maybe she could sneak back one of these days and take another from his townhouse. He had enough wine to spare. Enough that she wasn’t sure if he’d even notice at all. Cassian and Morrigan drank the majority of it anyway.

A small glass, the bottom filled with an amber liquid, glared at her from the corner of her desk. Sirius stared at it for several minutes, looking at it, debating it. 

“No,” she finally said, and turned to look at the map on her desk.

Hybern was a rather small island, truthfully. Not much of it was mapped, mostly uncharted plains and hills. The castle itself was on the southeastern end, close to the mountain range. The war camp surrounded it, encased in the castle walls.

Here, most of the soldiers wore grey jackets and bone-white thread. Even her gear, while it remained mostly black, there was still white threading here and there. The mask itself was a bit more noticeable with the single white line on the cheek, representing her bargain mark. Jurian wore something similar when he patrolled the camp, a grey jacket embossed with white. 

Sirius glared at the mask on her desk, not wanting to put it on but knowing she would need to. Winnowing into the throne room would be easy. The King must have fitted the wards to her.

She picked it up. Slipped it on.

The mask shouldn’t fit this well.

Winnowing didn’t feel the same as before. Before she died, it was like taking a big step between spaces. Now… Sirius was sure that death or the Cauldron or something had changed it. It was almost like she phased out, fading in and out of existence. Stepping into a place, but almost appearing out of a mist rather than being .

 Like she was dead. 

She almost thought she was dead, a wayward spirit, until she heard Jurian yelp and turn to look at her. Sirius stared at him, dumbfounded, until he started to walk again with a glare in his eyes.

Sirius tailed after him, following him to the meeting room. “Did he say what he was calling the meeting for?” she asked him.

“No,” he snapped. “Probably just war plans, as per usual.”

She hummed in response, walking shoulder to shoulder with him. They were equals. No point in acting like he was better. She was the Commander of Hybern now.

“What’s got you so worked up?”
Jurian sighed, shaking his head. “The usual. Tamlin tucks his tail between his legs and cowers in his tent. Drunken men rambling around my side of camp. Not that you’d know. You got stationed in a good spot.”

She tucked her laugh down. “No, I can’t imagine it at all.”

He huffed, keeping a steady pace down the hall, and turned down the various corridors. Sirius didn’t know how he did it. The walls were confusing enough as it was, regardless of the many hours she had spent pacing the dim palace.

They arrived just in time, the door open and ready for them. 

The King of Hybern sat at the head of the table, Cadel to his left, a seat open for her on his right. A large map lay out on the table before them; two other towering males stood guard close to the door.

They watched as the two passed through the door, the King’s Right Hand first and then General Jurian. She stood by her chair as Jurian did the same. One of the men by the door shut it and took his place at the table. The King nodded to the two of them, and so Jurian and the Commander took their seats.

“Good afternoon,” the King started. “Feeling better, Commander?”

“Much better, thanks to you, my Liege,” she said.

She may as well kiss ass.

“I’m glad to hear that. I want you to be in good condition to fight when the time comes.” As if remembering the others in the room, he gestured to them. “It seems there needs to be introductions for you, Commander. These two are the Ravens, my court spies and assassins.” They tipped their heads towards her. “They are going to infiltrate the Night Court tomorrow.”

The Commander of Hybern took a small, shaky breath. “A pleasure to meet you two. How are you going to do it, my Liege? The Night Court is extremely warded. It’s extremely hard to breach.”

“I have been saving back a spell; it should be able to break the wards. Unfortunately, it can only be used once.”

“Why not send the Commander, my liege?” Jurian asked, leaning his elbows on the table. His grin was almost contagious. Almost. 

“Because I need her here.” Liar. He didn’t trust that she wouldn’t go running back to her family. He’d be right. “We need the eldest sister, Nesta Archeron. She stole from the Cauldron. Weakened it. I need her back so we can restore its strength.”

The Ravens grinned, eager for the opportunity.

Sirius grimaced under her mask.

“I’ve already given you your details, Ravens. You’re dismissed,” the King of Hybern said. He waved his hand, and the Ravens quickly left, going to prepare for their mission.

“Now, for you. We need to make a plan, a place we can infiltrate to start our attack on the continent. Somewhere we’ll have enough space and a strong advantage. While we may have the men, we need to have a good base of attack. The Spring Court is a good starting point, close to The Wall, but from two fronts, they will be weak.”

“The Autumn Court… ” Cadel started, “We share similar ideals. Send feelers there, convince the High Lord. Start our attack there. We would be in the middle of the continent then.” His fingers played on the map, pointing out the Court and its strategic position. “It’s bordered by the Spring Court. We could move our armies up.”

Sirius shook her head. “Beron could do it, but I don’t think he will. If he thinks that Prythian will even stand a single chance against us, he will back up their side.”

“So how do we convince him otherwise?” Jurian asked. His face was set in a stone of contemplation.

The Commander of Hybern threw out her hand. “The Summer Court. After Amarantha’s rule, the Court has been weak. Rebuilding. They are a neutral Court, and will not be able to stand by itself. The only thing we may have to fear is backup, but most Courts can’t teleport entire armies. And the Night Court has blood rubies against them. They won’t dare step foot there without risk of losing their heads.”

The King seemed to consider this. “Casualties would be relatively minimal. It, too, is bordered by the Spring Court.”

“Their capital,” Cadel said. “Amrantha ran that capital dry, did she not?”

“She did,” the King confirmed. “Buried it in blood and dust.”

“We could start there,” he suggested, rubbing his chin. “There are a lot of people there with no operational army. Most of them are only there for protection.”

“The only thing we would have to worry about is backup from other Courts,” the Commander of Hybern repeated. “But how fast would they be able to respond?”

“We have faebane powder and chemicals. We could make it outlast,” the King said. His smile… it was a wolf’s smile as he spotted the chicken coop. “Let’s start there.”

 

***

 

Tamlin lay on his cot when the Commander of Hybern rapped her knuckles on the door of the tent. He sat up, calling, “Who’s there?”

“It’s the Commander,” she answered back, voice gruff.

He froze. 

“Can I come in?” she asked, a bit softer this time.

Tamlin got up from his cot and opened the door for her. The mask stared back at him, her black armor writhed with shadows, only making the silver in her armor look ethereal.

“Why are you here?”

“Are we not allowed to talk?” She looked around. “There’s no one here that says we can’t.”

He visibly swallowed. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Commander ?” He’d watched her string up a body. He didn’t even think she was capable of such a thing until he saw it. Didn’t realize she had a penchant for violence.

She scoffed. “Fine. I don’t need to fucking do this. This was a waste of my time.”

She moved to turn away, to walk away from him, but he grasped her arm in a moment of desperation. “Wait! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

The Commander ripped her arm out of his grasp, but she didn’t leave. She was analyzing him, scanning over his face. 

You wanted to play Allies , the Commander said in his mind. Play allies with me .

He didn’t even know that she slipped into his mind. Tamlin snapped up his mind-shields, promptly shutting her out. “Fine.”

His tent was relatively bare compared to hers. There were only two chairs in the corner with a small table, a chest under his cot, and some blankets strewn about. 

“Nice place you’ve got,” Sirius said quietly. She worked quietly on the shields around his tent, a solid wall of air to keep noise from coming out. To keep their words secret.

Tamlin didn’t look pleased with her words, but rather stood in the middle of the tent with a stern expression on his face. “What made you change your mind?”

“I haven’t changed my mind,” Sirius said, pulling off the mask. Tamlin’s eyes flashed with subtle concern. Her dark circles must have been evident then, plagued by nightmares the Drakagor left. “I don’t trust you. I want you to earn it back. Slitting my throat in the snow has left a sour taste in my mouth.”

His eyes darkened. Guilt. “You know that wasn’t my choice.”

She shrugged, taking one of the seats, and gestured for Tamlin to take the other. She set her mask down on the table. “You owe me an explanation.” He opened his mouth to retort something, but she cut him off. “You owe me, Tamlin. You locked me underneath your manor for more than a month, let me get tortured by Hybern, and brought me back to life. You fucking owe me.”

“You’re angry.” What Tamlin did barely scraped the surface of anger.

“I’m furious.” Her violet eyes darkened. The stars in them winked out one by one. “But I’m willing to give you a second chance. You want me to be your ally in this war? Then you need to sit your ass down and start explaining. That would be a decent start.”

Tamlin slowly took a seat across from her. 

Sirius smiled. “There you go, that wasn’t so hard.”

“Don’t mock me,” Tamlin growled.

She frowned.

He used to never be like this. The Tamlin she knew wouldn’t have gotten so defensive. All the time they’ve been away from one another, he’d changed. He’d bottled up all the things he shouldn’t have, and done things Sirius knew left him powerless and hurt. Amarantha barely scratched the surface of it.

His eyes trailed away from her. His voice was softer as he said, “What is it that you want, Sirius?”

“Why did you bring me back? Why didn’t you burn my wings with my Mother?”

Tamlin looked down in shame. “Why does it matter anymore?”

“Because I’m alive because of it. Or did you think that the power of the Cauldron wouldn’t be able to do that?” She spat the word. The Cauldron created everything. To think he thought it wouldn’t work…

 “I didn’t burn them because I couldn’t bring myself to do it,” he murmured. “I was grieving. And…it was all that was left of you. I didn’t want to let you go.” Tamlin looked at her, finally. And the guilt and grief were stark in his eyes. “I missed you, Sirius. More than anything.”

An image of a ring flashed in her mind, golden and midnight, but she pushed it away. 

“I know you did,” Sirius said.

He blinked, the only indication of surprise she would get. “I didn’t think the Cauldron would bring you back,” he said quietly. “I thought a soul was required, like Jurian. I didn’t think it would just pull you back.”

“I didn’t think it would either…I didn’t even know what was happening until I was on the floor. I didn’t think it was real until I felt cold .”

“Do you think the King will pull more people from the Cauldron?”

“If the King needs the soldiers…maybe. But I think it will take too much power from the Cauldron. It cost a lot to bring me back. I don’t think he could do that. Most souls move on, so if he tried, most wouldn’t be able to be brought back.”

“You didn’t move on?”

“Unfinished business; the sort of thing you always hear about spirits. I kept myself here out of sheer will.”

“But you could have moved on.”

She shrugged. “I could have. But I didn’t. My parents did, but I didn’t want to leave Rhys.” She met eyes with Tamlin. His green eyes pierced through her. It wasn’t a lie. She felt tethered here. “It doesn’t matter. He never knew I was there. No one did.”

Tamlin was staring at her. “Why are you doing this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you giving me a second chance? I don’t deserve it after what I did to you.”

Sirius took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Because, despite what happened, and despite what you’ve done, I think there is always something to say about good people. I think you’re a good person, but…” She thought carefully about her words. “I need some time. What happened before I died is not something I want to repeat, and I need time to learn how to trust you again. I loved you.” The words hung in her throat. “I loved you up until the moment my mother’s head rolled. I want to try and trust you again because I think you’re the only person who will get me through this war alive. We can help each other.”

He swallowed hard. “I will never be able to make up for what I did to you. And for what I didn’t do.”

“I know.”

There was a silence that hung between them. So many unspoken words. Three hundred years would do that to a person. But they could leave the past in the dirt. 

Sirius nodded slowly. “What all do you know about Hybern?”

“What do you want to know?”

“Tell me everything.”

 

***

 

“I’m going to buy a townhouse,” Rhysand slurred, leaning against Sirius for support as they walked down the Rainbow of Velaris. “I’m gonna buy a townhouse, and I’m going to give it to you as a birthday present.”

They had just finished up at Rita’s, a party with Mor and Az. Cass wasn’t able to make it that time, locked away in an Illyrian camp on orders from their father. By all means, Az should be away too, but his shadows could cover his tracks for a night away. It was the perfect getaway. And against Az’s better judgment, he let Rhysand and Sirius walk back to the House of Wind rather than winnowing them back up there. It was Sirius who convinced him, saying that she could winnow them both since Rhys was the drunker of the two.

Sirius cackled. “You ruined the surprise then!”

Rhysand shushed her. “No, no no. It wouldn’t ruin it. Love, don’t worry.”

She lightly shoved him, and so he pushed her back. Sirius giggled as they playfully pushed each other, drunk but happy, on the old cobblestone of Velaris.

They stopped, breathless, against the bridge that crossed the Sidra and the Rainbow. The artist’s corridor. The life of the city. It always took Sirius’ breath away. Rhysand stopped beside her, eyes twinkling, switching between watching her and the night sky. It was starting to get cold again, their breath barely beginning to cloud in the air around them, just visible.

“I love this city,” Sirius breathed. “This, especially.”

“I know,” Rhys said beside her. “I know.”

“Are you serious about that townhouse?” She looked back at her brother, leaning against him lightly.

Rhys leaned against the railing, watching the river flow below them. “I suppose I could. We have enough money… Informal as it may be I think it would be good. For both of us.”

“Can we buy it close to the Rainbow?”

“Of course,” he said, throwing an arm on Sirius’ shoulder. He tucked her into his shoulder. “I love you, Little Siri.”

“Oh, stop .” She tried to push him away, but he didn’t budge. No matter how much she struggled, her brother’s grip kept her in place. Always his sure grip, the kind of grip that convinced her that no matter what happened, he would always be there. The kind that made her believe they would last forever.

“I’m serious!”

“I know you are. I love you too, you bastard.” 

She gave up and wrapped her arm around him as they watched the Rainbow at work.

Chapter 11: Unlikely Allies

“You’re not half as bad as I thought,” Sirius said to Jurian. She half meant it. He wasn’t so bad, and she was unfortunately starting to like him. But that didn’t mean she fully trusted him.

Jurian flipped his hair over his shoulder, a grin playing on his lips. “Oh, really now?”

Sirius nodded her head slightly, taking off her chunk of meat—lamb if she remembered correctly—and took a big bite out of it. She hadn’t eaten all day. Between training in her tent and a small errand she ran for the King, disposing of a body tortured in the dungeons and standing around the King’s side as his Right Hand, it left her with little time to really eat. 

The Ravens had been sent out that day, without return. Sirius, admittedly, wasn’t all that surprised. She slipped from shadow to shadow on her way out of the meeting, finding and following the two Ravens to overhear their plans. Attacking the Library was their first mistake. And underestimating the Archeron sisters was their next.

Sirius played with the mask on her lap as she ate, watching the fire lick at the air. 

“What are you thinking about?” Jurian asked her. “We’ve spent enough time together now that I know when you are thinking something.”

Sirius glanced up at him, finishing up her meal. Mother above it was good. “I was thinking that the Ravens are most likely dead.”

Jurian mused on the idea. “They probably are.”

“Don’t you feel the least bit sad?”

“No. Do you?”

Sirius shrugged. “No, not really. They wouldn’t grieve for me either.”

Jurian poked the flames with a stick. “No, they wouldn’t for either of us. Pricks they were. I’ve had to deal with them for a while now.”

Sirius gave a light chuckle, drinking from her glass. “They seemed like it. Cocky too.”

Jurian threw in his stick. “They sure were.”

There was a rap at his tent door. Sirius quickly threw on her mask, taking the stature and feel of the Commander of Hybern. Over the days, it was startling how quickly the habit was becoming.

“Who is it?” Jurian shouted, unwilling to get up from his spot.

“Tamlin of the Spring Court,” is the voice that called back. Sirius rolled her eyes. She could place a bet he didn’t know she was here.

Jurian also seemed to know that too, looking directly at her as he said, “Enter.”

His blond hair popped in and immediately locked eyes with the Illyrian figure by the fire. She gave him a small wave with her hand. Unenthusiastic, but still a wave.

Tamlin cleared his throat and looked away. “I… didn’t know you would be here.”

“Obviously,” Sirius drawled, taking off the mask. He still didn’t meet her gaze.

“Come, take a seat!” Jurian said, gesturing to the other chair. “We don’t bite hard.”

He frowned. “How reassuring.” But he sat down anyways. The only other seat open was between the two of them, and he edged towards Jurian like Sirius was a disease to be cautious of. She didn’t care. She was Black Death. She didn’t even know if he considered her Sirius anymore, the girl he once knew. And she didn’t know the boy he once was, the one who used to sneak out and give her roses from his mother’s garden. 

Everything was different.

“Do you want me to leave, Tamlin?” Sirius teased. 

He glanced between the two of them. She and Jurian. “No, it’s fine. I meant to come and find you later. This just makes it easier, I suppose.”

Jurian looked at him inquisitively. “What does that mean?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Mind if I have one of those drinks first?”

Sirius grinned from ear to ear. “Absolutely.” She got up from her seat, pouring him a glass. “So, why all the mystery, flower boy?”

He swiped the glass from her. Whiskey. Hybern whiskey. Some of the nastiest tasting shit she knew. But it got the job done, and it was nice not to think for a night. Tomorrow, they would attack the Courts.

“I hate that name,” Tamlin said. Claws glinted under the surface of his fingers. She didn’t particularly care. She didn’t fear those claws any more than she feared the drink in her cup. Drinkable, but left her with a bad hangover in the morning. He was a hangover and a half to deal with.

“As you always have. But please, continue.”

He rolled his eyes, sipping on the whiskey and grimacing. “You two… You two aren’t really loyal to the King, are you?”

Jurian sat back in his seat, and Sirius couldn’t blame him, blowing out a soft breath. This was a dangerous question. One that could get them all killed. Treason, to be exact. 

Sirius mused on the question once to him, to get a feel. What he didn’t say his mind slipped up. It wasn’t all insanity in there, and that was the only reason she sat in his tent drinking his liquor and trying to acquaint herself. It was that slip of trust that made her stay. 

She knew his answer.

After a long moment of silence, Jurian said quietly, “That is not a question to be asked here. We are his Generals, his Commander.”

“My tent then,” Sirius interjected. “My tent is warded enough to kill an army, and I have wards for sound.” They both looked at her. She threw out a promising hand. “I can winnow us there, come on. For a more private conversation.”

Tamlin took her hand in his, warm and calloused, before Jurian took it as well. 

They phased out of Jurian’s tent and into her own. It was darker in her room. Colder. Like all the life had escaped it.

Both Jurian and Tamlin took a moment to collect themselves, Jurian curling into himself like he had glimpsed death again and did not favor it. Sirius had enough sense to start lighting candles around the room for some light. And when that was all over, she sat on her cot while Tamlin paced. Jurian sat in the chair adjacent to her desk.

“So, loyalty,” Jurian started. “An odd question, coming from you.”

“We’ve all been fucked over by him,” Tamlin grit out. “It’s an honest question.”

Sirius stared at the space of her floor, taking in the details of the rugs and various furs. Was that bear? Or just a faux imitation of it? “We all know who my brother is and what my answer will be.”

Jurian glanced between the two of them. This was probably the first time that Sirius had seen him… uncomfortable?

“I can’t say I am, no,” Jurian said. “But he trusts me. And he’s beginning to trust you.” He pointed at Sirius.

She blew out a breath. “I can’t mess this up. If I just keep my head down and get the job done, maybe I can… I don’t know if the plans are in the making. I can’t fuck things up now, Tamlin, not when I have my family to look out for.”

“Your family is fine enough on its own,” Jurian said. A pointed look at her. “They aren’t the ones that have to look out.”

“Rhysand is feared throughout the land; no one bothers him. The asshole has it coming if something does happen,” Tamlin said. “Along with-”

“You want me to align with you, Tamlin, and then immediately insult my brother?”

He quieted down. 

“I have my family to look out for. If I’m not careful, the King will tie me to a noose and hang me in front of them. I will not be a pawn to his plans.”

Tamlin looked at her. “We already are pawns to his plans. We have been for a while.”

Jurian contemplated things. “He does have a point.”

“I will not be used against my family. He has his hand on my throat, better to ease into it than struggle against it,” Sirius said, hands clenched at her sides. She could feel their minds pulse against her temple. It was a struggle not to look in, not when they were both apples ready to be plucked from a tree.

Jurian rubbed a hand over his face. “I understand that feeling.”

Tamlin was watching them both. “We are attacking tomorrow. I need to know if I have allies.” Allies. That was what he needed. A unified front. A backup plan.

Jurian was the first to agree. And after his Sirius.

“We can’t overthrow him easily,” Jurian said. “He will find out.”

“But not before we can put a dagger in his back,” Tamlin urged. “Hide it in plain sight so he only knows when the sting is in his back.”

“Our bargains keep us from physically harming him,” Sirius said, “There’s not much Jurian or I can do about that.”

Tamlin considered this. “But not mine. And he said nothing about contacting the other armies, either.”

Sirius felt her heart drop. “No… he didn’t. And I’m going to be the one closest to him.”

Tamlin smiled in response like he knew it was coming; it was like he was urging her towards that answer. “If you can get information to the Prythian, they could stand a chance in this war.”

“I could get it to Rhys. I know discreet places where he could find it.”

Tamlin seemed to stiffen at that. “Does it have to be him?”

“Put your petty mess aside,” she snarled. “It’s the only way I know how to get the information to them. He’s the one trying to unite all the High Lords.”

Which means that she will have to go big and be the biggest villain of them all. To draw away suspicion from her. The King would suspect Tamlin; he already suspects Sirius because of her lineage, but if she makes it truly seem like she hates them, then maybe they have a shot at this after all.

Sirius looked at Tamlin. She didn’t like this, but he was right about one thing. They needed a unified front. And they were in this shit show together. “You’ve got yourself allies, Tamlin. Now, what exactly is our first move going to be?”

 

***

 

It was dark out in the Illyrian Mountains, the stars and moon just peeking out from beneath a cloudy sky. The moonlit clouds rose from the heavens above, making everything look serene and almost dreamlike. It was these quiet nights, where the fires burned low in camp, and only the sounds of the sleeping were some of the more peaceful nights in Sirius’s opinion. She could walk around without anyone telling her who she was supposed to be or who she was. Just a girl under the stars.

In her hands, she bore a single rose.

She had snuck off early last night to see her friend in the Spring Court, just now returning to the Illyrian camp where she and her family were staying. It was now early in the morning. 

Sirius went the long way back, taking in the night on her skin. The wind was low, just rustling the wisps of her hair. The cold hadn’t really set in yet. No snow on the ground except for some of the highest peaks in the mountains. Not even the trees had begun losing their leaves. 

Sirius quietly opened the door, wincing as the old oak creaked at her arrival. 

The nearly dead fire inside still crackled, a rush of heat hitting her in the face. She silently took off her boots and threw her cloak on the rack beside her brothers, tip-toeing across the living room and to the kitchen for a midnight morning snack. She kept the rose close to her chest, not willing to part with it yet. Sirius rummaged around, hitting a pan or two by accident, before finding an apple near the back of the counter and snatching it. 

Just as she was about to take the first bite, she turned around and almost ran into Rhys.

“ Fuck !” she hissed, jumping in her spot. She threw up her hands defensively, while her brother silently watched in quiet enjoyment.

“That’s the second time I’ve been able to sneak up on you now in the past week,” he whispered to her. “You need to keep your guard up.”

Sirius waved him off, walking to the back of the kitchen and out the side door. Rhys followed her steps like a shadow, meeting her outside so they could actually talk. He closed the door behind them.

“You’re up rather late,” Sirius stated in a monotone voice.

“Well, when I felt you leave, on your birthday of all days, I thought it would be best if I stayed up and made sure you made it back alright.”

Sirius rolled her eyes. “I always make it back, prick.”

Rhys looked at her, his nostrils flaring. He raised a single eyebrow, arms crossing. “Even when visiting Tamlin in the Spring Court.”

Sirius’ cheeks flushed, and it wasn’t from the cold. Embarrassment mostly. “How did you… Oh.” She tucked the rose away. “It isn’t like that, and you know it.”

He glanced away. “At least you’re not fucking him.” Sirius gave him a hard punch in the arm, enough that he flinched away and rubbed it. “Alright, I get it! Don’t fucking hit me.”

“Then don’t act like an asshole. I don’t complain when you go and fuck all those females with your friends.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?” Sirius snapped.

“They’re not in line for any kind of position for the court. So yes, it is different.”

“It’s not like I’m courting him, fucking hell, Rhysand.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Don’t make assumptions about Tamlin and I’s relationship then!”

Sirius and Rhys stared at each other for a long time. Rhys was the first to break away from her glare. He gave out a long breath. “I’m just looking out for you, Siri.”

“I don’t need you to.”

“I didn’t ask if you wanted it. It’s my job as your brother.” Sirius rolled her eyes. He grabbed her arm and turned her towards him. “Hey. Listen, for once. I’m friends with him, too, but don’t go running off for him. He’s last in line, I get it. But his father is not something we want to get involved in. He’s not a good male, and if any of those traits pass on to him, he’s not going to be a good male either. I don’t want to see you get hurt, Sirius.”

“He’s not his father.”

“You can defend him all you want, but neither you nor I know that for sure.” Rhys let go of her. “He may be nice, even doting, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t his father’s son.”

“So what does that make us? Are we just products of our lineage?” Sirius took a step away from Rhys. “Am I just father’s daughter to you, too?”

His violet eyes flashed. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

“I’m glad you’re like Mom. I never got that luxury of knowing her as well.”

“ Sirius .”

“ What ?” She felt her power rising up to the match; it was an effort to push it down. Too much power. Both of them.

There was genuine emotion in his eyes. Sirius must have struck a serious nerve with him for this kind of reaction. He took one step closer, hands by his sides like he was trying to steady himself. His eyes glanced anxiously at her like… like he was afraid. Afraid of her. Sirius took another step back.

“Sirius, I'm sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out that way.”

She took a deep breath, and then another. The tension in her chest and muscles lessened slightly. “Let’s just go to bed. I’m tired. I winnowed across the entire continent tonight.”

Rhys pushed against her mind a little bit, trying to read her. They always promised each other to let the other in… but not tonight. She pushed open the door to the kitchen. Sirius could feel his eyes trailing her. 

She went up the stairs and to the door to her room. Next to her, she could hear a door open, and out popped Cassian’s head, hair tossed from sleep. His eyes blearily looked at her, his mind still addled from sleep.

“You good kid?” His voice tumbled in the quiet of the house.

She took another breath, putting on a little smile. The Siri they all knew and loved and adored. “Rhys and I had an argument. We’re fine though.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Go to bed, Cas,” she said.

He took another glance, either seeing on her face or in her scent that she didn’t want to talk about it before shutting the door without objection. 

Sirius went into her room, closed the door behind her, and flopped on her bed. She was still clutching the rose. She looked at it and sat up.

The rose. It was wilted and dying, flaking off like ash. Sirius laid it carefully on her bedside, taking a deep, sorrowful sigh. 

She really liked that rose.

 

***

 

Rows and rows of fae of all kinds stand waiting. Grotesque to beautiful. Pale and others made of living shadows. Flags hover over every other squad. And Black Death stood to the front. 

The army waited anxiously behind her, waiting for the orders to winnow, to surprise attack. Her associate, Jurian, would rally the troops when they first land. Her other associate, Cadel, started sailing the moment the King gave the order. The ships should be there soon, at the Summer Court. With the Summer Court’s army spread thin, along the border of the coast and the bulk of the army near the border of the Spring Court, it would be easy to overtake the city.

A surprise attack at its finest.

Now, the Commander of Hybern waited for the signal from the King. He had several spells planned. One that would blanket magic, make it harder to bring up, and the other to make it seem like he would appear there on the ship. To lure the High Lord to the ship, as they tried to find the source of the spell, and kill the young Summer Court High Lord. Tarquin, she believed he was called. Brought into power because of Amarantha’s reign, Tamlin had filled her in. 

Tamlin was back in his court. Trying to get any of his troops to rally with him, to come to him. She doubted it would work. Feyre ruined him completely and utterly, and Hybern used that to its utmost advantage. The King put many troops there. He wanted to bring down the wall. In a twisted sense, the Commander of Hybern was beginning to understand why.

Centuries of inequality and maltreatment were treated with rage and discontent. Left to rot on an island. It couldn’t have been pleasant. How many years had she lived in luxury while the people here scraped the rocks to make a living? A while. And then some after following her death and eventual resurrection. But the soldiers didn’t know the latter half.

She was just a traitor of the Night Court to them, one who saw enough sense to join Hybern. She had seen two other Illyrians here. She placed them close to the front for their rebellion. The only little pity revenge she could take upon them, unless they decide to disobey orders. Then she could take matters into her own hands. 

The Commander felt a shiver slide up her back, the King’s presence in the back of her mind. Grasping at the smoke surrounding her mind. It seemed it was time.

She looked down the line to where she knew Jurian was. Just far off in the distance, she could have sworn she could see the glimpse of his armor, but she definitely knew where his mind was. Once she knew a mind, she could hardly forget its presence. 

Jurian… she whispered.

She felt his mind recoil at her voice. She let the shadows deepen around her, imitating a shadowsinger’s powers. The blackened armor only accentuated it. The mask around her face sat well, well enough that the soldiers around her kept glancing her way. Her arms were in front of her, clasped together. A figure of elegance against the storm.

Is it time? He asked in his mind.

It is. Get everyone ready.

She could hear shouting down the line, movement as the troops looked back and forth to each other. She turned around to face them, letting her hands fall in front of her.

“Attention!” She ordered. Some of the fae looked her way, others outright ignored her. She clenched her fists, the shadows rising to the match. It was almost like she could feel her magic rumble as well, deep, deep within the ground. It was a struggle to push that foreign power down, but it came down like a hammer and an anvil despite her efforts. “ ATTENTION SOLDIERS.” Shadows and smoke surrounded them and faded as soon as they appeared.

They all looked at her. A hush fell over the crowd..

“We’re moving out! Prepare to winnow!” she shouted across the battlement. She drew her sword, raising it in the air. “You do not surrender! You do not bow down! This is our first step to freedom for us—and for all of Hybern!”

The soldiers shouted in unison. Voices as one, crying for the same thing. Freedom, and change. 

The Commander of Hybern would win this country over and its King. And then she would destroy them from within.

As the soldiers called her, Black Death reached out with her powers, the shadows around her deepening as it did around her soldiers. It spanned across most of army. They had enough males to squash the Adriata back to its foundation. The rest were on boats. 

Are you ready? The Commander asked Jurian. 

She could feel his unease in his mind as he took in the shadows, taking him by the ankles and up his sides. 

As ready as ever.

Stay fairly close to me, incase we have to winnow out as well. We may have to depending on the tides of the battle.

Will do, Princess.

The Commander frowned behind the mask, remembering what the nickname stood for. Not that anyone could tell. It just made it harder to attack her homeland.

Black Death pushed that behind, left it behind as she had for many things, and became the thing that they feared most. Death itself.

 

Chapter 12: The Battle of Adriata

Notes:

I wish I had more time to write ahhh. Sorry, this isn't my absolute favorite, but I hope you readers will enjoy it nonetheless. I got done late writing, so apologizes for the likely errors.
--
I went through and edited it again. Most errors should be fixed now and I added a few details to the story :))) hehehe

“What is the first rule of war?”

 

“Have a plan to attack.”

 

“Wrong. Try again, Sirius.”

 

“Have enough soldiers.”

 

“Wrong again. I thought you knew more than this.”

 

“Protect your country?”

 

“No.”

 

“Father, please. There hasn’t been a whisper of war in years, why do I need to—“

 

“You never know when war will be on your doorstep. Your brother knows that; he has lived through it. Now, what is the first rule, Sirius?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“You do not, under any circumstances, target civilians. You only attack the other military offense. What is the first rule?”

 

“Do not attack civilians.”

 

“Good, now let's see how much you’ve improved since the last time we worked on magic.”

 

***

 

The Commander of Hybern had never winnowed so many people—a sea separating their destination. It was hard pulling over three hundred and fifty soldiers, minus Jurian, under her power until she felt that opening. Jurian was needed by the King, despite his protests to be part of the skirmish. That well of magic she once had, that infinite spiraling well, now felt like a cascading black ocean. And it was so easy to dip her fingers into and fling them over miles and miles of sea and to the bright day of the Summer Court.

It blinded her at first, looking through the lens of her mask. It had been a long time since she had seen Adriata. She had been a child, at that. 

Everything looked different.

 

The Commander’s arm went limp at her side despite the sword in her grip, beholding the glorious, glittering city. 

Too bad it was under the orders of a siege. She might have looked at it with different eyes. Clearer eyes, not the kind that assessed where to strike first. Not the kind that witnessed civilians running and knew it would be fun .

It didn’t take long for panic to set in. The ships of Hybern sailed close behind them. They were overwhelmed by a long shot. 

People began to flee in their wake. 

The armor clanged and shone brightly in the summer sun. “READY YOUR WEAPONS!” she yelled.

The Commander of Hybern turned and started walking down the line, shadows curling around her wings and the hood of her cloak. It billowed behind her in the sea breeze. 

The Commander flexed her fingers. “You all have your orders,” she said as she walked past them, letting them relay the message to the soldiers in the far back. “Burn this city to the ground if you must, get to the castle, and push them back .”

Soldiers ran past her, hungry to get their lips wet with the blood of the people. 

The Commander let them run past her, giving her a wide berth in the process, and watched as the first of the people began to fall. 

Screaming began to erupt in homes. All around the city. 

The Commander of Hybern let that sea of magic swell in her, pushing out the darkness inside her. She never had the chance to let it out. Never had the time since she had become Commander.

 Instead, she had been spiraling down for a moment like this. She tried not to think about all the people she would kill in the process. People from her country, from Pyrthian, but at the very least, not her Court.

She could feel everyone's minds in the city, and it almost brought her to her knees. But she pushed those shadows further into the city like a poisonous mist, her wings flaring slightly. Those in the mist she picked minds off, squishing them in an instant, as if they were fresh grapes off the vine. She picked off the guards closest to the castle, where they were singled out and alone. Not in a bulk of people. Some had fairly strong minds, but not strong enough. She felt them crumple to the ground as she quickly moved on.

The ships approached, and she could feel her magic being pushed down. The spell, like the King warned her, would suppress every kind of magic. Even hers, it seemed. But that’s why she acted fast. 

The Summer Court’s armada rose to meet Hyberns, but they were severely outnumbered.

A slaughter. She was leading a slaughter .

The Commander of Hybern pulled her mind away, mind reeling and eyes burning as she watched the events unfold around her. 

Enemy soldiers looked at her with hungry eyes. Terrified eyes. The smell was the sweetest honey she had ever tasted.

 She let them indulge in that gaze before she made her way towards the nearest one and cut off his head with a single blow. The others swiftly picked up their weapons, raising their swords against her.

The Commander twisted her blade as she assessed them. How her mind raced at the sight of their blood. A heavy thrum in her head at the sight, at the pure, animalistic enjoyment of it. Even if this was her first battle, she knew that swords and magic were always a deadly combination.

Hours.

Hours and hours of blood, sweat, and tears of the innocent.

Her sword arm slowed down, weighed heavily with the sword. Despite its excellent balance and low weight, after a while, it dragged on. 

This wasn’t just a battle. It was a testament. It was a statement to Prythian from Hybern.

The slaughter continued, the heat of the Summer sun beating down on her back.

The Commander of Hybern did the ground work—brute work—along with her soldiers.

It was a symbol. It was a statement. She wasn’t going to step back and do nothing. To show that she was worth her grain in salt and not just an accessory to the King’s arm.

She raided houses, slowly winding her way to the Capital, her soldiers following behind her at times. The castle of marble and sandstone couldn’t be left completely untouched. People were gathering there too, hoping for protection from the slaughter. 

If the High Lord were smart, he’d let them in. Otherwise, the soldiers from Hybern would show them no mercy. 

The streets were smeared with black and red. Either from fire or blood, both of which were a stench that permeated through Adriata. She never realized how badly it smelled until it hit her in the face. The smell of shit and blood and mud was an ugly combination.

The Commander of Hybern kicked open another door without a second thought, sending the wood splintering in a multitude of directions. A quick look in, it seemed like whoever lived here just sat down for lunch. 

Not anymore.

The house itself was nice. The tan of the walls made it seem like sandstone, windows made of wooden frames, and many of the blinds were shut. It was filled with light blues, decorated with seashells, probably found on their local beaches or ports. Dried oranges hung from the kitchen sink with leaves.

A scream rang from the back of the house. The Commander whirled around, scanning the area. Her sword sprang to the ready. In her mind, she could feel the pulsing of three others in the house. 

The male burst out, swinging a kitchen knife. The Commander of Hybern ducked out of the way, rolling away from the door. She nearly knocked over the kitchen table. Keeping her wings close to her, she crouched low to the ground. 

The male, with a deep tan, stood with the knife. He shook terribly, so much so that she thought he might drop the knife entirely. She could hear the running of feet from the other side of the room, a female, as she rushed and locked the door behind her. To their room, most likely, that she shared with him. Their smells were so similar that they may have even been mates.

The gold band around the male's hand seemed to support that idea. 

The Commander of Hybern cocked her head, a twisted smile made her cheeks ache. He couldn’t see the smile, but it didn’t matter as she lunged towards him, fulfilling the role of a crazed killer. Like the rest of her soldiers.

He stumbled and hit the wall behind him. She threw his head into it again and again and again, letting the blood from the back of his head splatter in an ugly imitation of art. She grabbed the knife from his hand as he slumped, dazed, and pinned his hands to the wall with her power. Thick, oily tendrils of darkness held him in his place.

The male looked at her with such ripe fear in his eyes. He was trying to make her out with the dark swirls of magic around her, but she knew it wouldn’t be any use.

And as the Commander stabbed him and held him as he took his dying breath, she betrayed him and looked into the last thoughts in his mind. 

It should have bothered her more. It should have.

But he was dying. And through the haze of bloodshed, she knew this was the last way to honor him. To hold him. To know what he thought while he died. What he cherished most in life.

Images raced through his mind. One of the female, locked in the other room, an empty beach with the sun beating down on them, as they ran towards each other. Walking hand in hand along the ocean. A peaceful life together. A blessed life together. A life they had forged together with love and kindness. A simple, kind life. 

And then the shooting pain of his knife wound.

And then nothing. 

Darkness, but comfort. She knew where he went.

His mind ceased being, his heart ceased beating.

There was no life left in him at all.

The Commander of Hybern turned and let her magic shatter the back door. The female there screamed again, backed up against the bed. She was shaking, looking for something to defend herself with.

She was quite beautiful, tears staining her delicate cheeks. Deep brown hair clung to her ebony cheeks. Her eyes were like sapphires.

With nothing to defend herself, she dropped to her knees and held her hands up in a prayer. She sobbed, but recited their old, traditional sayings.

“Please,” She cried. “We’ve done nothing. We’ve done nothing, please don’t kill me. Please spare me.”

The Commander sidled up next to her. She knelt beside the female, sword resting on her neck. She cowered away from it, but could do nothing to shy away from its touch. 

“Wrong choice of words,” The Commander of Hybern purred.

A quick slice was all it took to decapitate her.

Where was that other mind?

A child sprinted past her and towards the door, trying to escape from her. She sobbed as she ran, tripping as she went from the blur the tears created. In her arms, she held a stuffed bear, burnt at the edge of its left ear. 

She didn’t make it far.

Three soldiers filed into the house, looking at the bloodied scene around them, and turned to the girl. 

Damn it. Damn it all .

The girl gave one look at the Commander of Hybern with those damning tears in her eyes, then back up at the soldier in front of her. The Commander killed her only line of defense. She killed her parents. 

Now she would be the one to pay the price.

Her soldier stabbed the little girl.

The world fell slowly around her.

Sirius felt like she was placed back in her body. She had seen so much death today. So much death. So much blood…

NO!” she screamed, and before she could even differentiate friend from foe, she misted the soldiers around her. 

The haze of blood covered the walls with a thick red. Everyone dissipated. None but the child had survived as she collapsed to the ground in a heep. 

She sobbed as the Commander of Hybern rushed toward her.

 

Oh my precious Hellcat, raining fire upon them. Isn’t it lovely to see the city ablaze? Isn’t this what you wanted?

 

The Commander of Hybern clung to the girl as she ran outside. The road around her was littered with bodies along the cobblestone. 

She couldn’t breathe.

She needed to get this mask off, help the girl.

She needed to get out of here

A sudden surge of magic made her hair stand on end like a lightning strike about to land. A dark cloud emerged over the city. 

No, that wasn’t a cloud…

That was an entire Illyrian squad winnowed into the city.

Her stomach soared into her throat at the sight. 

Rhysand was here. 

Feyre Archeron, the savior of Prythian, was here.

The Inner Circle had come to Adriata’s rescue.

They all had blood rubies. The Commander thought they wouldn’t dare step here. Hybern’s plans would be set back. It was an unanticipated interruption.

A desperate part of her wanted to shuck the mask and run to them, but she knew the bargain wrapped around her neck like a tight, coiled wire wouldn’t allow her to. Not without making her whisper a final breath. She wasn’t going to spoil it for a chance meeting. She couldn’t .

Another part of her wanted to curl up in a ball and die alongside the other soldiers. 

Every Illyrian that dropped out of the sky was one of her family. Every Illyrian that dropped was Azriel. Or Cassian. Or Rhysand. 

It was always their faces she saw in her mind. 

The girl struggled in her arms, sobbing still, despite the blood flowing down her arm. It dripped onto the cobblestones, muddied into all the rest. The amount of blood could have turned into a river.

“I know, I know. I’m so sorry,” she begged, choking on a cry. “Please stop moving. I’m trying to help you.”

She didn’t listen, continuing to squirm, crying from the pain. 

“ Please .”

An Illyrian dive bombed toward her, sword extended. 

The Commander of Hybern dropped to the ground, cradling the girl against her chest. She screamed, the Commander’s ears ringing, as her body barked from colliding with the solid ground.

“ Stay ,” she ordered, gently setting down the girl as she picked up her sword again.

Another Illyrian did the same, and she danced on her toes as their siphon glinted in the sun, half shrouded from smoke. Such a fascinating thing. 

She never had siphons. Her magic just couldn’t be contained through the stone. The Commander of Hybern feared that if she even touched one, it would shatter.

She stabbed her sword toward the Illyrian, letting the blood rain down on her. Her magic flared as best it could, summoning shadows along the tops of her wings, half concealing her movements. 

The Illyrian shouted and landed with a dull thump not far away.

“Come on,” she said, more to herself than the girl, as she picked her up again.

The city was in even more disarrayed chaos now. 

The Illyrians turned the tide of battle in favor of Prythian. They weren’t expecting the majority of the Night Court to back up the call for aid. 

There wasn’t even a call for aid. 

They just showed up. Out of nowhere.

“To me! TO ME!” she shouted at the males closest to her.

She could have reasonably made it to the capital, but she didn’t want to get there. 

Her work was better used elsewhere. Killing and drawing blood and killing more.

And she would have, were it not for the girl in her arms, quickly losing blood. Her teeth chattered, and she started to feel cold. If the soldiers questioned her about it, they kept it to themselves.

But most of all, she didn’t want to see who was waiting there for her. She didn’t want to know what secrets lingered in its tall towers, what shadows she might find waiting in the dark.

It didn’t take long for her to realize how outmatched they were now. How Illyrians flooded the sky, the insignia of the Night Court on their armor. They were built to be stronger, quicker. Made for battles like this. 

Hybern stood no chance.

She sprinted to the ocean, jostling the girl around painfully. With her offhand, she pressed her gloved hand into the wound, trying to stifle the bleeding. 

“I know,” she cried again. “Just a little farther now, I promise.”

Bloodbane was tossed around, used to break the shields in the sky, and wounded others to bring them down, where the Commander finished them off without a second thought. Just a quick slash to their mind left them dead, unseeing, their nose dripping blood.

The feeling in the back of her mind sang with every swing of her sword, cackled at each swipe of their blade, each falling short of the Commander of Hybern. 

Her darkness was a cacophony of Fear. The Illyrians did their best to put up a brave facade, but she could feel their fear. Feel that pulse in their blood quicken whenever they saw her. She was Black Death. She was fear itself.

Fear. It kept her alive. It kept her swinging her sword instead of collapsing in a heep on the ground. It was just one more Illyrian. One more, and then another, and then another. 

The fear for the girl in her arms weighed even heavier than her arms. 

She didn’t even know if any of the Inner Circle, the famous family of the Night Court, saw her. She didn’t care by the time she was finishing up with the Illyrians in her way. Towards her path to freedom, away from this city.

Let them think their worst.

Magic eased back onto her shoulders. Infinite and unbearable at best. Their plan had miraculously worked. The King of Hybern lured a High Lord away from the battle, where they met the illusion of the King. 

Their plan worked.

Was it worth it? 

And when she got the call for retreat, an invisible hand wrapped around her throat, and she gladly grabbed as many soldiers as possible and winnowed out.

Back to Hybern she went. She didn’t bother with any of the boats. They would forge their own way back to their home. 

The distraction had at least worked. 

The girl in her arms was unconscious.

Chapter 13: Out Like A Light

Summary:

Sirius mourns. Tamlin helps her, they talk, dance. They hatch a plan to steal Rhys' wine >:)

It didn’t take too long to find Sirius after the battle in Adriata. She was sitting alone in her tent, cradling a body in her arms. It took Tamlin a moment to realize it was a child . 

Her mask was off and discarded on her cot. Blood covered every inch of her, and the tears on her face did their best to wash off the stains. She sat sobbing when he entered.

Tamlin dropped down next to her. It almost felt like she didn’t notice, or didn’t care, was the more likely answer.

“Sirius?” he asked her quietly, slightly touching her shoulder as he gazed at the small girl in her arms. Sirius tightened her grip on her, hugging the child to her shoulder. 

“I couldn’t save her,” she whispered, her voice crackly like she had been screaming. “There was nothing else I could do. She just…” She cut out with a cry.

Tamlin was careful with his words.“Did you kill her?”

“No,” she answered, voice cold. “Mother, no. A soldier came into the house I was at and slaughtered her. I… I killed her parents. She died before I could—”

Sirius’s face crumpled as fresh tears coated her cheeks.

Tamlin rubbed a hand across her back. Even if she couldn’t quite feel it. Even if she didn’t care that he was there to help comfort her. He just needed her to know that he was there. 

“She looked at me like a monster. Not hate. Not disgust… just fear. I am no better than the soldiers in these camps.”

“You and I both know that’s not true,” Tamlin said.

“But isn’t it?” she wept. “I killed her parents without a second thought. I laughed as I cut down my fellow Illyrians. I was happy. And she died , Tamlin.” Sirius shook her head. “I am a monster, Tamlin. I am no better than I have painted myself out to be.”

“You did your best. Either you can learn to bear with it and move on, or let it eat you.”

“Then let it consume me,” she moaned. “I don’t care . I can’t do this anymore. I can’t. She… she could have had a life. She could have had such a wonderful life. But if I can’t save a kid's life, then how will I save anyone in this world?”

Tamlin sat next to her for a long time while she stroked the child's hair, crying softly. He wondered how long, exactly, she had been there. Waiting for someone to find her. Waiting to be taken out of her trance. 

He needed to save her. To get her out of here. 

But there was no safe way to do it with the fool’s bargain she took with the King. Not without killing her in the process, which only infuriated Tamlin more. More enraged he sat by and let her do it.

She shouldn’t have to take on such a burden.

At least not alone.

Sirius looked at him. 

He almost wept in relief at those violet eyes. The pain and sorrow encapsulated them as another tear slipped down her bloody face. “Can we bury her? Together?”

“Come on,” he said, nudging her. “We can do that.”

Sirius gathered the Fae in her arms and pushed herself off the ground. Tamlin’s arms were around her in an instant. 

He winnowed them into what she assumed to be the Summer Court. The humid air was a relief from the stifling, cramped space of her tent. Away from the festering smell of the Hybern soldiers and the machinations of war. 

Here, it was silent. Quiet. Except for the deafening hum of the ocean.

The waves rolled up the shore, making small splashing noises as the current lapped in a ceaseless manner.

It was perfect here. Away from the war. Away from the troubles of the world. Sirius herself could remain here without complaint for the rest of her life.

Is this where her mother drifted off to? To this kind of life with her father? Did she forgo an afterlife like this to wait for people she knew would never come?

“Where is a good spot?” Tamlin asked. 

He was so gentle that it made Sirius’s heart break a little further. She never saw him be so gentle, so quiet, even when he held a sword to her throat and sliced through. Not even when she held a sword to his neck and asked for one reason.

Never.

“I have an idea.”

She set down the small, lithe body in the grass along the beach. The same beach she saw in the female’s mind. Sirius walked up from the beach a little bit, to a place far enough from the ocean that it wouldn’t wash her away, and knelt in the dirt to begin digging.

Tamlin knelt across from her. His claws extended, ripping through the sand and eventually dirt, and he dug with her. 

It took them hours, the sun slowly dropping lower in the sky, but they managed a small, makeshift grave.

No grave should ever look that small.

Sirius grabbed the fae child’s body once more and slowly eased her into the grave.

What was it all for? Is this all life was? A brief glimpse of happiness, of life, before it was all ripped away again.

Sirius took a handful of dirt and dropped it in. The first of many before they covered her completely. Sirius sang while they did it, the first of many she sang as they buried her. She hoped the girl could manage her way in it, find her way to this summer side beach, and meet the rest of her family.

When they were done, Tamlin made a makeshift marker out of some sticks and twine. He drove it into the ground where the girl’s head was.

Then, they recited the words every fae heard as they died.

“ Cauldron save you ,” Sirius started, shivering. “ Mother hold you. Guide you to it. Let you pass through the immortal gates; let you smell that immortal land of milk and honey. Fear no evil. Feel no pain. May you enter eternity. ”

Tamlin wrapped an arm around her and held her close as she stared and wept at her graveside. 

“Did you want to say anything else before we go?” He was looking at the horizon, at the far-off sun he knew had set.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I am so, so sorry .”

Tamlin pulled her in, kissing the top of her head. “There you go,” he whispered into her hair. “Just let it go.”

She pulled away, rubbing her eyes. “Can I show you somewhere? I just…” Sirius looked around. Her voice was tight as she said, “I don’t think I can be here anymore.”

Tamlin nodded. “Of course.”

Sirius wiped her eyes again, and in the blink of an eye, all the dirt and decay on her was gone, like she had just gotten out of the bath. She took his hand, and he barely had enough reaction time to realize they were winnowing. 

The cold bit him as they stood on the top of a mountain, the breeze whipping at them. 

“I used to come here when I was a child,” Sirius explained. Tamlin, beside her, was still recovering from the winnow. It was so different than any he’d felt before. Like all the life had drained from him. Sirius continued regardless. “To be just by myself. I’m sure everyone knew where I was, but I didn’t care. It will always be here.” She trailed off, gazing at the expanse of Illyrian territory.

Tamlin took a deep breath of the mountain air. He was still holding her hand. “It’s beautiful,” he breathed.

The snow caps barely melted, giving way to spring already, slowly turning into the summer haze. The trees were so small from up here. They saw everything from up there.

The sky-blue lakes that scattered the land, the mountain tops, and the full expanse of the ranges. Everything. It startled him how lovely a land the Night Court was, despite all the monsters that dwelled here. 

But Tamlin did know one thing. Some monsters were not always so bad.

Sirius was not bad.

“Can I ask you for something?” she said, her voice quiet even over the howling wind.

Tamlin shifted on his feet. “I don’t see why not.”

It took her a moment to work up the courage, to work up the nerve. “If… if something goes wrong in this war and I die.” Tamlin opened his mouth to start, but she didn’t let him finish. “I want you to scatter my ashes here. In the wind on top of this mountain. So that way, wherever my afterlife is, I will always know what the wind feels like.”

“Sirius…” he started, but she shook her head.

“Promise me. Please.”

Tamlin shook his head, gazing over the Night Court territory. At the way the world seemed to darken, the stars already peeked over them. They were so much more brilliant, so much brighter than any in the Spring Court.

He couldn’t make that kind of promise.

“You and I both know I will most likely not survive this war.”

“You don’t know that.”

She looked up at him. “Neither do you.”

“Fine. I promise.”

She seemed to relax at that. “Thank you,” she breathed. “ Thank you …”

Tamlin let the silence comfort them both. 

After everything, that’s all there really was in between them.

Silence. Comforting but quiet silence. 

He was never a man with words. He didn’t know where to start when it came to begin soothing that hurt.

It made him think of Feyre. The way he used to ignore her nightmares and let her sort out things for herself.

He used to think that was what was best for her. For them both. He never pushed it, for fear he would push her over the edge. It just turned out that what she really needed was pushing. To be talked to. To be well and truly loved in a way Tamlin couldn’t offer.

It killed him. It made him rage against the dying light of the stars from the death of their relationship. It made him hurt in ways he didn’t remember hurting.

Except for when…

But… while he wasn’t able to do anything about Feyre anymore, he wanted to make it up with Sirius.

“What are you thinking of?” Tamlin asked her.

Sirius tried to crack a small smile. “Of the time I picked up Cassian’s sorry ass and dove off the mountain.”

It was so long ago, just a wisp of a memory, but she still remembered the way he yelled at her afterwards. He thought she was going to kill him.

Tamlin coughed a laugh. “You’re not serious, are you?”

She glanced up at him. “Deadly serious. Do you want to try it?”

“No,” he said. “Absolutely not.”

“Come on,” she teased, though no humor lit her eyes. How could it after suffering through a battle? “It’ll be fun. Have you ever flown before?”
“I have not.”

Sirius punched his arm. “Come on, there’s always a first time for everything.” She sized him up. “You are quite smaller than Cas. It should be easy.”

Tamlin rolled his eyes and looked at her. While that smile melted her face a little bit, icy chips of guilt still faded into her eyes. “What if you dropped me?” he asked.

“Then I can winnow us to safety.”

That’s the only reason he agreed. “Fine,” he said stiffly. “Just this once.”

She cackled. “You’ll love it.”

Sirius took Tamlin in her arms and cradled him. He sat stiffly in her arms, but she didn’t take it too personally. Even his face was an unreadable mask of annoyance, although his eyes danced in what she could tell was humor or adrenaline. 

“Are you ready?” she teased.

“No.”

Sirius pinched his side. “That’s the spirit.”

Before he had time to retort, she dove off the side of the mountain, wings spread, and glided through the dusty mountains. 

He latched onto her with a tightness that almost made her want to drop him.

She laughed in the wind, the sound joyous. A sound the mountains have not heard in centuries. As if in answer, a culling wind swept them further inland.

 

***

“Never!” Cassian yelled. “Do that. AGAIN .”

This only made Sirius cackle harder. “Oh, Mother above, I don’t think I have ever heard you scream like that.”

“I hate you,” he said, pointing a finger at her as he trudged through the snow and into the direction of the camp. “Seriously, Sirius, you could have killed us.”

She took a deep breath, chasing after him. “But we didn’t die, and I got us to safety.” 

Cassain shook his head, arms locked into place. 

“Come on,” Sirius said. “You have wings, you would have been fine if I dropped you. Plus, it seems like everyone here forgets I have magic . I could have just winnowed us a few feet above the snow, and we would have been fine.”

Cassian gave her a half-smile as they walked along together. “I can’t believe you sometimes. Holy shit kid.”

Sirius smiled wider. “That was fun.”

He shrugged. “I’m not denying that. Just maybe not tackle me out of nowhere and go . A heads up would have been nice.”

“That would have ruined the surprise.” Sirius waved him off. “It’s better that way.”

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time we are on top of a mountain and I run you off of it.”

Sirius laughed at the comment, but quieted down as they walked along the heavy, snow-laden trees. 

It was early winter, the first snow of the season pouring down upon their lands. Sirius, Cassian, Azriel, Rhysand, and Mor were all staying in one cabin. Her mother and one of their family friends were in one across from them. Sirius tried to pretend they weren't there to babysit them, but it was plainly obvious that that was why she was there in the first place. Her father deigned to be seen among such… brutes .

Even though they were fully grown now, their mother’s worry never ceased. Along with her father’s impatience.

Sirius pondered her question before asking. “Is… Is Rhys okay? He seemed a little out of it earlier.”

Cassian glanced at her, cracking a smile. “Yeah, he’s fine. He just had a small argument with your father, that’s all. It’s not a big deal.”

“ Not a big deal ,” Sirius repeated, sighing. “Fucking hell, what did he want this time?”

“For him to take things more seriously. Your father has it in his head that he needs to be smarter about who he’s with. Who he will need in his court.”

“That’ll be us, won’t it?”

Cassian thought about it. “Who knows? It’s his decision.” He paused. “I’m sure you’ll be in it, though.”

Sirius scoffed slightly. “Right. Because I deserve it more than you.”

“They would sooner take orders from you than an Illyrian bastard.”

“I think it’s the other way around, Cas.” Sirius smiled. “You aren’t blessed with tits and good looks.”

He cackled. “Just the tits part. I think I have the looks part down.”

Sirius laughed with him. “But seriously, why is my father so concerned with this anyway? It’s not like he’s going to take over soon or anything. I would guess another few hundred years before this talk.”

Cassian shrugged. “Who knows? Life has a lot of things in store for us.”

Sirius said, a smile on her lips, “Then let us hope it is a life worth living.”

 

***

 

“I haven’t heard back,” the Commander said. “And I don’t expect them to. Not without a name or return address. Regardless, I sent the message today. I can’t exactly expect a reply so soon.”

Even with the mask off, it still felt like it was there. Like a phantom limb. Would she ever feel normal again?

Jurian smiled into his drink. “I think that may help. To have a return address.”

The Commander huffed a laugh. “No, I don’t think so. Tam said that there will be a meeting in a few days. A meeting of the High Lords . I may join him after I’m free from His Devil’s clutches.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asked. He pointed at his face. “With the mask and all. Won’t they know who you are?”

“I doubt it,” she smiled. “The perks of being dead for over 300 years. No one believes you when you’re alive. And no one will suspect me. Just a traitor Illyrian with a little too much magic.”

Jurian hummed, slouching in his seat. “We need music.” He sighed. “ Desperately . This place is a drow.”

“I’ve been saying that,” the Commander moaned. “But no. We must remain in silence.” 

“Even the humans way back when were more interesting than this. At least it wasn’t ceaseless drums and weird grunts.”

She cackled in delight. “We need to go to a theater and get some real music. Or put them on display for a comedy show.”

Jurian snickered. “You did not…”

The Commander raised her arms and slurred, “Bet your ass I did.”

The tent flap opened, and the blond-haired male shot in. The only one that still looked handsome even when he lifted his lip in disgust as he saw Sirius and Jurian talking. “You both are drunk,” Tamlin said in disgust. “I can smell it on you.”

“And glad to be,” the Commander said, finally flopping down into a seat, letting her wings rest. 

It had been a long day at work. First, the battle, then plans scattered her small table. Planning on behalf of the King. 

And then another for herself. 

Her hit list stared at her from across the room. The list of people the King wanted off the chessboard. 

He expected her to be done soon, after she gave him a full report on the Battle of Adriata. He seemed satisfied. Amused, most likely, that the member of the Night Court could do such a thing. Could kill innocents, slaughter the unprotected. Another thing he could trust her for. 

And he didn’t find out about the girl. 

She skimmed over that part.

“Join us?” Jurian said, lifting his drink. “I’m sure there’s another cup around here.”

“No,” he said back. “I’m good, thanks.”

He shrugged. “Your loss.”

She let the metaphorical mask slip in Tamlin’s presence, having eased something dreadfully silent in her. Sirius smiled, raising her glass. “Indeed,” and clinked glasses with Jurian. “You know, I think I have a spare deck of cards around here somewhere for you males. I heard a rumor you wanted your asses handed to you by an Illyrian half-breed.”

“As much as I’d love that,” Jurian said, rising from his seat with a groan. “I think it is time to retire for the night. Thank you for the drink, Princess. I’ll come by another time to play.” A suspicious glance at Tamlin. “I think he has bigger plans for the night,” he said with a wink.

Tamlin was the only one not amused by the jab. There was a relief in his eyes when Jurian left.

“Why do you bother with him?” he asked once he left. “He’s not a person whom I’d delight in my company. You can always come to mine and Ianthe's fire.”

“You're the one to speak. Ianthe makes me want to run into a battlefield and never come out.”

“She’s not that bad,” he retorted.
“Right,” Sirius returned, walking up to him with a drink in hand. “But it’s enough. Here.” She pushed the glass into his hands. “Fill this up for me.”

“No, I think you’ve had enough.”

“What if I got you one of Rhy’s wine bottles?” Her eyes glinted with mischief.

He chewed on his cheek. The thought definitely crossed his mind. “No, not today.”

“Please,” she purred, flashing her eyelashes at him. “Pretty please, Tam.”

“Don’t talk to me that way,” he said, eyes flashing as he backed up. 

She pushed it one more, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning into him, swaying. “You should sing to me. And then we could dance, dance, all night long.”

Tamlin stiffened. “If I were to take you out dancing, it would not be here.”

Sirius laughed into his shoulder. “There is no good place to dance for people like us.”

“Like us?” he asked, a twinkle in his eyes. 

“For villains,” she said in delight. “For us creatures of the night.”

“You mean you,” he said. “You’re the only night creature I know. A big bat.”

Tamlin gently eased her hands off his neck, slowly easing her onto her cot. She laid down, sighing in relief. The day was a bloody mess, the battle was quickly catching up to her. Her drunken state did not help. 

Her mind reeled as it all came flooding back, only pushing it away to deal with later. She could deal with it later .

She swallowed hard. “So what does that make you? A lion? I mean… your beast form is close enough.”

He knelt beside her. Closer than before. Looser than before. And all Sirius could see in her drunken haze was him and his leaf green eyes, his soft smile at her and only her.

The way he rolled his eyes at her, a half smile playing on his lips. 

Like he loved to hate her. 

Like he loved her. And only her. 

Sirius wanted it this way forever. She had wanted it this way—forever ago.

“How are you feeling… after today?” he asked her softly.

Today… Today was a long day. She cried when he left her alone again, despite the lingering joy she had from flying Tamlin off the closest mountain. Jurian was there soon after she was done. Then she started drinking. And maybe a few more drinks. 

She stopped feeling anything after a while.

“I feel okay.”

“Siri…” 

Siri . Only her close friends and family called her that. It made her feel… good. Like she was home again. Like she wasn’t in the middle of a war, where she was playing the villain. Where she could perhaps live a life of peace again.

Is this what peace was?

“Well, maybe I feel a bit worse for wear.” Sirius carefully reached for his hand, unsure if he would even allow it. But he did, perhaps out of pity. 

He was cold. Cold like a body. Like that girl . Or maybe she was just hot. 

It must have been the alcohol. 

“You shouldn’t drink so much,” he said finally. “It reminds me of my father.”

Sirius cracked a laugh. Not meaning to. It was just ironic. It also reminded her of her father. Not that he drank that much, but cool moonshine on an early winter day. She remembered when she had to get ready for meetings and he’d be waiting for her, sipping on that glass. The look he gave her when she was late. It made her blood chill.

Not that her father was terrible. He was sometimes, but other times it almost seemed like he cared. He took to Sirius more so than Rhysand. Maybe it was because he thought he could mold her better. 

That was the difference between her and Rhysand. Their mother loved him with her whole heart. It didn’t leave much room for Sirius. 

She just wanted to impress her father. She was rarely ever able to do so.

The only time she knew he actually loved her was when she died, and she saw her father sob for the first time when he killed Tamlin’s father. Although he couldn’t tell if it was the loss of her or her mother, or the loss of a valuable asset to the Court.

The sons and daughters of the High Lords. A sad lot.

“It’s okay, Sirius. It’s going to be fine,” he said quietly, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. She didn’t want to think about it anymore. She didn’t want to think about who was in front of her. 

Her murderer. And her friend.

She laughed, albeit a little harshly. “You know, I really hope you’re right.”

There was a silence between them, like neither of them knew what to say to help the other. 

Sirius had major work to do. People to kill. A court of people she was trying to protect.

What was Tamlin trying to protect? 

He lost his whole court, his family, his friends. He had nothing and no one now. Not after what Feyre did to him. It was rightfully earned, but still a little sad all the same.

“I think,” Tamlin said carefully. “I know how to at least shield yourself from the King’s bargain.”

“What do you mean?” Sirius asked.

“I’ve been trying to research it from the notes Lucien left behind. There may be a way to block where he knows you are. Not break the bargain completely, but...” 

She blinked. “Well, that’s good news.”

He slightly chuckled, pained. “It is. I don’t know if it will work, but…I’ll show it to you in the morning if you’d like.”

“I’m busy tomorrow morning,” she said. “But after. After I’d be more than happy to learn.”

He smiled. “See you then. Just come grab me when you’re ready.”

She smiled, actually smiled. “It’ll be a pleasure.” 

He turned to walk out, but he stopped, looking back at her. “When we’re done, you can steal one of those bottles of wine for me.”

A devilish smile crossed his lips. 

Sirius grinned in delight. A conspirator's grin. “Now that… that would be an even greater pleasure.”

Chapter 14: The Start of a Legend

Notes:

I'm not dead, and neither is the story, I swear it. I've just needed some time to get my inspiration up and get through some minor burnout haha. With love, I hope you enjoy :) <3

The Illyrians were camped outside of Adriata, not allowed into the city. Stationed along the foothills of the city, tents were strung up in neat rows. The ground was trampled and muddy. The wounded were being helped where they could, lying in cots, and when the cots ran out, they placed out blankets for the soldiers to lie on. Their cries drowned out everything else. The dead lay next to them, a sheet carefully drawn up over them.

The Night Court had been the only one to answer the call for aid.

Everyone worked to make the camp mobile as soon as possible. All of the Inner Circle was hard at work, helping where they could, not resting until they were utterly and totally exhausted. 

They all had gaunt or grim faces, except for Rhys, whose eyes were clear enough after the victory. Azriel handed him bits of information when he could. 

No sign of Tamlin or Jurian, but the Commander of Hybern was there. 

His smile faltered at that.

When night finally fell upon the company, sleep came steadily with it. 

Except in the High Lord and Lady’s tent. 

They were up late, making plans, setting things in motion. Getting ready for the meetings with the other High Lords. Backup plans in case Eris’ men fell through. There was still the Mirror to deal with… 

 Even the moans of the wounded quieted as the rest of the camp died down. Some of those soldiers weren’t going to make it through the night. Cassian would deal with that in the morning. Deal with it at a later time. 

Early, before dawn, Azriel and Cassian started moving parts of the camp to the southern border. During that time, Azriel stopped by the High Lord and Lady’s tent, a sealed letter in hand. They let him in quickly.

“We have some information,” Azriel said, handing Rhys the letter.

He peered at it, opening the wax seal. Along the wax was the emblem of smoke and bones, and he asked his spymaster, “Do you know who sent it?”

The shadows around his wings twirled in irritation. “No. I’m working on it. But it’s from Hybern. That’s as much as I’ve gathered. I found it this morning.”

Rhys took out the letter, a frown on his face. “A spy? On the inside?”

“They aren’t one of mine.”

He shook his head, pacing. His eyes skimmed the page, maybe even several times over. “So it could be anyone.”

“That’s what worries me,” Azriel said. “If it’s from anyone, it could be nothing. But if it's something, then… we have a problem.”

Rhys passed the letter to Feyre for her to read. Her fingers fidgeted at the corners of the page. “This doesn’t make any sense. Is it coded?”

“I’m running it through a couple of people. I’ll have the translation soon enough,” Azriel said. 

“This has… the layout of the castle? On the back. Do you see that?”

She traced the lines around the paper, so subtle to the eyes. Rhys and Azriel looked closer. It was something only an artist would really know.

Rhys’ eyes flashed with something like pride. His hand snaked around her side, pulling her close. “Good eye, Feyre,” Rhys mused. “Maybe the letter was a cover-up for the map,” he said to Azriel.

She smiled at him, handing it back to Azriel. “It’s fairly detailed. Someone knows the layout well.”

“The question still raises, is it someone we can trust?” Azriel said, ever looking ahead. Ever wary.

“We will have to see what information checks out and what doesn’t,” Rhys said, watching Azriel fold up the letter and place it back inside the envelope.”It doesn't look like there’s much here… at least so far.”

Azriel said, ”A peace offering, perhaps.”

“A peace offering,” Rhys mused. “How I’d like to see that in my time.”

 

***

 

The Commander of Hybern hummed as she clicked her boots on the wooden floor. 

It was a cracked hum, chuckling as she paced. She tried to focus, but… she was enjoying herself. As much as one could when they were covered in blood.

She twirled the dagger in one hand as she continued down the darkened hallway. Blood coated it, coated the air around her. It was all she could smell through the mask of pure black, the single white line on the cheek signifying she was Hybern’s, and Hybern’s alone. 

One with the darkness. She glided through it like water.

“Do you want to know my favorite song?” She purred, to no one in particular. She knew that he could hear her. Knew as she continued leisurely down the hall, those infernal heels still clicking. Again, in the back of her mind, she knew that this part she played was too easy. 

It was easy to give in to this rueful insanity. To let it slip away. 

To be the villain.

But if the King needed to fully trust her, to get the information she needed to get out to protect her home and her family, she would do it. She would be the monster they all feared. The eyes in the forest that watched.

“I’ll sing it for you. Ring around the rosies. ”

Her eyes landed on a cracked door. She pushed it open with a foot, letting her darkness seep into it. It turned black, her shadows skittering across the walls. 

No light, no window, no sun could pierce that darkness. Not even the stars. 

She wasn’t even sure if it was really her magic or another thing the Cauldron had tainted—that inky void of a thing. 

A bed sat in one corner of the room. A wardrobe sat next to it, closet doors opened, and the clothes were strewn about on the floor. 

“ Pocket full of posies. ”

She stepped into the room, spinning the dagger in her hand. The clothes were bloody. Cold. Like they had been sitting there for a while before the blood was spilled there. She knew exactly whose blood stained those clothes. She had been waiting for them when they arrived. The first of her targets that the King ordered her to kill.

“ Ashes! ” she continued. She took several steps closer to the bed. “ Ashes! ”

She knelt beside the bed. She threw back the spare sheets and looked underneath. 

Hiding under the bed was the male she was looking for. Pale. Skinny. Eyes like a cat.

He was causing quite the stir in Hybern. He orchestrated part of the Dawn’s Court research into the creation of an antidote for faebane. This was his family's home. He was, of course, the only one left.

“ We all fall down ,” The Commander of Hybern whispered.

The man screamed, throwing himself away from her. Scratch marks littered his skin from the skirmish, but there were only so many places to hide in such a small house. She already dragged and staked his wife and children out in the front yard. She let him hide, let him bide his time, until she was ready to deal with him.

She tossed the bed aside with a swish of her wrist, magic doing the rest for her. He pressed himself against the wall, trembling at the sight of her. 

“How close are you to finishing that antidote?” she asked him sweetly.

His breath seized in his throat. It was almost humorous seeing him this way. 

He tried to tell her something, but he couldn’t get a word out. She tilted her head, watching him. “Mind if I take a look in your mind? Crack it open from your skull.”

The male violently shook his head. Murmurs passed his lips; nothing besides aimless ramblings of a man who knew he was out of time.

The Commander of Hybern shushed him. His eyes watched in panic as her gloved hand stroked the side of his face in a calming manner. 

“I want to hear it from your lips. How far is the antidote?” The Commander of Hybern asked kindly. Like a mother asking their child how they’re feeling after being sick.

“W-We completed it. It’s done. It’s done and we are mass-producing it,” he sputtered out. She dropped her hand, satisfied by the answer, and got to her feet. The Commander of Hybern dusted off her pants and walked to the edge of the room. 

His brows furrowed in confusion, eyes wide. “Wait, wait, am I free to go?”

The Commander of Hybern laughed. What started as a low chuckle slowly ascended into a loud cackle. “Mother, no. No, you are a dead male. Did you not hear me? We all fall down .”

And with that, she closed around his mind with a fist.

He was dead the next moment.

“May Death be kinder to you than it was to me.”

 

***

 

The Commander of Hybern—No, not it was Sirius— dunked her hands in the washbasin and scrubbed her face again. She splashed the cold water against her skin, slowly ridding the blood caked on her, as if it were an extra layer of skin. She had no time to process anything. She just had to keep going, keep moving, and pray her mind would cease its constant chatter of death. 

Sirius, after scratching off quite a few of the names on the list the King gave her, went to the throne room to visit her King. He sat there, along a table a few paces away from his throne, looking over maps with Jurian. She remained in her fighting leathers, wings tucked behind her, with only a single stray ebony hair peeking out from her hood.

“You’re back early,” The King remarked.

“I have eliminated six of the ten you have requested, my Liege. I shall finish the rest tomorrow,” she said in greeting, taking her place across from Jurian. He had a playful look in his eyes. A look at her, then back to the map. One of Prythian. 

It reminded her of a chessboard, pieces of a puzzle scattered across it.

“Good, good,” he muttered. The King returned to looking at the board. “You have done well as my Right Hand. I do appreciate your presence here.” 

Then they dived back into the politics. Numbers of legions, where they would be stationed, and plans for the future. Plans for the Cauldron. They were going to use it on the Wall. The King finally found a way to break it—or the Cauldron finally regained enough power to do it.

There weren’t any exact dates yet, but it was information she stored in the back of her mind.

And after all that…

Sirius scrubbed at her hands after she finished washing her face again. 

The gloves were a ruse. She felt every drop of blood as if it were staining her skin. 

It did stain her skin. Sirius gave up after some time. 

Her armor sat in a pile next to her desk. She wrote as many numbers and figures as she remembered from her meetings with the King. That way, she had something to give to her allies. Anything. She would run it by Jurian later to double-check she was correct.

The High Lord’s meeting was three days away. 

It’s only been a day since the Battle of Adirata. 

Nightmares had plagued her all night, enough that they sent her sprawling out of bed and donning her armor, taking an early stroll through the camp before starting her work early. 

It nearly took her mind off what she did, whilst adding to the problem. 

The killing itself was a problem. While most of these people weren’t especially good people—oftentimes never at all—they were still working with her family. They needed the people she was killing. Or at least their knowledge. Whether it be a brute or a scientist, they needed the numbers.

In just a loose black tunic and leather pants, Sirius threw on one of her cloaks and winnowed herself away from the tent. To anyone else, the Commander of Hybern was in there doing her work. Now, she was someone else entirely.

She winnowed directly into Tamlin’s tent. 

She didn’t want to risk being in public. Even in Hybern’s camp, she feared spies would pick up on her movements, her face, and her biggest shame. Her identity.

She was an embarrassment. Worse than an embarrassment. It would be worse than the harassment Rhysand got after his dealings with that bitch Amarantha. Sirius didn’t think she could live with that kind of shame.

Better to remain in the dark. Like it had always been.

Tamlin’s tent, however, was quiet here. 

Sirius glanced around. She had been here one other time, memorized it. There was a cot with furs lining it in the corner. A small chair and a fire pit in the center, a spit for food beside it. He wasn’t present for that visit either. An unwarranted visit just to get a grasp on her surroundings. 

She sat on his cot, whirling her hand around. Sirius focused on a darkened barrier around the tent, something to protect them, and slowly built up shields around his tent. It was invisible, but she felt its shadows as she forged it. For them both. One, to not get discovered, a way to block the air so no one could hear them. And the other for his protection in general. 

As much as she’d love to see him get caught up in his own mistakes, the thought of losing such a valuable asset would be devastating. Let alone the image of Tamlin dying put an awful pit in her stomach.

She couldn’t lose what he could give her.

Not that she cared about him. 

Not really. He was awful, he killed her, he hurt Feyre, and in turn, Rhysand, by being an absolute dick.

But he was remorseful. Sometimes. He was sometimes an okay person. 

Sirius didn't have much time to ponder on his character as he strolled in through the tent flap. His eyes immediately snapped to her sitting on his bed and took the final steps in. 

“You… startled me. I expected the mask,” he said carefully. He rubbed a hand through his hair.

Her eyes roved over him, head cocking to one side. Her smile was like untouched porcelain. Smooth. Delicate.

“The mask is… off-putting. I didn’t think I would need it with just the two of us.”

“Well… I suppose. Aren’t you worried about getting caught?”

“Not unless you plan to tell everyone who I am,” Sirius said, eyeing him. She stood, abandoning the cot. “You said you had an idea on how to shield me from the King?”

That seemed to bring him back, blinking as he turned to his desk in the corner. He opened a drawer and took out a large leatherbound book, revealing a folded paper.

“Right, when Lucien was in the Dawn Court, trying to find a way around bargains and such for… Feyre, ” He said it like he hated uttering her name, hated the residual feelings from it. In front of her, no less. “He found a temporary shielding spell. I didn’t think about it until you mentioned it in front of Jurian. I forgot it existed.” He extended the piece of paper to her, the edges wrinkled and cut. The ink was old, most likely older than her, despite her death. 

The writing was little more than scribbles at times, making it hard to discern some of the letters. She had to hold the page close to her face to make it out.

Tamlin came around, looking over her shoulder at the paper. He pointed at parts of it. “So here it says that it's almost like shielding your mind from a daemati, and it's like shutting that part out. Because that bargain is now a piece of you, like any other, you can lock and throw out the key. At least for small amounts of time.”

Sirius read it through a few more times. “And it won’t let him know?”

“No, he shouldn’t be able to tell. I’m not sure what it exactly means to shut it out . I thought you might be able to know what it means better since you’re a daemati.” 

Sirius nodded. She could feel the bargain, always. As Tamlin said, it was a part of her. That’s how the King was able to call her back during the thick of battle. It would make sense… she just wished she had thought of it before.

Sirius sighed. “Okay, I’ll try it. But I can’t promise anything.” She looked around before finding a place to sit, which happened to be his cot again. There wasn’t really anywhere else to sit besides the floor or on top of his desk.

She closed her eyes and let her head fall forward, trying to focus on that bargain. That thing that she could feel writhing in the back of her head, that festered in her heart. Tainting her, destroying who she was. 

Sirius tried to focus on blocking it out of her mind, to push it away, away, until she couldn’t feel it anymore.

That thing, though, couldn’t be pushed away so easily. 

Tamlin watched as Sirius flinched, opening her eyes. Fingers were clenched to the edge of the cot as she tried to catch her breath. Those violet eyes looked up at him. 

He tried not to remember when he used to gaze into those eyes for hours. When they were young and things weren’t so complicated. 

That easygoingness of youth wasn’t there anymore. They were replaced by fear, and he could see something stirring behind those eyes. Darkness and age he hadn’t seen before. 

“It didn’t work, did it?” he asked. He already knew the answer before she opened her mouth.

“No. I don’t think it does.” She sighed. “We’ll keep looking. I think, as long as he’s distracted, he won’t question where I am. I can always tell when he is looking for me. It’s like–” She drew a line down her spine from her neck. “It’s always here. Thank you, anyhow.” 

Sirius stood up and drew her cloak around her. Her face became one of cool contemplation, one of the Commander of Hybern.

He hated that face.

She couldn’t just leave so soon, could she? So easily?

He didn’t want to be alone so soon. He thought this was going to work— really work —so what’s stopping them from finding a way to? 

“Wait, uh. Didn’t you say you were going to find us a bottle of wine? We can stay around here or join Ianthe by the fire–”

Sirius chuckled at him. “I’m not going to be around Ianthe, thank you.”

“If you want to be affiliated with the higher-ups, Ianthe would gladly show you around. She’s always looking for a partner in crime.” 

Come on, Sirius. He couldn’t just leave her alone. 

It was his job now to protect her since her brother wasn’t here. Since no one was here for her. 

He was the only person to truly know her. 

He was the only one who knew her here before he placed that blade over her throat. Who knew what the guilt did as it raked through his body every night.

Those violet eyes twinkled with mischief. Just like her brother’s, but more playful. Less menacing.

“I did promise I would. The wine, I mean.”

Tamlin gave her an easy smile. “I can distract the King if need be.” 

“His Liege would probably see right through you. Nice try though.” She took a glance around the room. “Fine, give me five minutes and I’ll be back here. Show me to Ianthe.”

 

***

 

“Do you know what’s going to happen? In the future?” Sirius asked him. 

They lay on their backs, watching the stars wheel above them in the greenest patch of grass she had ever seen. They weren’t holding hands, but their shoulders were touching. Their arms were touching. Even their hands were touching. His earthy scent had wrapped around her just like her citrus one did to him. 

She looked at him, her dark, wavy hair splayed around her like a halo. Like a dark crown of midnight.

His golden hair circled him, the opposite of hers. 

Like it was made of the first harvest of the year, like the sun.

“I don’t know. I never want to become High Lord. My brothers already know that. Perhaps they’ll leave me alone.”

“What do you want to do then?”

He had a smile, secret smile on his face. “Promise not to laugh?” She nodded at him, urging him to go on. He huffed a laugh, looking back at the stars. “Okay, it’s stupid really. I want to play the fiddle. Besides the war band and all, I wouldn’t mind going off and playing for the rest of my life.”

Sirius, despite her promise, let out a small sputtering giggle. 

“See, that is exactly what I was worried was going to happen.”

“I’m sorry! I couldn’t help it. Why the fiddle of all things?”

“It’s what I know how to play! Plus, they make for good music. Did you know that some of those songs you wrote and sang to me came in handy? I hate losing, you know.”

Sirius said, “I could have told you that much.”

“Hey!”

Sirius flipped on her side, looking at those spring green eyes. In the night, they sparkled in a way a deer might have. She might have thought those were the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. “Do you want to see something cool?”

“Absolutely.”

She raised her hand, letting the smoke and darkness swirl around her hand, and then around her and Tamlin. It enveloped them, the stars she created winking through. Then, she made the stars brighter, painting the night with pictures of things he’d shown her. Roses from the garden. The animals from the forest. The trees. Their leaves. 

She watched his face as it awed at the sight.

His mouth was agape; his breath stolen away. It didn’t seem like he was even breathing for a moment before he took a quick, shuddering breath. She let it disappear into the air, calling back her magic. 

Tamlin turned to look at her again, eyes twinkling again as now it was just the natural night sky. “Can you do that again?”

Chapter 15: The Calm Before

It didn’t take long for Sirius, the Commander of Hybern, to get dressed in her regalia, the black and silver armor. After all this time, it was starting to feel like a routine now. With Tamlin waiting at his tent for her, she tried not to take long. 

She had a trip to make.

Winnowing to the Night Court was as easy as spreading butter on bread. It felt like how she traveled in death, to be honest. Like floating to one place. Like not even being there at all. 

A ghost. 

And in the blink of an eye, she was in the townhouse’s wine cellar, where she knew that Cassian had probably drunk the better half of the supply. 

She quietly tiptoed all the way to the back, sneaking by, not making a sound so much as breathing. She shielded her mind as well, just in case someone was home. 

From the sounds of it, everyone was out that night. Even with magic, there was no one.

A small blessing at least, considering the King’s bargain.. The only reason she could enter in the first place was the tie with her bloodline; otherwise, she would have no access to this sweet, sweet wine. 

With all the wards Rhysand put in place, it was a wonder anyone could get in. Although, by being related to Rhysand by blood, she had access to pretty much everything.

A small perk of being the High Lord’s sister and all. Even the Prison, if she so wished, but she doubted she would ever require that.

Sirius glanced around, trying not to take in the comforts of what should have been her home. Where she should have lived out her life with her brother and his friends. Their family .

It should have been them, laughing and drinking and rejoicing.

But it was dark in here, shelves upon shelves filled with bottles. 

The closer she got to the back, the more spiderwebs she found, and the more dust littered the shelves. The older the bottles. The more money it would cost poor Rhysand to resupply, which meant it was always the best wine.

A small, playful smile played along her cheeks, the first in days. 

Mother above, even the darkest part of the house, reminded her of home. 

This would always be home. Here with Rhysand and the Inner Circle , as they now call themselves. Here in the dark of her home, it felt more comforting than in the light. The darkness was her friend and partner. The reason she had survived for so long in the first place.

Her fingers rapped against the bottles as she passed. 

It wasn’t until she was all the way in the back that she found the perfect bottle to borrow. Steal. 

It was supposed to be her house anyway. Close enough to the Rainbow and not far from the rest of Velaris and the Sidra River.

Sirius conjured up a piece of paper and ink, scribbling some words down, before she grabbed the bottle from about eye level and slipped it in there. 

An apology of sorts. A promise that she would return with another.

Perhaps one day she would.

If she survived the War.

Sirius winnowed away, somewhat startled, as she felt someone slip in the house.

Someone she didn’t want to speak to yet. Whether he noticed her presence was unknown. She just knew if he found her, she wouldn’t be able to leave. 

Not because he would make her, but because she wouldn’t be able to bring herself to. The whole part of her plan was to stay dead to them, even if it meant dying in the end again.

She’d have to have a house tour later.

 

***

 

“Mm!” Ianthe hummed. “This wine is delicious!” She sipped on what the Commander of Hybern figured was her second glass that night. The one she had planned to just share with her and Tamlin, but Ianthe got her sneaky fingers on it. 

Those same slippery fingers that often found their way into her soldier's pants and made them second glance at her arrival. 

She was a distraction. While attractive, even to the Commander, she was a distraction at best.

The attraction stopped just physically.

She offered no trust to Ianthe. No peace offering besides the glass in her hands. The glass she nearly ripped from her fingers.

Hate was an understatement. But she had to pretend. Not just pretend. She was the Commander of Hybern . She had to like her.

Tamlin glanced at her through his own glance, wary. He could see through the mask and see the disdain on her face. The disgust of the female sitting across from her.

“How long was this aged?” Ianthe asked the Commander.

“Three hundred years, give or take.”

Ianthe shrugged. “The perks of being the King’s Second Hand, I presume.”

The Commander raised her glass slightly, hiding the tremble in her fingers. Mother and Cauldron, she wanted to wrap her fingers around her neck. “Always. It always has its perks.”

She knew what she tried to do to Lucien, to Rhysand.

The Commander of Hybern had nothing but disdain for her.

Tamlin just took a sip of his wine and let the comment slide, not wanting to get between the two of them. He knew her identity was more important than anything. 

It would be a weight off the Commander’s shoulders the day she died. Her voice was pitchy, too nice. Too eager to befriend her. The Commander couldn’t tell if Ianthe wanted to get in her pants or use her in some way. 

“So, any updates on Prythian?” she asked them. Mostly at Tamlin, since he was still the High Lord of the Spring Court. 

“Not much of one.” Tamlin glanced at the ground briefly, eyes catching the Commander. Or at least he assumed so, considering the midnight mask sitting atop her face. “Supposedly there’s supposed to be a meeting between the High Lords.”

Her eyes lit up. “You’ll be there, right?”

“I was debating on attending. I know Rhysand and Feyre will be there.”

“Leading the charge as always,” Ianthe said, snorting. A face of disgust passed her face. She looked at the Commander. “You’re Illyrian, right?” Fucking clearly. “You of all people should know just how wicked Rhysand can be. It’s a wonder those savage camps have existed as long as they do. Savage things.”

The Commander of Hybern said nothing. 

“What was it like there?” she pressed. “Is it as truly horrifying as everyone makes it out to be?”

“Better than here,” the Commander said. But she cleared her throat, catching herself. “Cleaner. But the company is better here. And it is much colder.”

There was only so much the Commander could salvage from the conversation. To get on Ianthes's good side, to stay on that side, would only gain her more favor in the court. In Hybern, considering how close she was to the King. 

Ianthe shivered. “I hate the cold. It feels like my skin will fall off. I much like spring,” she said, a small glint in her eyes as she looked pointedly at Tamlin. 

She didn’t exactly know how to interpret the look on his face.

“I like it,” the Commander said quietly. “Where did you grow up, Ianthe?”

“I grew up in the Spring Court alongside my Lord Tamlin. Our fathers were close, you see, always scheming together. When our fathers were in meetings, I remember us particularly running about without either of our parents yelling at us.” She gave a small smile. “Although when Amarantha began her little trial, my sisters and I fled to Vallahan. I came back after that whole affair was done, and have remained an advisor to Tamlin ever since.”

“What’s left of my court,” Tamlin slid in.

Ianthe blinked, hiding her still broken hand behind her robs. “Right. If it wasn’t for… Feyre ,” she spat. “Tamlin would still have his Court.”

“I’ve heard all about that,” the Commander of Hybern said. She tried to hide the trill of amusement from her voice.

There was a long pause with the crackling of the fire. The yelling of other soldiers. The screams of prisoners, far off. The Commander always listened to those, as if her senses were attuned to it, as if she could feel death pressing nearby. As she felt their fear pressing even closer.

“Is it true? The rumors around the camp,” Ianthe asked.

“What is true?” The Commander asked, grinding her teeth. 

She hated how prying she was. Always had been, even when she was young. They had crossed a few times, and none of them she enjoyed. She wasn’t any better as an adult.

“That you… died ?”

The Commander of Hybern took a long breath, watching Ianthe closely. “Who is saying that?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve been hearing it from the guards, some of the soldiers. They’ve been calling you Black Death, not only for… appearances, but for your deeds. For your past.”

“My past is no one's concern, least of all my soldiers. It contributes nothing when I’m leading them.”

She nodded, mostly to herself. “Yes, but wouldn’t it be better to rest their worries?”

She stared at the female dressed in her flowy blue robes. She wondered how Ianthe ever got the stains of blood off of her robe, or if she ended up getting new ones.

“I’ve died, yes.”

That certainly piqued her interest.

Tamlin sat still, watching her. 

He hadn’t learned much about death from her, other than mindless taunts. 

And even then, they weren’t very serious. Nothing about what happened from beyond the grave besides the grim tellings of fortune and myth. No one had truly been beyond and back. Even Feyre.

Five hundred years. She was dead for five hundred years.

“What was it like?” Ianthe pressed on, eager. Hungry for more. The Commander just knew she was going to use this against her, file it. Keep it. 

Mother, she didn’t want to think about this. The more she thought about it, the more it made her head spin.

“Cold. Dark. You don’t have any sense of direction. You just know you’re dead and that you need to keep swimming.” The Commander stood up. “Thank you for having me at your fire. I hope to see you again, Ianthe. Tamlin”

The Commander of Hybern had theories about where she had gone, where that endless black sea was. There was only one reasonable answer. Where all souls went when they fled their mortal shells.

The Cauldron.

Its twisting black waters felt similar as those she had emerged from all those days ago. Terrible. Defiant. Swirling.

She didn’t know what to think of it.

There was no one calling her name back as she turned her back and left. 

That was enough of Ianthe for the night.

The Commander of Hybern patrolled the camp for the rest of the night, checking on soldiers, taking her mind off everything. 

In truth, she was looking for Jurian and waiting for Tamlin. She could feel the camp’s minds press around her, and it wasn’t long before she was craving an escape. Not one that alcohol or sex or company could provide, and she wouldn’t even dare try to bed one of her soldiers, even for a night.

She wanted to go back to Rhysand’s wine cellar and wait for him to find her there. Save her. Be her knight in shining armor like he was for Feyre. 

She was his sister —for fuck’s sake.

Even then, even as they sat along the campfire together, she knew Tamlin still loved Feyre; the Commander could see it from the look in his eyes. The way he yearned for her in a way she knew would never be returned. 

Sirius knew the feeling well. Every time her name was mentioned by his lips was like a stake to the heart.

She followed Jurian's mind from afar and waited until he was alone in his tent, with no one following them, before entering. “Jurian.”

He didn’t startle. He knew she was coming.

“Princess,” he responded. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Go fuck yourself, I told you not to call me that.”

He smiled. “Maybe once you leave.”

Sirius took off her mask, grimacing. The pink scar on her cheek from the King’s mark crinkled in turn. “You’re disgusting.”

“I am a General, and you are a Commander. It’s best to get used to it.” He turned to face her, leaning against his desk. “When is dear Tamlin getting here?”

“Soon. He was still bullshitting with that bitch when I left.”

“Ianthe?”

“Yes.”

He nodded, turning back to his table.

“We’re preparing the Cauldron for use soon. The Wall will be the next to go down. You know that, right?”

“Of course I do. The King has been implying it for ages. It’s only been a matter of time.”

“Well, now that he does have the Cauldron, and at full use, it will be soon. Times are still being debated. Things will be fucked after that.”

Sirius scratched her head. “You know we have to let that happen.”

“We do,” he sighed.

“The High Lord meeting is soon as well,” Sirius added. “Do you think it will be then?”

She leaned against his desk, musing over the idea. “Honestly,” Sirius marveled. “It would be perfect. All the High Lords in one place… distracted…”

Jurian rubbed his chin. “It would be a good plan. I’ll have to bring it up to him. From us both.”

Sirius nodded. Pleased. 

“Tamlin is going to this meeting, yes?”

“That’s what we were going to talk about. The King was talking about me chauffeuring him, but I think that would be out the window if we were to use the Cauldron then. Everyone would come after me, peace kept or no.”

Jurain nodded. “That would not be wise. For several reasons.” He glanced at her. “Would you even be able to look at Rhysand?”

Sirius answered honestly: “No.”

Jurian turned back to his plans. “Well, want a drink?”

 

***

 

“What do you mean I can’t participate in the Rite?” Sirius said. She looked at Rhys, who had a sad, dejected look on his face, more than Sirius.

“It means you're not going to participate in the Rite, Siri,” he said back. “There’s nothing I can do to change it.”

“Well, talk to Father, get him to allow me.”

Rhys sighed. “It’s not that easy, Sirius.”

“It is that easy, Rhys! Do you know how long and hard I worked to earn those tattoos? It’s all I’ve ever wanted, Rhys, you can’t take that away from me.”

He glanced at Cassian, who had his arms crossed in the corner. Like Rhys expected him to say something, to mend this. To fix it, in some way. If she wouldn’t listen to Rhys, she would listen to Cassian. She had to.

“Look, sweetheart, your father was the one who said you couldn't. They can’t just break tradition.”

Tradition. The word had been spat in her face for years.

It was tradition to clip the female's wings. 

It was tradition not to allow women to fight.

It was tradition for them to tell her to fuck off and stay in her lane .

Why couldn’t Sirius just have this one thing?

She felt her blood boil. “What?” 

Rhys was staring at her, as if he could feel it too. “We can give you those tattoos, Siri, if it means that much. But you aren’t going to the Rite. It’s too dangerous.”

“Too dangerous, my ass! I can handle myself out there as well as you can.”

Rhys put a reassuring hand out, but Sirius smacked it away. Even Cassian seemed to rise at this, and Azriel, who had remained quiet until then, took a small step toward them protectively. 

“Sirius, I’m sorry,” Rhys said one final time. 

Sirius shook her head, looking at Cas, at Az, as if they had the power to change it. But of course they didn’t. 

“How could you…” Sirius said finally, turning away and bolting out the front door. The males tried to stop her, but there wasn’t enough time. 

“Sirius!” Rhys shouted, following after her.

She kept her gaze locked forward, wings flaring as she prepared herself to fly away.

“Sirius, wait! You know this wasn’t my decision.”

She paused, looking back at him. Tears stung her eyes. From the doorway, she spotted Cassian and Azriel, the latter giving her a concerned look.

“I know it wasn’t your decision,” she said coldly. “But you didn’t even try . That’s what gets me. You didn’t defend me. You didn’t stand up to her father. You just took orders .”

Rhys’ eyes flashed in hurt, hand pressed to his heart. “You know I would always defend you. You know I do.”

She stifled a retort. She didn’t want to hurt Rhy. She didn’t want to see that look in his eyes again.

“Then why aren’t we standing up to Father? You know you’re going to take his place. You’re going to be ten times the High Lord he will.”

All three of them stiffened, paused. 

“Sirius, you can’t mean that,” Rhys murmured.

“I do. I hate him. We all hate him. Why are we denying that?”

“Because he’s still our Father.”

“Well, he should have fucking thought about that,” she snarled, power rumbling through the ground. “You might not be around him all the time, but I am . And I hate him.”

They were all silent for a moment. Until Azriel walked up to Rhys’s side, waiting for Sirius to reach out to them.

“It wouldn’t be safe for you,” he said gently.

“What. Are you. Saying,” Sirius replied tensely.

“Az—” Rhys tried to contradict, but it didn’t stop him.

“You don’t have enough training. I’ve seen what happens to males in the Rite. We all have. They would tear you apart, Siri.” The gentleness in his voice nearly broke her heart. The rage was a close second. “You’re so strong and fearsome, and you’re such a sweet girl. None of us wants to see you hurt.”

Cassian stepped up to their side. “You know we’re not doing this to hurt or punish you. We’re not your father. But we do think if you had more training under your belt, serious training , you would stand a much better chance at surviving. It’s a blood bath, Siri.”

Her eyes flicked to Rhys. “You really think that? You talked about it?”

His gaze flicked to the ground before back to her. “It’s come up in conversation.”

Her mind reached out to his. They had made a promise to always make room for each other. To always allow the other into their mind. Neither had yet broken it. 

Do you think the same? I haven’t done enough?

He sighed. Yes. Cas is right. And no female has ever participated in the Rite. They would see this as an opportunity to break you. It’s just not time yet.

Her wings flared, sucking in a deep breath. Without warning, she took off into the sky.

The tattoos she desperately wanted to proudly wear would never be hers. Not like her brothers. 

She wanted to be a true warrior like them, not some self-proclaimed one. Not her Father’s Daughter. Not whatever shadow of Rhysand, or some grueling courtier of the Hewn City.

Sirius wanted to be her own. Wanted to be her .

So the Rite would remain tradition.

Chapter 16: Escort

Tamlin stood over a bowl of cold water, hair and face dripping as he splashed it upon himself. There was only so much water could do to level his anxiety about seeing his late fiance in person though. Only so much he could do, like preparing for battle, at seeing Feyre alongside Rhysand. He hated Rhysand. For Amarantha. For Feyre. For all the shit he said and done. In the name of “protecting his family.” He was just an asshole.

He didn’t know how they were ever friends in the first place.

How did they become friends in the first place? Mutual appreciation? Their parents just thrusting them together while they sat in meetings? Tamlin didn’t know; he didn’t care that much anymore. All he felt was the hatred of abuse over the years, the bitterness that fed at his soul.

And Feyre.  

Tamlin didn’t want to start on her betrayal.

All the lies she fed him, the sleepless nights. The things he did to protect her and retrieve her from Rhysands grasp. He loved her, more than anything. More than life. He would gladly lay down his life for her, he had, and yet it seemed like it was all for nothing. And then using him to destroy his Court, and turn all his men against him. Turn everyone against him, it seemed like.

So, yes, there was only so much cold water that could do to tame his anxiety, to keep the claws underneath his skin.

He had to see what the High Lord’s Meeting was about. There was no doubt in his mind that they didn’t intend to see him, even though they sent him what looked like a pitiful invitation. A formality and less out of friendship or being allies. He never wanted to be in Hybern’s grasp, they were just a means to an end. A way of saving Feyre. Although, he saw now how foolish he had been. 

It was supposed to start any minute now. Actually, it probably had already started, now that he truly began to think about the time. 

His hands shook as he ran it through his hair as a last attempt at straightening it out. The muck of Hybern was a stench he could never quite shake. His hands never quite stopped shaking either.

“Are you almost ready?” The Commander of Hybern asked outside of his tent, rapping on it with a gloved hand. Her voice was as cold as the corpses that laid out on the cobbles of Adriata, blood that would likely never be completely washed away.

She could feel the tap of shadows across his mind, not the sharp claws like Rhysand. She was more like a passing mist, a gentle reminder of the rain that would come. Tamlin you’re late.

I know, he grumbled in his mind. He knew well enough. He debated skipping the damn thing entirely. 

He promptly shut her out of his mind, although she knew she could break in just as easily. He wasn’t even aware his guard was down. Half the time he doesn’t. There are days when he forgets the Commander of Hybern was Daemati, where she was just Siri and he was Tam.

Tamlin should remember more often what she is—who she is.

But those soft eyes, that kind smile. He could never forget that. Tamlin also couldn’t forget the frightened eyes out in the cold, the way her blood stained the snow. Blood doesn’t pool in the snow. It just sinks in; it was as if the earth was collecting it for itself. Like it could sprout flowers from the screams of the dying. Sirius’ scream echoed always through his ears when they cut off her wings and her last dying words that he told him. The words that rang through his head whenever he saw her sharp eyes and the empty depths of her mask.

How he wished he fought his father more. Days he wished he killed his father himself rather than Rhysand’s father. Days he wished he killed his brothers for being the cruel selves they usually were and had always been. Tamlin wished he hadn’t been involved entirely.

If you want me to winnow you there, you’re going to have to be quicker than that.

Tamlin carefully put on one of his old green tunics and tied it in the front with black embroidered loops. They traveled around one another as if there was no end at all. There was careful stitching around the collar with gold braided and along the edges. It hugged his arms, the bandoliers of daggers strapped around his chest, just in case. Although, with a truce in the air, there wasn’t anything too terrible bound to happen. The weight of the daggers put him at ease though.

Looking in the mirror one last time, Tamlin ran a hand through his hair, smoothing out stray hair, and walked outside the tent. He wore a mask of cool contempt, compared to his companion behind him with the blank, black mask; besides the stray white mark along the cheek. She held out a hand, gesturing to him impatiently to take it. Sometimes, Tamlin thought it would be easier if she didn’t wear the mask. He hated this persona she put on. It wasn’t her. Nothing about it. 

When the mask was on, a cool shiver always ran down his spine. Like fear itself was creeping into his pores, disguising the magic tainted beneath it. Sirius wasn’t quite the way she used to be after the Cauldron. Her magic wasn’t the same either. With Jurian it wasn’t that bad—he didn’t have magic to speak of—but with Sirius, the Commander of Hybern, it was completely different. However, they shared the same glint in their eyes.

The Commander of Hybern motioned with her hand again. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he could assume the glare that was beneath the mask. 

“Are you sure you want to be there?” Tamlin asked the Commander of Hybern in a low voice.

The Commander of Hybern was, technically, not supposed to be here. She was supposed to be far away, killing someone. For all the King knew, that was what she was doing. She took it upon herself to be Tamlin’s personal escort. It would take him all day to winnow otherwise.

The Commander stood as still as stone, but underneath that mask, she was shaking. She didn’t know if she could face all the High Lords, especially after all the damage she’d caused. How could she face Tarquin, the young High Lord of the Day Court? The city she had sacked and left for dead had it not been for Rhysands’ forces. She would have left them all dead too, which is what scared her most. Despite the neutrality, she knew more than anything they wanted to kill her, more than Tamlin. There was little neutrality where she came from.

Even though the mask would have protected her scent from being noticed, something she had learned on one of her missions and through Tamlin not being able to tell when she was around with the mask on, she knew that she couldn’t be able to faithfully look them in the eyes. How could she?

“I’m just an escort. I’ll leave after this.”

She just had to make sure her family was well. To see their faces and know they would survive this war. She had to believe that. She sacrificed everything to ensure that. The Commander would take nothing less.

All she could think about was Rhysand and her family. Morrigan, Cassian, Azriel. Feyre, Rhysands mate. What would she think of her? Truthfully, she could find out, but she was worried about setting off any alarms. They did not need to know she was Daemati… yet.

Automatically, as if her fingers snapped, before she walked in the room, the Commander of Hybern took her form.

The shields in her mind snapped into place, harder and stronger than before. Her posture straightened to a board, hands behind her back, assuming the role everyone assumed of her. Black smoke circled around her wings, both to protect her and to seem as though it were her cape and crown. It only accented the silver in her armor more. Her black hood hung just barely over the mask.

Tamlin took the Commander’s hand, trying not to let his heart jump at it. The magic swept them away; it was almost as if they were never there at all. His heart hammered in his chest. It felt as though his lungs were going to collapse, that death itself was trying to take his soul too early. Like he had never existed at all. 

Is this how Sirius felt?

The smooth sunstone beneath his feet was a feeling of comfort that was as if it wasn’t there for eternity. It was grounding, to say the least. It was the tandem but opposite feel of the Night Court. Where the Night was cold, here, in the Dawn Court, it was glorious and golden. Many steps, beautiful artistically designed archways and balconies, and bridges between all the towers and pillars of this palace.

It seemed as though they were not expecting them. 

The Commander of Hybern. Black Death. Here in the flesh. Along with Tamlin, the traitor of a High Lord. 

Already, she felt heads turn as Tamlin walked into the room, and even more when she stepped in. 

The Commander of Hybern looked over the meeting room. Deep-seated great oak chairs and a reflection pool in the center. She took in every escape exit and assessed every threat in a heartbeat.

Feyre, the new High Lady of the Night Court, had her hands locked to the seat, eyes wide as she saw Tamlin. Like some primal fear response had kicked in. Rhysand looked like he was shaking with rage at Tamlin, which multiplied tenfold at the glimpse of the Commander of Hybern.

There was an uncanny silence, stifling and awkward, as Tamlin gave them his best wolf’s grin. 

Feyre’s face dropped into cool boredom as fast as that fear and rage materialized.

“You should fetch the High Lord a chair,” The Commander of Hybern said, cooly. To which an attendant cringed and ran away to grab one for Tamlin. Her Night Court accent leaked unintentionally into her speech. The hate and rage Rhysand gave her made her reconsider everything in life. Cassian’s face of disgust, and Azriel’s contempt for them both. The Commander snapped out of it. “Sorry for the tardiness, you’ll have to excuse us.”

“This was a meeting just for the High Lords,” Thesan seethed. “What in your right mind are you doing bringing the King’s Second here, Tamlin?”

He shrugged and sat down in the seat the attendant brought for him. 

“I’m just an escort. The King doesn’t actually know I’m here. I’m not staying long; I just wanted to introduce myself.”

They all stared at her. Oh, there was hatred in their eyes, but it was nothing compared to the fear. The fear made her blood sing in delight. She wanted to feast on that fear.

The Commander could feel Rhysand already trying to poke around her mind, which she didn’t appreciate. But, the more he searched, the more confused he grew, which just minutely she glimpsed on his face. There was nothing but shadows and darkness where there should be her mind. It was as if it was shrouded by death itself. 

“You’re a traitor to your kind,” Azriel spoke. “Leave.”

The Commander of Hybern didn’t say anything. A traitor she was, but with a reason. 

They were well. The Night Court was strong. She had to have faith that they would continue to be. The Commander of Hybern had done her part.

She surveyed the High Lords, and looked back at Tamlin. He slumped in the chair. 

“I will admit, Tamlin, that I am surprised to see you here,” Beron, the Lord of the Autumn Court, drawled. “Rumor claims your allegiance now lies elsewhere… Well, I suppose it’s not a rumor now.”

The Commander of Hybern cocked her head. Studying him. “Watch your borders. All of you. The Cauldron is going to be put to use, soon. Let’s hope by the Mother none of you are in its way. It’s my only warning.”

Rhysand sneered at her, the absolute rage across his face made even the Commander stutter. Traitor. Warmonger . She could feel his thoughts without having to even look into his mind. “Why would you even—”

The Commander of Hybern was gone before he could utter his next words.

 

***

 

“Do you know where we are going?”

“Of course I do,” Sirius said. “Do you take me for an idiot?”

“No, but I know your track record of getting lost,” Azriel replied. 

“Well, I promise I know where I’m going this time. ”

He didn’t say anything, but Sirius could have sworn he almost smiled. Just barely, the corners of his mouth trying to be held down. He was her escort to the Court of Nightmares, but thankfully they had left by then. Rhys was already back in the city, living it up at some bar probably. 

But Siri wanted to see the Rainbow again. If it were her choice, she would go there every possible night. She loved staying up late and watching the stars shine above her. Of course, she couldn’t go there tonight. 

Her deep blue dress swished against the ancient stone, her neckline was not too deep to say scandalous but enough to give a hint of what was there. She knew her father would never go for anything too revealing. Nor would her brothers. Mor, on the other hand, encouraged it whenever she got the chance. That’s if she got to even see her cousin under this blasted mountain.

Sirius led Azriel to an ancient garden above the mountain, maintained by who knew, but probably one of her family’s servants. 

“See, it’s pretty!” Sirius said. 

Azriel shook his head, a hint of a laugh in his voice as he actually smiled this time. “We came all this way so you could show me a garden.”

Sirius cocked an eyebrow. “Do you not like it?”

“No… no I love it, Siri. Thank you.”

They walked to a bench across the courtyard and took a seat together. There was a comfortable silence as the night deepened around them. After today, she knew they needed it. Some place quiet and away from the world, unlike Rhys who drowned out all the nonsense with even more nonsense. Loud music, booming lights. While Sirius did like it sometimes, it was the quiet that comforted her most. 

“I’m sorry, Az.”

He looked at her. “What for?” He sounded genuinely confused.

“About Mor.”

Az stiffened at that. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know… but still. I know how much you care about her. And after today… well. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Sold to the Autumn Court like some cattle. Married, Sirius couldn’t imagine it. She knew why. Mor was the only person she confided in, whom she trusted with her secrets. While Azriel was the spymaster, Sirius was the one that kept Morrigan’s secrets.

“It’s okay,” was all he said. 

Sirius put an arm around him if it meant anything at all. Deep down though, she knew he appreciated it. Despite what he may or may not share. She remembers the day he came to their house. She and Rhys and Cass taught him how to fly. She was the only one who didn’t make fun of him constantly for it. While the boys cared about him, she didn’t like to poke fun at that. It was sensitive. 

He ended up flying with her more often than the boys early on until he felt more or less comfortable enough to fly with all of them. They were more of a hardass than anyone else. But most of all, Az was the hardest on himself. 

Sirius didn’t want to be another person to rub it in his face, so she tried her best, despite how young she was and how much older all the other boys were. 

And then Mor… she still didn’t know why her father didn’t shut down the marriage proposal. Political power, most likely. Nothing like having both fire and night in their bloodline. A powerful one it would make. 

But Az and Sirius just sat by the flowers, watching the night sky and the ever-green flowers bloom into something wonderful. If she sat here long enough, she was sure she would see them sprout new buds, new flowers, and a new life.

A new life.

How she ached for a normal life. 

 

***

 

Ashes to Ashes, we all fall down.

She repeated it again and again and again. Every person she killed.

Ashes to Ashes, we all fall down.

Is this all she was? Is this all she had to offer? Just some shit intel and maps and schematics.

Ashes to Ashes, we all fall down.

Is this all she’ll ever be? A living but dead cycle?

Ashes to Ashes, we all fall down.

How long would it take for them to see past the mask and see the scared, broken girl?

Ashes to Ashes, we all fall down.

Sirius wanted to scream, to cry, to do something. Something other than killing.

Ashes to Ashes, we all fall down.

That voice was creeping in again. It whispers things. Everything she had ever done and all that she will ever be.

That’s it, little hellcat. Show them who you will be.

Sirius didn’t want to be that person.

To save them you have to be the person you hate most.

Sirius didn’t want to be that person.

You have to be like Hybern. You have to think, act, and kill like them. Otherwise, you’ll never be one of them.

Sirius would rather die again.

It’s how you’ll save your family. They already hate you, hellcat. Black death.

Every hateful word they whispered and spoke.

They call you Black Death because that’s all you’ll ever bring.

That’s all she’d ever be.

Black Death.

The Commander of Hybern gripped her knife hard enough her knuckles were a stark white. It dripped blood off the edge of the blade, right onto the body of the male she killed. She huffed a deep breath, trying to catch up with all the running and magic. He led her on a wild goose chase. Tracking him down to the middle of the forest where no one heard him scream. She didn’t remember exactly how she killed him, although the bloody gashes across his body were a clear indicator.

She was just numb to it at this point. She’d black out, knowing she’d killed the people, but not knowing exactly how. She’d just hear this… voice. Urging her to keep going.

It worked.

There was a plan formulating in her head. A plan to break everything apart. To use her blood to good use and do something for her family instead of always covering her ass. The look they gave her… it chilled her.

Sirius took off the mask, taking a deep breath of the forest air. Fresh air at last. Not like the war camp at all. It smelled like shit and blood and a campfire. Out here, it reminded her of old times. When she was just Little Siri and her biggest problem was wondering what her brother was up to and when her next tutor was. What she’d be learning and what training she’d partake in that day.

Old times.

The good days, before everything went to shit. 

Perhaps it was better that she died instead of suffering like the rest of her family. What would have happened if she was alive when Amarantha reigned Queen? Would she be stuck underground too, or would she just be dangled in front of Rhysand like a hopeless trophy? Like she was now, except he didn’t know. 

She suspects the King wants Rhysand to kill her. He pushes her in that direction. To meet him on the battlefield and watch as he kills her. And when he realizes what he’d done, he’d be too late to save her.

Sirius would rather be killed by Rhysand than anyone else. 

She would die happy for the first time.

And the last time.

There were some bones that needed to be digged up. To be offered up to the Bone Carver.

But for now, Sirius bent over the twisted body of the male. Who was he again? She had lost count and names of all the people she killed for the King. It started with an M. That much she knew.

“Well, M, hope you had a good life. Sorry about your death. It’s just business.” He couldn’t hear her. Sirius already knew he was gone. 

She cut off his head with two clean slices, her knife sharp and heavy enough to cut through the bone. She took it, wiped away the blood from her face, and put back on the mask. She winnowed all the way back to the war camp, taking his head and parading it all across the war camp. She held it high above her own head, watching the soldiers around her. The war cry that arose from it gave chills up her spine. It was a thrill of excitement…maybe even a speck of pride. As much as she hated these men, they were loyal to the bone and cruel to the soul. She could respect that at least.

The head was posted on a pike outside her tent, another warning to her, to their, enemies. To her family and to their friends. 

Let the war reign down upon them. She was aching to get her hands dirty again.

The Wall was coming down tomorrow. She just hoped Tamilin fed them all the right information at the meeting, all the information she gave him in hopes he would put his pride down for once and use it. Help them. Give them everything she can without being caught.

It was the least she could do. 

The Wall was coming down.

A knock on her tent wall resounded as she washed her hands of blood. 

“Commander, the King requests your presence.” 

She already knew that by the tugging on their bargain. But she wanted someone to get her. She was ready to face him, the King. Her King. she wanted to know what would happen next. She would take joy in it. She would play her part and her family would be safe.

She would help take the Wall down with her bare fucking hands if she had to.

Chapter 17: Some Walls Are Meant to be Broken

Notes:

Yall get to eat tonight. Big chapter for the lack of not posting in so long :,)

Tamlin led Sirius through the gardens and over the hills near Rosebud Manor in the Spring Court by the hand. He looked back, smiling at her. “Come on, it’s just this way I promise.”

“Are you sure, we’ve been walking for so long,” she complained.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then trust me. It’s just over this next ridge I swear.”

Sirius scoffed. “Fine. You know I could have flown us, right?”

He chided her, his thumb running over her fingers. “Now that, takes the fun out of it.”

When they climbed to the top of the ridge it was nearly dusk. They at least ate dinner before coming out here. Of course, neither of their families knew they were meeting. It was all a big secret. One big game between the two of them.

The sky was bright orange; the clouds looked as if they were catching fire. This was Tamlin’s favorite time, while Sirius’ was the night. He promised to take her out here last time they were together. If Rhys ever found out about these meetings, he’d be so mad at her. So would their parents.

But who cared? They were so young and so in love.

It was so bright and fresh as a blooming flower. It was a breath of spring air like none of them had ever tasted. It was freedom. Away from their families. Away from the burden of the Courts weighing down upon her. It was all so new, the two of them. So naive and innocent.

They were just themselves, away from everyone and everything they had known.

Tamlin took Sirius in his arms and watched the sky. The rolling hills and trees surrounding them turned a golden glow, one that, as Sirius looked at Tamlin, glowed upon his face as well. Those eyes that she had found comfort in were glassy, not as if he was watching the sky, but watching her. 

“You’re beautiful,” he spoke, his words soft. 

She couldn’t help the blush that rose on her cheeks. “Thank you.”

He smiled at her. Not one of those trained smiles, but those rare ones you only see with people who truly love. The ones that were surprising and genuine and true. Then his eyes turned to the sky, his perfect green eyes glowing with honey.

“Let’s sit down,” she said.

They did, and she laid her head down on his lap as he settled down in the grass. Her wings were splayed around them, sunning them while the sun was still lingering in the sky. It warmed her wings with familiar comfort.

“Where do you want to go, Rosebud boy?” 

He chuckled, stroking her hair carefully. “Anywhere but here. Anywhere with you.”

She smiled up at him, studying the lines of his jaw and the way his mouth parted when he breathed. “We could go to the continent if you want. It would be far away from everything here.”

“It’s possible. Our siblings will be the ones to rule. Who’s to say that we can’t just… run away from here.” He thought for a minute. “I don’t think I have a name for you… You always call me Rosebud, and I’ve always just settled for Siri. What do you think?”

“You can call me whatever you want, Tam.”

“Yeah, but I think it would be nice.”

“Well, start brainstorming then. What do you think would be nice or fitting for me?”

“I was thinking…Starlight? No that’s dumb. What about darling or something like that?”

Sirius grimaced. “No, don’t call me darling . That’s what my brother says and I don’t want to be reminded every time you say it to me.”

“Either way,” he said above her, rubbing her temple and cheek with one hand. He leaned down so he could look into her eyes. “I’ll think about it.” 

Sirius leaned up and gave him a gentle kiss. It was nothing rushed, it was lazy and easy. It wasn’t the tongue clashing that sometimes left them undressed, it was romantic and soft. She put a hand on his face and deepened the kiss between them. 

“You think about it then.”

She laid back down on his lap, watching the sunset with him. She heard him blow out a breath as he was taken aback by it. 

The stars started peeking out from the corners of the sky late into the night, where they had found a pool in the middle of the forest. To Sirius’ delight and Tamlin’s amused glance, they both decided it was time to go swimming. 

The pool was nothing special, just a small pond in the middle of the forest. It wasn’t cold, but it certainly wasn’t warm. 

Sirius stripped in front of him and dove into the pond, not waiting for Tamlin to join her. The cold made her gasp, but it wasn’t long until the water started to feel somewhat comfortable.

“Come in, Rosebud!”

He was struggling to take off his pants, which had somehow twisted and wrapped around his ankles.

Sirius giggled at him, letting herself float at the top of the pool. She started singing the first thing that came to her mind, any rhyme she could muster:

 

Oh to be a rock in the sea.

With the waves crashing over me.

Oh to be the boy sitting on the shore,

Struggling to take get more,

Of his pants off.

 

Tamlin jumped into the pool with a large splash, getting water all over her face. She squealed in delight and surprise and Tamlin popped above the water and splashed her again, taking her in his arms and kissing her again and again, just peppering her face with it.

“That rhyme was quite rude.”

“Only to you,” she said, sticking her tongue out at him.

He dunked her under the water and laughed as she screamed at him.

“Do you want to see something I’ve been trying out?” she asked him. There was a gleam of mischief in her eyes that mirrored her brother.

“Absolutely.”

Sirius held her hand up to the sky, grasping at the sky. And somehow… the star came to them, held in the palm of Sirius’ hand. She blew it into the pool, and all around them the star spread. 

Tamlin beheld in wonder. “Did you turn the pool into starlight? Actual starlight?”

Sirius pushed herself out of his arms and splashed around in the pool of stars. “Yes! It is!”

Tamlin gaped in wonder at the starlight-filled pool. “How long will it last?”

Sirius shrugged as she dunked herself under the water. She splashed him as she appeared again behind him, wings tucked tightly behind her. “Who knows! Who cares! Isn’t this neat?”
“This is one of the best things I have ever seen, Siri.”

They danced and sang and played in the pool until the moon was high above them and their fingers pruned.

 

***

 

The Wall was much taller than the Commander remembered it. It was plain, nothing spectacular. Nothing so grandiose as it was made out to be. Some mythical fortress to keep the Fae out from the human lands. But it was nothing like that. It wasn’t anything that was visible at all, but the Commander could feel the recoil of it. The off ness about it. 

She stood next to the King, on his right side. Jurian was to his left. 

The Spring Court’s neutral weather made it a pleasant day, but the sun made her itch under all the armor. It was heavy, and it was starting to get hot under the mask. Sweat tickled her upper lip as she watched the King pace in front of them, to the Cauldron. The Cauldron itself was another beast entirely. The Cauldron made her almost physically recoil from it; it was almost as if she could feel it trying to reach out to her. Touch her, paw at her for the power she mistakenly took. But the King doesn’t know that. He’s already after that Archeron girl, Nesta, for the power she took. It was a much more noticeable difference in power than what the Commander took anyways. 

At least, that’s what she thinks happened. Otherwise, it was just the aftereffects of it. Who knew what it could all do? It would make sense why in some ways her magic was warped. Different. Strange.

It was nauseating. The Commander could feel her stomach churn as the King walked beside the Cauldron, readying its power. Something about it felt wrong. So wrong. And she remembered what it felt like the time the Cauldron was used for something like this. When the human Queens were made into old, decrepit things, and the Archeron sisters were made into Fae. All in one day. Hours of shaking and vomiting in her cell underneath Tamlin’s manor.

She could feel that feeling wash over her again. Her connection to the Cauldron writhing as if a string was pulled from inside of her. The Commander was sure that the Archeron girls were feeling something similar about now. 

“So, is this the right spot?” The King of Hybern asked them. 

Jurian was the one to answer. “That’s where Brannagh and Dagdan showed me. This should be it.”

“And the High Lords? They’re all distracted?”

“At the High Lords’ meeting,” The Commander of Hybern answered. “Tamlin went to ensure they were occupied.”

He gave a deep chuckle. “Good, all is going to plan then.” The King of Hybern put a calloused hand on the Cauldron, and it was like the Commander could feel it on her lower back, clenching the fabric clinging to her. The Commander swallowed hard as she fought nausea. “Let’s begin.”

Jurian threw a glance at the Commander for a split second. Worried, perhaps. She wasn’t particularly focusing on that. She was focused on that invisible wall that held the lands apart. That separated the Spring from the harsh human lands. From the cold and dark. Well, they were going to spill that darkness over now. 

The King of Hybern started reciting some words in an old, dark language. One that neither the Commander of Hybern nor Jurian could place. Then the rumbling beneath the Earth began. It started as small tremors until she could feel the very ground shake around them. The crack in the Wall multiplied as the power used from the Cauldron was being used to unmake it entirely. 

The Commander of Hyberns stomach lurched. It was like being dunked under the water again, free-falling from the Earth towards the ground. 

It wasn’t long being the Commander dropped to a knee and gripped the ground as her only support system. Jurian stood silently beside her, watching the King and the Cauldron and where the Wall should be. While he couldn’t see it or sense it nearly as well as the King or Commander, it was something every human knew. 

The rumbling grew and intensified, and the Commander leaned forward, head bowed, in case she either collapsed or emptied her guts in the grass.

Then, the Wall blew apart. A gush of wind knocked them all back, and the collapse reverberated around the world. It knocked the Commander to the ground and Jurian with her. The Commander vomited everything she had for breakfast, however small. It came so fast it was all she could do to lift her mask up and let it come out. Nausea rolled in waves as the King stood before the wall, or rather, what used to be the Wall.

He took a deep breath of air, embracing the absence of the Wall, and took a single step into the Human Lands. 

“It’s perfect…” he said to himself. “As the way, things should be. No Wall, a world to rule like the Mother intended things. As things always had been.”

It took everything in the Commander to sit up off the ground. Her whole body shook as she got to her feet, waiting for the next command. 

The King turned back to them, the grin sending shivers down her back. 

“Jurian, you have your orders. Go see what awaits us beyond the wall. Commander, join me. You have your orders as well.”
Jurian had his own orders, orders she wasn’t privy to know, and nor did she want to know. They both did things that made people wretch. To make people believe, truly believe, how awful Hybern was. The true face of Hybern.

The armies of Hybern awaited anxiously within the Spring Court, waiting for orders from King and Commander to start their siege on the lands. To pillage and burn as they, please. 

“I will head back to the war party with the Cauldron. I will send the armies out soon when I have rallied them.”

The two of them gave a deep bow to their King. They answered in tandem, “Yes, my Liege.”

The Commander took her place beside the King. With the Wall down, they would start marching into the Summer Court the next day, when the battle would truly begin. They would direct their armies and let the lower generals and commanders march them. Jurian and the Commander would stay behind with the King, plotting and strategizing in his war tent. But they still had a few more plans in motion. A few more plots needed to unfold.

Jurian left soon after and stalked into the forest. When he was out of range, the King turned to her, and she could feel her heart rate spike. “When we are done, I’ll need you to find him and relay any new information we find. Let’s go get the armies ready for marching.”

The Commander bowed slightly and stood waiting for him to winnow them back into the camp. He put a hand on her shoulder, and the world lurched around them as he winnowed them back to camp. Into his war tent. 

The King was automatically studying the maps that were laid out on the table. It took the Commander a moment to grasp where she was. 

Hands behind her back, she paced to where the King leaned over the table.

He pointed at a spot on the map. “This is where we will send our first battalion. It’s that narrow valley. They won’t see it coming. We’ll go all the way up to the Winter Court and come down on them. Think of it as unleashing a dam.” He drew a line all the way up. “Then, we will have the second one come up this way. We will stay down here with the main army. It’s no use unleashing all of our forces at once.”

The Commander followed along with everything he said. The main army would stay in the Spring Court to work their way up through the Courts, push them off the island, or, rather, outright kill them all. At least anyone who defied them.

“I have us hidden from sight with the power of the Cauldron. It’ll keep them from avoiding those armies entirely and coming straight to us. I’m not sure how long it’ll hold us… but it’ll wear their forces thin.”

The Commander nodded. “It sounds good in theory. Let’s see how it plays out. Do you want me with any of the armies to keep them in line?”

He shook his head. “It should be fine, I have some of my more trusted generals with them. They’ll follow you, but I do not want you seriously engaged in battle. I need you at full strength for when we sweep this continent clean.”

Right, because she would be the killing blow. And she was in too deep now to quit. Regardless of the bargain.

“What would you like me to do?” The Commander asked her King. She looked at him, watching the lines carefully on his face. He trusted her. He had to for this to all work. For her to turn on him and he won’t see it coming.

“Start readying the armies. Get supplies in order and start arranging people. Then after I need you to track down Jurian so we can all go over plans and new developments that arise from the High Lords.” He gave her a once over, taking in the black and silver armor she bore. The black mask with the single white line on her cheekbone was a mark of the bargain they shared together. “Dismissed.”
The Commander gave him another deep bow. “Yes, my Liege.”

She strode out of the tent with all the power she ever wanted to possess at her fingertips. She let it show, and flaunted it, whenever she could to remind people exactly how powerful she was. The wisps of black shadows hung with her wings. An easy way to use her power when she wasn’t in combat or when it wasn’t in use as much. She used her magic all the time, but if she wasn’t careful, if she didn’t use it enough , she could feel that madness every fae knows that comes with abstaining from magic.

The soldiers looked on with respect and a slight bit of awe. No more was the sneering and backward glances and laughing. She had shown her place in Hybern, earned her place, and she intended to keep it. 

“ARE YOU ALL READY?” she shouted at them. She waved her arms, motioning for them to stand up. “THE WALL STANDS NO MORE! ARE YOU READY FOR WAR!”

The battle cries that arose from the army were enough to send shivers down her spine and make the hair stand on the back of her neck. It was remarkable. 

“TOO LONG HAVE YOU BEEN LOCKED AWAY ON THAT DAMNED ISLAND. IT’S TIME WE TAKE BACK WHAT IS OURS . MY BROTHERS IN ARMS. MY SIBLINGS OF BATTLE. WE WILL RISE LIKE THE NEW DAWN OF THE WORLD. WE WILL MAKE THE WORLD ANEW AGAIN.”

More people rose, crying out in anger and injustice and worst of all, hope. Hope that they would win this war. That they would stand to see a new day. The Commander knew many of them would die within the first fell sweeps of this war. Part of her wanted to mourn their loss. She had fought with, bled with, many of these males. They trusted her with their lives. They looked up at her. And she was leading them straight into death, knowing she would never be able to count all their faces or know all their names.

“I PROMISE YOU, WE WILL SEE THE LIGHT OF A NEW DAY. WE WILL MAKE THIS A CLEAN WORLD, OURS FOR THE TAKING.” The Commander finished nearly screaming, trying to project her voice as far as possible. The noise that came from all the soldiers, all the generals and commanders and captains, heard her voice and screamed for war. She would give it to them on a silver platter.

Several of the generals stepped up to her, with their commanders in tow. She started walking, letting them trail her as she briefed them as to what would happen. Everywhere they passed the soldiers rose and cried, word spreading of her speech all the way to the outer parts of the encampment. 

That’s when she spotted Tamlin running through the camp, toward her. She dismissed the people around her and excused herself as she stalked towards him, motioning her head to her tent. It was close to the center of camp, near the King’s tent and his war tent. Tamlin followed her, not saying one word, but there was this frightened look in his eyes that she had never seen before. Never had she seen Tamlin look like the prey, only the predator. And she knew that look meant nothing good would come out of it. She skimmed his mind as they walked, taking in the details of the meeting and the conversations. Tamlin let her.

The Commander opened the tent flap and he walked straight in. Furs lined the floor, much cozier than the one she had in Hybern. It seemed that the King decided it was time she had an update on room choice. She didn’t usually linger here long. She had so many things to do she only laid down for a few hours in the small hours of the night, plagued by nightmares living and dreaming. She didn’t sleep long before she was up again for the next day, perpetual eye bags living on her skin. The open bottle of whisky on her table was the only evidence of it. 

“What’s going on,” The Commander asked. “You’re storming through the camp like you’re being chased by some ghost.”

He ran a ragged hand through his hair, pacing around the space in her tent. She only took a seat on the table and waited for him to start to explain, not bothering to take off the mask. What was the point if she was only going to put it back on again?

“Why didn’t you tell me about the Wall coming down?” he snarled.

The Commander said rather plainly, “I did.”

He pointed a finger at her, claw protruding. “ Bullshit. You said to watch the borders not—”

She stopped him with a raised hand. “I did, and none of you listened.”

“Even if you did,” he sputtered out, one word after another as they all tumbled together. “You didn’t give us enough time. You didn’t give me enough time.”

“Did you give them all the information I gave you?”

Tamlin watched her with wild eyes, as if she was out of her mind. “I did just as you told me.”

“And they believed you?”

“HELL IF I KNOW SIRIUS!” he shouted at her. “Mother above they barely could even look at me in the eyes let alone trust me for fucks sake! What made you think they would even consider it?”

“Because it’s better than me telling them.”

He stopped his pacing and watched her with clouded eyes. He was seething. Angry. Played in a game he didn’t know was occurring. But of course, he knew, he walked right into it knowingly. He knew all the risks and still decided to play.

Play stupid games, and win stupid prizes.

“You are a fucking asshole.” He was pointing at her again. The Commander was deciding on whether or not to break it. “You knew they wouldn’t trust me. You knew they couldn’t stand to see me there. You knew they all thought I sided with Hybern and you did nothing to defend me.”

“That’s not my job, Tamlin. If you didn’t want to look like you were aligned with Hybern you shouldn’t have made a bargain with the King in the first place.”

He scoffed at her. “Fuck you.”

She stood up. “Say one more word against me. I fucking dare you Tamlin.” She could smell the fear coming off of him in the most delightful way. It was her tool and weapon. “I saw in your mind what you said. All of this,” she pointed around her, “is not my fault. You could have warned them instead of making the council meeting all about your lover’s spat with Feyre. Let it go .”

“Let it go?” He laughed. “ Let it go ? She was my everything. I gave my life and freedom for her just to fuck it all away and run off with Rhysand. How was any of this my fault.”

“You’re the one who decided not to tuck it away for another time and use the valuable time at the council meeting to decide the fate of the entire world you prick. Do I have to spell it out for you, Tamlin?”

His eyes were ablaze. It felt like the room was going to pop at any second.

“Do you trust me?” The Commander asked.

“No,” he said, flat out. “And I’m not going to be your messenger boy anymore. If you want to tell Rhysand something do it yourself for once.”

The Commander wasn’t even thinking when she raised her hand and slapped him. 

“You’re a High Lord, Tamlin. I am not allowing you to just say, ‘Hell with it’ and walk away.”

Tamlin stood in awe, hand pressed against his cheek. If it were anyone else, they would have been torn to shreds. If it were anyone else. “I’m not saying ‘Hell with it,’” he spoke quietly. “I’m going to stay with Hybern. For better or worse. I’m not going to put my life on the line for this anymore. If this is your grandiose way of killing yourself have fun.”

He pushed past and right as he was about to exit her tent, he looked back on more time at her. At the female, he once valued more than anything that turned out to be just like the other. Just like Jurian and all those other commanders.

Nothing but a Hybern grunt, shoveling the blood and muck of war. 

“How’s the stone heart treating you?” The Commander asked him.

Tamlin actually looked… hurt. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t do this. I am not participating in this war, for you or Hybern or for the other High Lords.”

“Coward,” the Commander of Hybern whispered. She knew he could hear her but said it anyways. 

“I’m sorry. You know that wasn’t my choice.” She knew he wasn’t talking about the war at hand.

“Killing me? You had a choice Tamlin, you could have done a lot of other things.”

He took a step back in the tent.

“Sirius…”

“Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that.”

Another flash of hurt flashed across his face. And then he turned and left.

When he was out of range she tore her mask off and poured herself a glass of whiskey. Fuck. Her list of allies grows thin. One more person she couldn’t trust. What would she do if he told the King about her plans? All of that information her brother was fed. All that valuable information about the war. All for shit.

Tamlin, the one person she was actually somewhat comforted by, who saw past the monster beneath the mask. The one person who was a monster himself couldn’t see her anymore. The person she grew up with and thought would never betray her, twice now.

Fuck it all. Fuck it. Fuck. She was going to die in this war. 

She put the mask back on.

 

***

 

Jurian’s mind was unique in the sense that there was not a speck of madness there, nothing but absolute clarity of everything. Of the person he played in this war. Of who he stood as. 

She stalked past the edges of where the Wall should be and into the Human Lands. This was the first time the Commander had ever stepped foot here. She had never been past the Spring Court borders in all her life. Tamlin had once taken her to the wall in her youth, but that was as far as it went. Despite not being here five hundred years, give or take, Jurian probably knew the terrain better than she ever could.

The Commander could feel the tug on their bargain, a reminder and warning of what exactly she had to do. And the promise he made if she disobeyed him.

In the silence of walking, she spotted Jurian ahead. 

The day was still so young. It was strange that the Wall had only been broken hours ago. The Commander filled him in on what the King had told her, along with some extra plans that had been gathered by observation. All of the pins on the map and the notes sprawled everywhere.

“I’m going to Lord Nolan’s. I have to warn them of what is coming and see if they will help. I fought with one of his ancestors. Will you winnow me there?” he asked her. 

“Is that wise?”

“No, he absolutely hates the Fae, and you there will not be good. Just by the end of the forest.”

“I can’t winnow unless I know where.”

“Look into my head then,” he countered. “If it is my guess, your brother is going to show up there.” That made the Commander stand still. The shaking started again, in her hands and then throughout her. It took Jurian a moment to notice and walked back to her, the leaves under his boots crunching. “Feyre’s sister was once engaged to his son. He’ll have adequate defenses. A place to help people. I at least have to warn them of what’s coming.” The last bit of care for humanity left in Jurian.

“You can’t show Rhysand who I am. Can you promise me that?”

“He’s daemati, I can’t exactly help if he looks or not.”

“Well, I’m daemati too, I can alter those memories, or at least blur my face.”

He gave her a look that was a mixture of confusion and a sneer. “Why the fuck would I let you do that.”

The Commander of Hybern took a step towards him. He took one back. “Because, it could kill me, Jurian. If Rhysand sees who I am, the King could have my head. Either be ripped apart by magic or by him himself.”

“You said it was just if you took the mask off in front of him. Not if it was shown through someone else.”

The fury that ran through her veins was terrifyingly quick. “ You don’t know that. ”

He took that step forward then. “I’ve dealt with enough faerie bullshit to know how fucking bargains work.” He blew out a deep breath, looking away from her. “I’ll show him what he needs to know, if he even shows up. Plans. The Summer Court tommorow. He needs to know where to hit them.” He looked at her again. “Mother above I hate that mask.”

It wasn’t fear that made her shake anymore. “Everyone does. That’s the point.”

“It’s not you,” he spoke, much quieter than before.

“And who, exactly, am I?” The Commander snarled. “It seems like everyone knows who I am and yet no one at all.”

Jurian frowned at her. “Remember the difference between the mask and yourself. I’ve been playing this game for long enough to know when they start blending. Don’t let that happen Sirius.”

The Commander tried to take a calming breath but it only intensified her emotions. She held out her hand. “Take it. I’ll winnow you there.”

He carefully took her hand as the Commander scanned his mind for the place he was thinking of. It was less than a second before they were at the edge of the forest, staring at the fortress of stone, guards around the massive gate. 

“Thank you,” he said, voice meeker than the Commander usually heard. 

“I’ll find you if I hear anything new, or at least tap on your mind if I can’t get in through those gates.”

“Thank you.”

The Commander took a deep breath. “If any of the Inner Circle does show up… Let the rouse go. We can’t have enemies on all sides. Let him see what you have to offer. If the subject is brought to me…”

“Do you want me to tell him?”

“That his dead sister is alive and working against him? Mother no. I’m scared of the wrath he would unleash. No, just say I’m the other spy and that I had no choice. I’m the one leaking intel to Tamlin and to him.”

“Hm,” he murmured. “Okay.”

They stood there for a minute, looking at the keep that may yet be humanity's last salvation. “What is your mission?” The Commander spoke softly.

“To find Miryam and Drakon. Well, at least I’ll pretend to. And then I’ll go back to camp.”

“Do you know how to get there?”

“I do, thank you. I don’t need to keep using you as a chauffeur if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It’s not.”

“Any new information to report before I walk in there and offer myself up there.”

The Commander chewed over her words. “We.. can’t trust Tamlin anymore. He’s officially siding with Hybern.”

“ Shit .” Actual genuine concern and fear. “You’re kidding.” 

She shook her head. 

He had a look of debate on his face. “You’re not going to turn on me too, are you?”

“Never,” she whispered.

“Good, I can’t do this alone. We are going to work on that bargain you made with the King. If your precious brother shows up here I’m telling him everything. Everyone everything. We don’t have much to lose at this point. I’ll try not to bring you up.”

The Commander nodded slowly. “That’s probably for the best.” She clapped him on the back. “Good luck. Don’t get killed.”

“Same goes to you, Princess.”

 

Chapter 18: For the Departed

This would be her last day of true freedom before hell truly began. All of the war and carnage would leave her more scarred than ever. The blood and mud would stain her hands forever, never being able to rid them of that terrible stain and the stench of death and copper. It was the only thing the Commander could do, really. The last option she had.

Let’s hope the Bone Carver wasn’t as bad as he is rumored to be.

She had never personally met him, but her father vaguely spoke of him from time to time, mostly to Rhysand since he was the next in line to be High Lord. There was no such thing as High Lady at the time. No hope for her anyways, other than being married off to some rich and powerful male. There was rarely ever hope of anyone getting a mate, so those hopes were squandered from a young age, even though her parents were an exception to the rule.

Even her brother now.

She didn’t have much hope of finding her supposed mate anyways now. What was the chance she would ever find her mate in the middle of a war? Let alone a war she most likely wasn’t going to survive, a war where she was hated by everyone, even Tamlin. Even the people she trusted most. Even Jurian at times didn’t like her, she didn’t even have to read his mind for that.

The Commander of Hybern took her mask and a shovel with her as she winnowed into a forgotten part of the Illyrian mountains, high in the peaks where the snow and wind whipped past her. Most of the snow was melting off, the warmer weather finally creeping into the sky. But here, in the higher altitudes, there was still snow on the ground.

There were two twin graves, one next to the other. No one had come up here in a while. The flowers that used to rest on the headstones were long decayed, going back into the earth where she and her mother rested.

Well, where her mother rested at least.

She never even got the chance to grieve her mother, let alone truly think about it. She had always been thinking for someone else, preparing for the next battle, the next day. The Commander never forgot her, but a part of her pushed off the grief to deal with another day. Another lifetime, perhaps. She got the chance to say the goodbyes her family never got to have in that void of death. Perhaps it was the best that way.

It didn’t stop Sirus from taking off the mask and sitting in front of the grave for the first time in her life.

“Mom?” She wasn’t even sure if her mother was listening anymore. If she was even there. Sirius took a deep breath, fiddling with the mask in her hands. “ Fuck . I don’t even know what to say. I’m sorry for a lot of things. Things I wish I did and things I have done. I don’t know what to do, Mom… I wish you were here to help me again. To brush my hair and tell me everything will be okay. Even when Father was angry.”

 Sirius gave a little chuckle, wiping the quiet tears from her eyes. It was getting so hard to speak. It seemed like the more she spoke the more she cried and that lump in the back of her throat got bigger. All the things she never got the chance to say…

“I couldn’t save you,” she finally said. Her chin wobbled as tears filled her eyes again, despite her own protesting. “And for that, I am sorry, Mom. I should have protected you. I mean… I tried to. But it wasn’t enough.”

There was no strength in her heart to stop the sobs. It was like trying to keep sand from falling through open fingers. It felt like someone had torn a hole through her chest again. Like everything that she had locked away was finally coming into the light again. Everything that she had worked so hard to keep down.

“I hope I made you proud. I hope out of everything I made you proud, Mom. I know I’m not the greatest person and that I’ve done a lot of wrongs, but I love you so much. You have always been my rock against the waves and I’ve never had to live a life where I wasn’t with you. Every day it hurts without you. Everyone always says that time is supposed to mend all things, but I find that it never mends everything. You just find the space to grow around it. I wish I didn’t. The pain is a reminder that I still love you. That I still care.”

She looked at how overgrown the meadow had become, how little it was maintained. And she felt bitter. Hurt. Angry. No one cared anymore. At least, not enough to even look after the damn place. She would have expected Azriel to, at least. Rhysand, most of all. 

But from the looks of it, no one had been here in a long time. Years, perhaps.

“I’m so sorry, Mom.” Sirius couldn’t stop crying. It was all she could do to let those little sounds escape her throat, to keep those sobs tied in a nice ribbon around her chest. Keep it close.

“I’m not a good person, Mom. I’ve killed people, Mom. I’ve hurt people.” Flashes of that little girl in the Summer Court kept haunting her mind, the terrified little face. The sand grave. Especially in her sleep. “And I do it for the sake of family . The family who can’t even fucking take care of you or me. Who can’t look past a mask and see who they’ve made their enemy.”

It was so quiet. 

It was always too quiet without her mother.

She would always be cooking or flying or making new dresses. Sirius used to sit with her and work on the hems. She would help her mother take out sems if they didn’t quite fit her expectations or size. She would fly endless hours with her in the night, watching the stars and dreaming.

Wasn’t that what Rhysand based his court on? Dreaming?

Sirius often wondered what Rhysand would think of her now.

Certainly not the little girl he helped raise.

Not the Little Siri that would sing songs to him late into the evening, who would join him in bars when she was old enough, who would tease him and go out to the Rainbow with him, who would sit with her through boy problems, who would take her out on brother-sister dates, just the two of them, so they never grew apart. Not the Little Siri that went out to opera houses and choir performances just because they were so beautiful to stay away from, the Siri that would train with him and their brothers, because that’s who they were, brothers. A family. One that was never broken by blood nor bond. 

Sirius was a coward.

She betrayed them, as simply and straightforward as that. What do they think of her now? Would they even still remember the Little Siri they helped raise? Or would they be able to look past the mask after all?

Sirius got to her knees, wiping off her mother's grave of snow and moss. She cleaned the letters engraved and found some fallen branches that she placed together as a makeshift evergreen wreath. It wasn’t flowers. There were no flowers this time of year, nor were there any to match exactly who she was. She had forgotten what her favorites were, or maybe she never asked. It was hard to remember. Sirius didn’t even remember her voice anymore. 

It scared her. 

It scared her more every day that she would forget more and more. All of those sweet memories would be ash on the wind. Inescapable and ruthless and so very simple. She wouldn’t even know she would have forgotten. 

So many lost and cherished memories.

“Cauldron save you,” she recited. “Mother hold you. Guide you to her. Pass through those gates; let you smell that immortal land of milk and honey.”

Sirius got on her knees and held her head to the ground, wings exposed to the weather and elements as she beheld them to the world. A tradition of sorrow in the Illyrian culture. It represented vulnerability and trust. It was for when you hurt someone the most. It allowed the person to receive a chance to hurt them, if they so please, because of how exposed they were. 

But no one was there. Sirius’ mother was dead and gone, and she was pleading for forgiveness with the dead. Who knew what she decided?

Sirius got back to her feet. Wiped her eyes. Calmed her breathing. 

And put the mask back on.

The Commander started to work on the other grave, taking out a shovel and started digging. She dug until the sun was high in the sky, sweat running down her neck and back, covering her face. Blisters started to form on her hands over the ones she had already formed. The cold didn’t bother her anymore. 

She only stopped digging when she hit something solid and hard. The Commander got down in the hole she dug and took off her gloves. It wasn’t long before she started digging with her hands, grasping at the clumps of soil, stuck together from all the moisture. That’s when the Commander found it.

Her own skull.

 

***

 

Sirius popped her knuckles after sewing for the majority of two hours with her mother. There before them, both laid a beautiful dress. It was a dark blue with what seemed like glittering stars down the arms and around the chest, cascading through the skirt. Like a living, glowing, star. Her mother tucked it away in a chest next to them.

“Who is this going to be for, Mom?” Sirius asked her, looking up from her knee where she was working on the hem. 

She smiled to herself, her black hair glowing in the afternoon sun. It was a knowing smile, like one day she would figure it out. “It’s for Rhys’ mate, for when she arrives.”

“Do you know her?” Sirius said, slightly dumbfounded.

“No, not yet. I just know that she’ll need them someday.”

She raised an eyebrow at her, getting to her feet. Sirius stretched her wings with a groan, walking off the ache in her back. “Well, that’s very considerate of you.”

“Don’t worry, there are some for you too,” she said with another one of those smiles. “But you don’t get them until you’re much older.”

“Do I at least get to see them?” She walked back to her mother with a plate of fruit that was lying on a spare table. She urged her mother to eat one since neither of them really ate. Sirius herself popped a grape in her mouth.

“No,” she said, eating from the bowl. “Only when it’s time will you be able to find them.”

“Find what?” Rhys said, strolling in from one of the many balconies around the House of Wind.

“My supposed mate’s clothes that Mom has sewed for him. Or her.”

“Him,” her mother corrected. “It might be a little awkward handing suits to your mate if it was a woman.”

Rhys looked at Sirius with a questioning gaze, but all she could do was shrug. She didn’t know exactly either.

“Well, thank you, Mother, it’s greatly appreciated.” Rhys smiled, laughing ever so slightly as he rubbed the top of his head. “How are you doing Siri? It looks like Mother put you to work.”

He gestured to her hands, pinpricks of blood all over. She wasn’t the most gentle. She was much more like her father in that regard. Sirius just hoped she didn’t get blood all over that beautiful dress. 

She put her hands behind her back. “Not too much work.”

What does the dress look like? He asked her, mind to mind. It was always their rule. They would always leave their gates open to each other.

Why would I tell you that, dear brother? It’s supposed to be your mate’s after all.

“Quit it you two. Words are supposed to be spoken,” their mother said, getting to her feet. “It’s not polite to keep secrets.”

“I was just inquiring about the dress, Mother.”

“Mhm,” she hummed, walking towards the balcony that he arrives on. She leaned herself against the railing, taking in the sun and afternoon breeze that the summer gave way to.

She’s been like this all day , Sirius said. It’s like she’s preparing for death.

Rhys frowned. I hope not. I will keep a lookout for anything suspicious. You, in the meantime, need to keep away from Tamlin.

A hot rush of anger bolted up her. Why?

He glanced at her, feeling her anger unintentionally. Because his father is scheming something, and the last thing I need is for you to get caught in it, Siri.

She let her hands unfold from fists. I’ll try .

“No,” he whispered. “You will. Please, if not for my sake then for our Mother.”

“Don’t play that card on me.” She spoke sternly, pointing a finger at him. Their mother only glanced back at them but turned away from the argument and to the city below.

Sirius walked away towards her bedroom. She could feel and hear Rhys follow her just a few paces away.

“I get that this teenage thing is supposed to make you resentful and do stupid things, but come on Sirius. Please don’t be so angry with me.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the Illyrian mountains right now? Training with our brothers.”

“Yes, but—”

“Then why aren’t you there,” she said politely. That sickly sweet tone in her voice. She leaned against her doorframe, staring lovingly up at him.

Rhys’ frown only deepened. “What?”

“Why aren’t you with Cassian and Azriel?”

“Because Father let me come back for the weekend. That’s why. Honestly, it’s not like I’m trying to sneak away.”

Sirius smiled. “It’s a female, isn’t it?”

He scoffed. “It’s not. Is it such a crime that I want to see my family?”

“It just seemed like that was on your mind more… when was the last time you visited us here? In case you didn’t know, it’s been three months.”

Rhys looked away ashamed. There was a bright red flush spreading across his cheeks. “I’m sorry.” Sirius started to shut her door when he put a hand on it to stop it. “I’m serious.”

“No, I am.”

He sighed. “Let me take you out tonight. There’s a concert happening in the Rainbow.” He wiggled his eyebrows. Despite her best efforts, she somewhat smiled. “It would be my pleasure, please Sirius. Let me do this.”

She debated a moment in her head. “Fine,” she said. “When does it start?”

“Whenever Father is asleep so that way we can slip away.”

“You didn’t tell him!” she yelled in a whisper.

“No,” he teased. “I didn’t. It can be our little thing. Sneak in, and get a good spot in the risers. It’ll be like old times.”

“Unlike you, Father hasn’t lifted the leash on me nearly as much.” Sirius sighed. “He would have my head if he found out I left without permission.”

Rhys leaned against her doorway as well. “I guess we just will just have to not get caught.”

That glimmer in his eyes reflected the one in hers. The mischief, the same smile. 

“Fine,” she said. She could almost feel Rhys’ victory. “But you have to buy us some drinks.”

“Deal,” he said. “Red wine?”

“Gross, I want something stronger.”

“Wine is strong!” he defended. 

“Whiskey,” she urged. “It’s my favorite.”

“Mother above, you are turning out just like Father.” Rhy saw her smile flicker ever so slightly. “You know I’m just joking.”

Sirius smiled back at him. “I know. I’ll be ready by ten. That’s usually when they go to bed.”

He gave her the biggest shit-eating grin. “Perfect.” He kissed the top of her head before he sauntered away.

 

***

It was dark. So unbelievably dark. It reminded her eerily of the Drakagor, and she wondered if anything of its ilk was down here below The Prison as well. The stairs that went down forever were uneven and made of breaking stone. She could feel the creatures down here without ever seeing them, sometimes hearing them growl or claw at the gate.

The only comfort the Commander had was her skull in her right hand and a torch in the other.

It took her a long time to reach the roots of the Prison, of the mountain itself, and even more, time to reach who she knew as the Bone Carver. She had never actually met the creature whose name gave such terror to everyone who knew it. It was the last cell in the whole prison itself. 

The Commander stared at the blank wall and remembered how Rhys initially unlocked the cell when she was dead and a spirit watching him. She placed her hand against the cold wall, and then it transformed. It cascaded with bones, each one carved and depicted with gruesome and sad, victorious and bloody battles. Deaths. It was utterly magnificent.

The Bone Carver, was not as she expected. When she was dead, all she could see was the shadow of who he was. But now, alive, she saw something else entirely.

Standing before the Commander of Hybern, she saw a child. Not just a child, but the one she unintentionally killed in the slaughter that took place in Adriata. Her eyes were clouded, dead. Bloody. The Commander nearly turned and ran, but she stood her ground, facing the dead. Facing the girl that she had killed.

The voice didn’t match though. It was different. It was morphed and distorted. “Well,” the Bone Carver said. “Isn’t this interesting.”

She stepped through the cell.

“A truth for a truth,” she said. She dropped her skull in front of the girl in front of her. Dust billowed around it. “That’s all I ask for. And my end of the deal.”

“You’ve been watching, haven’t you? You have been to death and beyond.”

“A question for a question,” The Commander of Hybern repeated. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

The girls' bloody face twisted into a smile. “You died, Sirius Nyx. Yes, I know your name. Take off the mask, let me see your face girl.”

The Commander reluctantly took off the straps holding the mask to her face, holding it in one hand. Wisps of her hair trailed in front of her, despite the braids that usually held everything in place. 

“Yes, I died.”

“What was it like?”

She took a deep breath, knowing lies won’t save her here. That thing would know if she lied. “It was a vast ocean. I swam against it so I could remain somewhat conscious on this earth and have limited access to my magic. Otherwise, I knew I could fade into the black and the ocean. There would be peace after.”

“Were you scared?” 

“Not for me,” The Commander answered. “My turn. How do I break the bargain between the King of Hybern and I?”

“You cannot break it, my dear Sirius. Bargains cannot be broken.” The Commander instantly felt her stomach drop, her face drain of any life. So, she was going to die in this war then. When she finally turned on that wretched bastard. “But, there is a way around it.”
“How do I go around it?”

“It’s in the words,” the child said. “It’s all in the wording. There, you will find your answer.” The girl chuckled, but it wasn’t her chuckle still. It was wrong. “Are you scared of me?”

“Yes. I killed her.”

“You didn’t kill her.”

The Commander of Hybern shrugged. “It doesn’t matter who made the killing blow, her blood is on my hands.”

“You didn’t kill her,” the Bone Carver said again. “Tell me about the King of Hybern.”

“He’s cruel,” the Commander said. “Cunning. Smart. Powerful. He’s every good and awful thing said about him. There are times when I don’t hate him, where I enjoy serving him, but there are other times where I hate him with all my being.”

“When do you not hate him?”

“When he lets the leash loose a little bit and lets me kill as I please.”

The Bone Carver cocked it’s face. “Interesting… You enjoy the killing.”

“Fear is my servant. I feel their fear as I kill them. It gives me power, it feels like.” The Commander of Hybern took a deep breath. “How can I block out the bond from him tracking me? Is there a way I can’t be tracked through the King and I’s bargain?”

“There is a spell deep in Rhysand’s library, with all the priestesses are, where Bryaxis hides. A book with blue leather binding and black letters. It reads something along the lines of… The Unseen World; witchcraft and spells. However, with your mind, you may be able to slip away from the King without him even realizing it, like you are now.”

“With the battle coming, and the war closing in, I doubt that.”

“Then your book will be the next best option, Sirius Nyx.”

“Am I going to die at the end of this war?”

“That depends on which allies you keep close to you, and whether or not the Mother is merciful. I am not a fortune teller, you see. I cannot see the future, just what’s around me.” The Bone Carver watched her with bated eyes. Wanting more. 

“Thank you for your time,” she said, her voice waning. “I’ll be leaving.”

“Shall I tell dear Feyre of your visit next time she comes, if she does?”

The Commander of Hybern paused in the cell. “No, I’ll eventually tell her myself.”

The Bone Carver laughed through the girls' eyes. Hair matted to her scalp. As the stone closed around the cell again, the Commander could have sworn she saw sand falling from her clothes.

 

Notes:

Hi, it’s me the author. Right now I’m sitting at the desk in my college dorm. It’s dark out, past 11 pm. There are people in the lounge next to me laughing and with their friends. Snow is quietly falling. We don’t have school tomorrow anyways.

I cried writing this one. Really cried.

I wanted to personally dedicate this chapter to those who have lost someone, big or small in your life. Whether it’s a parent, a sibling, or a friend. I feel your grief, and I grieve with you. I feel for you in this story. I know everyone says, “it gets easier” and in ways it does, but it doesn’t erase them forever. I was told there are two sides to grieving. The one everyone talks about, the absence of that person, and then the other one, the one where you have to reimagine life for yourself. You have to make new plans, and reimagine your own life without them in it when you thought they would always be there. It sucks. It hurts. My best friend died six weeks and three days ago.

This chapter, in part, is also for her. This is for you, Sadie. I will love you forever and always. And I miss you every day. I’m going to keep that promise to you, the one I whispered at your coffin. I’m going to do the things you wanted me to do. And most of all, I’m going to live for you. I wish you got to see 19.

It’s strange how one person can mean so much to you, just walk into your life and just as easily walk out. Despite everything, I am so glad for the time we did have. If I can urge anyone anything, say I love you to the people that mean the most to you. Take some time and spend it with them, experience the world with them. Do everything you can. You never know when it’s the last.

Chapter 19: Old, Dead Friends

“ It’s in the words. It’s all in the wording ”

It’s been the only thing that has been going through the Commander’s mind. The words the Bone Carver sneered at her. The words the butchered, scared little girl told her. She had been repeating the words, yet nothing was produced from it. If anything, it led to more questions. She’d already used her bones to get answers, but it only left more questions left.

The army had failed as she intended to. With the intel she gave to Jurian, he fed to Rhysand and the others, who did show up after all at Lord Nolan’s estate. It was eerie, as the King recalled it, how well they handled their forces working their way up the mountains. The Night Court’s Army was now resting, taking care of their wounded, and from her intel, they were building a trench around their encampment. They didn’t know about the army marching its way to the Winter Court. They hid between the borders of Summer and Autumn. They shouldn’t know, at least, not for a few more days.

During that two-day gap, she had yet to see Tamlin at all and sparsely spoken with Jurian. He was dealing with his errands for the King.

She will soon be with the armies marching up to the Winter Court. The King wanted her there in case things went sideways, even though that wasn’t what he wanted to do. The King of Hybern wanted his Second Hand close, but with their last failure, he wasn’t taking chances. Her brother wasn’t an idiot though. He would probably find them and cascade over them like the ocean against a rock. 

Every night, in the wee hours, she would sneak off. It was when she knew the King would be sleeping the night away. She threw on a cloak and put on her best smile as she went around the Night Court’s wounded and did her best to listen to the healer’s orders. She wasn’t meant to be a healer, but if it meant more of the Illyrians or Keir’s army were better off, the Commander could deal with the lack of sleep. It was either pacing her tent or giving her best hand to the enemy. The latter she felt more inclined to do. 

She spent her days planning Hybern’s next attack, gathering intelligence, and figuring out ways to move it to Hybern’s enemy. And at night, she was there on enemy lines, with the Night Court in secret, giving the healers a hand, getting a few hours of sleep, and then back into the gut of Hybern to rouse the army and keep them on their toes.

“ It’s in the words. It’s all in the wording. ” 

Repeating. The words murmured in her skull as she held down sick and dying males. As the healers put ointment on their wounds, only for some not to make it through the night. 

If she wanted to save them, if she wanted to save herself, she would have to find a way around the bargain. The only question was how .

She felt a tug in her gut, oily and slick. The King’s Bargain.

She had an idea of where he was leading her. The Commander started making her way to the center of camp. Racks were outside where Children of the Blessed were dead or dying. Long poles were erected to string up fae and crucify them. It was an everyday sight. Even the bonfire in the middle died out, but she was sure it would start up again once new flesh was brought out.  

She followed it into his massive ivory tent. There was a platform and throne in the middle towards the back. It was dark and looming, despite the lanterns keeping the place lit.

Five figures were on their knees and blindfolded around the platform. Chains of iron, likely to simmer out any magic, were locked around their wrists and ankles. The Commander did her best not to look them in the eyes, or better yet, not to look at them at all.

She knelt in front of the platform, bowing her head. “My Liege? You asked for me?”

He was playing with a ring on his hand. The ruby sparkled in the lantern’s light. “I want you to interrogate some of the enemies we captured. They were on the outskirts of our encampment, most likely spies trying to scout out our location. I want you to slaughter them and take them to Rhysand.”

One of them started crying behind her. The Commander of Hybern looked up at her King. 

He smirked; it was as if he knew this was somehow hurting her inside. Cassian… Azriel… Rhysand. Flashes of them injured echoed in her mind. The way Cassian’s wings were held on by a thin thread of torn muscle. The last time they were face to face with the King, he nearly killed them all. He would have killed them. “They were being poked and prodded outside, but I put them away for now. I have some business to attend to, so please take care of it.” The King of Hybern stood up from his throne. He walked over to her, his fingers lifting up her chin and tracing the mask. He had this twisted smile on his face that made the Commander of Hybern uncomfortable. He brushed the escaped hairs back from her face that managed to slip from her braid. “Thank you, Commander. You truly deserve the title of being my Second Hand.”

She swallowed her disgust. “Do you want me to kill them quick or messy, my Liege?”

“Both, send a message to our enemies.”

The Commander of Hybern got to her feet, bowing deeply. “Will do, my Liege.”

“I’ll be in the War Tent.”

The King snapped his fingers as the chains on the prisoner’s hands and feet slid off. He sauntered out of the canvas tent door. It almost seemed like he wanted to linger to watch her do her work. The way he touched her chin clung to her. It felt sticky like she could never get it off of her. But, being a King meant he wouldn’t have to get his hands dirty. That’s why he had her.

Hellcat… 

Three Fae, one Darkbringer, one Illyrian. Five in total. 

One of the males had tan freckled skin. She could probably assume he was from the Summer Court. He was trembling, but the one crying was one of the Fae. The other Fae was shushing him.

With a wave of her finger, the blindfolds over their head came off. It took them a moment to get their bearings as they all looked around in a daze. 

The Commander of Hybern took a seat on the platform. She crossed her hands together as they slowly all turned to her. “Welcome to Hybern boys. Now, you heard the King, I’m assuming. You can either face me in here, have your minds shattered bit by bit, or you can face the hounds outside and be torn bit to bit. Your choice, but I’ll try to make it painless. Unless you’d rather have a fighting chance, in which I’ll give you my sword. I’d like to see you try though.”

The Illyrian’s eyes watched her carefully, sizing her up. It took the Commander a moment to recognize those piercing blue eyes…the scar above his temple. 

“Issac?” She cocked her head. “Is that you?”

The Illyrian frowned. “How did you know my name?”

The Commander of Hybern stammered but couldn’t come up with an answer. Out of all of the fucking Night Court’s army, it was someone she knew from her childhood. Out of all of them, it had to be him. Fuck .

She tossed her sword out and a few daggers she had on her. “I’ll give you a fighting chance boys. Take it or I’ll blow your fucking minds apart.”

The Summer Court boy sat there shaking like a puppy, while the other four scrambled for a weapon. 

Four against one? It was definitely in their favor, and it wasn’t like they were going to take turns fighting her. Issac got her sword. The Darkbringer got a long steel knife from the pile. The two Faes, both red-headed and freckled, possibly brothers, got the two shorter knives. Unlucky for them.

In an instant, she was in the fifth male’s mind, the Summer Court boy, reading through the last month of his memory. Where he was, what information he stored, who he fucked, who he loved, and everyone he had ever talked to.

His name was Sen, he had twin daughters at home in the Summer Court. He was an only child, and lived a tough life but somehow made it to leave a decent life. The Commander felt his panic when his home was attacked and how they survived. He hid in a bunker until everyone had passed with just a kitchen knife and the girls clutching him by the waist. Then he joined the war. He made sure the girls were safe at their grandmother’s house and went to battle. He was promoted to a scout. He was surveying the lands in the Spring Court. 

  All in an instant, she knew everything about him and took whatever information was useful to her. 

And in another instant, he was dead on the floor. 

She turned to the other four males that began circling her.

“How’s your father Issac? Is he still the War-Lord at camp?”

Issac narrowed his eyes. He gripped her sword tighter. To his credit, he was trying not to look as terrified as he felt. She could feel his fear, and it made her smile. She could feel her magic rise up to the challenge. It swirled around them, black as midnight smoke. It blocked out the light around them from the sun; it made the room dark.

She winnowed behind them and kicked one of the twins in the back. He stumbled forward as he grunted in pain. Before he could even turn around she winnowed again, in front of the Nightbringer, punching him square in the stomach. He doubled over in pain.

She winnowed onto the throne where she took her seat. 

The Commander of Hybern whirled a knife in her hand. “Looking for this?”

The Freckled Brother she kicked whirled around looking for the knife he once grasped. “Fuck,” he whispered. 

She got back up and gripped her knife. She winnowed again and stabbed the Freckled Brother, who lost the knife, in the back. She gripped his neck and turned him to his brother as she stabbed him again and again in the back and side. He was choking on blood as he tried crying out. She tried to block out the pain in his mind while he clung to the last bit of his life.

The brother, Red Head, was crying while he watched her, not sure what he should do to help him.

The Commander of Hybern nearly threw his brother’s body at him. 

She ducked as the Darkbringer cut where she once stood and rolled out of the way from Issac’s attack. The Red Head was cradling his brother while he was slowly dying in his arms. 

She twisted into the Red Head’s mind. 

They were brothers, Flint and Jerrah. Jerrah was the oldest, who was dead in Flint’s arms. They grew up in a wealthy family with gardens and tutoring and weapon training. Obviously not enough to save them from her. They did everything together. Flint excelled in languages while Jerrah loved to paint and draw. Why were they on this side of the war? The Commander didn’t have to dig long. Their father put them in a position where he thought they wouldn’t get hurt, and paid for them to have a safe career in the military.

So much for being safe.

They didn’t know shit. Nothing. They had no idea why they were there. 

She crushed Flint’s mind with a fist and killed him. He slumped to the floor like Sen.

The Commander of Hybern was crouched behind Issac and the Darkbringer. The knife in her hand was dripping with Jerrah’s blood as she watched the two with careful eyes.

“What the fuck are you?” the Darkbringer muttered. 

The Commander answered, “I am everything you have ever feared.”

She darted at the Darkbringer, cutting his Achilles heel and right behind his knee. Issac moved into an offensive position and came down on her like he was going to cut down a tree. She barely escaped the blow, but he got a light cut on her. She touched her arm and felt the cut that should have cut off her head.

“Not bad, Issac. Although, I’d suggest keeping up the momentum of the attack if you’re going to hit me.”

He gritted his teeth, sneering at her. “Who are you?”

“You don’t know?” she asked. 

She lunged at him, but he blocked it with the sword. She let out a yell as she tried to plow through him, but he didn’t budge. She winnowed to his side as he cut where she once stood and made a precise cut up his side before winnowing away again.

From the dark, she could see more of her shadows forming, and she let herself into the mind of the Darkbringer with some effort. He actually had walls around his mind. It didn’t take long to figure out what he feared the most in his life as her shadows began to take their shape. It was merely just scraping the surface of what she could do.

Heaped in a bloody pile on the floor, the image of his mother took shape. She was weeping, but only he could see it. The sound reverberated in his ears as his eyes went from the Commander to his mother.

“Shit!” he cried out. He was crawling on the floor towards her as he called out her name, screamed it. “Mom! Dianna !”

But she couldn’t respond, she was just wailing as claws dragged down her back, like a hound trying to eat her alive. 

The Commander of Hybern turned to Issac while she kept the Darkbringer occupied with his own personal struggle.

The Commander circled Issac again. “Do you remember when we used to spar as kids Issac? With Cassian and Rhysand?”

He seemed to pause, and that was when she sprung on him. She ducked under the blade as he cut through the air, and she cut the backside of his knee as well. She stabbed through his forearm, making him drop her sword and ripped it out again. He screamed aloud, but grabbed the Commander and dragged her down with him. She went down to his level on the floor, but she managed to scramble on top of him and grab his hair. She threw a hook to his head, his nose making a definite crack, before slamming his head into the floor.

“Issac, Issac…My sweet summer child. You should have stayed at the War-Camp in the mud where I left you.”

She plunged the dagger into her collarbone. She could feel the scarp against his bone. He tried to bat her away, but he was losing his strength. She weaved her way into his mind, keeping him conscious, keeping him alive. Hurting him in other ways just because she could.

The Commander got off of Issac and walked to the Darkbringer where she snapped his neck, and then back to Issac. She took her knife back and picked up her sword as he lay bleeding on the floor.

In that times she was rifling through his mind, trying to grasp any secrets she could. He was probably the closest to Rhysand since the Illyrians were under his jurisdiction. 

She wiped his blood off of her blade.

“Ready to go pay Rhysand a visit?”

 

***

 

Issac’s back hit the ground with a thud. It was strong enough that it knocked the wind out of him as he wheezed, trying to regain his breath.

“Oh shit! I’m so sorry,” Sirius said, laughing lightly as she dropped her stance. A wooden longsword swung in her right hand as she offered Issac her left. “I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.” 

“It’s fine,” he muttered, taking her hand to pull himself up. “But I really liked this shirt. You owe me a new one.”

“Mmmm, how about a drink at the bar. Is that good enough?”

He looked down at her, giving her this look. She knew it well enough. It meant he wasn’t going to take that for an answer. They enjoyed training with each other, friends at most. Although, her brother liked to give her shit about it. It was only a matter of time before one of the Bat Boys…

“If it isn’t little Issac!” Cassian yelled. “Hey! You two!”

It was Sirius’ turn to give Issac a look. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.”

To Issac’s credit, he was trying his best not to outright laugh. The restraint showed in his shaking shoulders and a small, creeping smile.

Cassian jogged up to them and clapped Issac on the shoulder. “Well look at you. Still getting your ass kicked by Siri here. How have you been?”

“I’ve been fine, just picking up some duties my father put on me. He tells me if I want to be a War-Lord I would have to start being more involved.”

Cassian nodded while he spoke. “He’s not wrong. Out of most of these War Camps, I have to say your father is a reasonable male. I’ve always enjoyed working with him.”

Issac smiled. “That sounds like my father.”

“And you,” he said to Sirius. “Your father wants you.”

Sirius rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding? I already did magic training with him yesterday.”

Cassain shrugged. “Rhysand is going to be there too.”

She restrained her sigh as she followed Cassian. “See you around Issac. Training next Friday?”

“Absolutely! See you there.”

She nodded towards him and turned away, keeping pace with Cassian’s walking.

“Any progress?” he muttered to her, glancing back at Issac.

Sirius said, “No, and I don’t think about him that way anyways.”

Cassian looked at her bewildered. “No, what the fuck? I was talking about your magic.”

Her face went red like a tomato. “Oh,” Sirius said. “Well, it’s been a work in progress. Father said I should be able to produce some powerful illusions within the next year, and I’ve been working on a few things on my own. Just some party tricks that could come in handy later.”

“I guess you’ll have to show us some time,” he replied, watching her with a slight smirk. He knew that he caught her off guard.

They made their way to a house at the far end of camp, if one could even call it a house. It was a shack with doors and a singular window. She eyed Cassian and wondered if his hulking shoulders and wings could even fit inside. She wasn’t even sure if she could fit her wings. She didn’t have the magic to just tuck them away as Rhys did, but she had other magic that he didn’t, so she wasn’t complaining much. 

She could already hear Rhys and her father arguing.

“She won’t even see the throne Rhysand.”

“I don’t care,” Rhys said. “She needs to know how things run. I want her to know so when I take over she can be able to manage. I want her to be with me when I take it.”

Her father huffed.

“Well,” Cassian muttered. “Have fun.” He gave her a hard slap on the back, making her stagger a few steps forward.

Sirius brushed her hair back from her face, back straight, chin up. She pushed open the door, looking at the two males seated at the table. Rhys looked like he had a long night. Dark bags clung under his eyes while their father stared him down. They both looked at her as she walked in.

Rhys gave her a half smile. He looked tired. Worn out. It’s like they’ve been having this debate over and over again. Around and around. Whether or not everything should be told to her, whatever this everything was.

“Have a seat,” he said.

Sirius did, shifting her wings so she wasn’t as uncomfortable.

“What’s this all about?” she asked them.

“I don’t want you training here anymore,” her father sneered. “You need to stay home in Velaris.”

Rhys crossed his arms while she did her best not to gap. 

“Why?” she breathed. 

“You would be much better suited towards magic. I want to finish my training with you. These…pathetic little sparring rounds aren’t going to train you how to fight. Sure, you’ll know how to punch, and how to hold a sword, but that holds no real power. When Rhys takes over, you need to know how to manipulate real power.”

“Why can’t I do both?” she challenged. “Surely the Court of Nightmares would find that a female who could wield a sword and magic would be more of a challenge than some girl who can only make shadows.”

“Because you will seem like a clown. No female Illyrians are in the army, none participate in the Rite, and it’s already bad enough that you’re a half-breed. It’s bad enough Rhysand is one too.”

Sirius sat back in silence. “So that’s it. I’m going to be forced to live in Velaris.”

Her father scoffed. “Not forced. You’ll still be able to visit. But I don’t want to see this,” he said, pointing at the black training leathers and knives strapped to her thighs. “You’re going to make a wonderful ruler in the Court of Nightmares, Sirius. But you need to learn magic first. And you’re going to have to learn how it runs. I want you to accompany me more on my visits, start engaging with people, and become someone they fear and not someone they scoff at.”

“I want to learn how to fight, Father,” she said quietly. “I want to know how to at least protect myself.”

“I will personally teach her,” Rhysand jumped in. “In secret, in Velaris. I will give her assignments she has to do when I’m away so she doesn’t fall behind and we can practice while I’m there.”

The High Lord shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Please,” Rhys begged. “If she doesn’t know how they will use her. They will dangle her above us and won’t even be able to realize they have a snake in their midst. She could be a powerful tool.”

“No, I will not have her be some mutt that wields a sword. She wouldn’t even last a second in a war.”

“Sure, she may not be a General, I’m just asking to give her a fighting chance!”

Her father leaned forward, crossing his fingers. “Rhysand, Sirius, I want you to listen very well. I barely can contain the Illyrians here, how do you think it looks when my half-breed children come here, fight everyone, and leave? Hm? Any ideas?”

They sat in silence.

“Exactly,” he finished. “There is no argument. Soon, one day, this will be your problem, Rhysand. Hopefully, I’ll be dead before then so I don’t have to see the carnage you will surely ensue by running our Court. But while I’m still alive, you are both my children, and you are both my subjects.”

In secret then? Sirius asked her brother.

He didn’t even look at her. He was staring at their father with so much hatred it could barely be contained under his skin. Yes.

“Dismissed. Pack your things, Sirius. We are going back. You have half an hour.”

Rhysand and Sirius got up from the table at the same time.

“Half an hour!” he called after them as the door shut.

Sirius was fuming as she walked beside Rhys to their house. “You need to calm down,” he said quietly. “You’re leaving a trail of shadows. You’re going to start looking like Azriel.”

She took a deep breath and slowly released it. “This is fucking bullshit.”

Rhys ran a hand through his hair, also taking a slow breath. “I know. I’ve been trying to stop him for the past month but he won’t listen to me. I’ll give you some things to do, some exercises, and—”

“ Rhys !” she hissed. “He’s splitting us up!” There were tears that started to well in her eyes, trying to escape. She was furiously trying to blink them away.

He put an arm around her, keeping her walking and away from the other Illyrians that gave them death glares, mostly at Rhys. Sirius, they could tolerate. They thought it was cute she was trying to be one of them, but as equally disgusted. Rhysand they outright hated. It was barely contained.

“I know he’s trying to split us. It won’t happen, okay? I’m your brother no matter what happens. It doesn’t matter no matter what you do, who you fuck, who you marry, and who you decide to be. I will always be your brother. You’re the most important person to me in this world, do you understand Sirius?”

Sirius was seriously considering crying now. 

They walked into their house, and as the door closed she just hugged her brother and cried. 

“I know darling. I know… It’ll be okay.”

What more could he say? Rhys knew he was trying to separate them on purpose. Together, they were too powerful. Apart, they were manageable, at best. If he kept them separate it would be less likely they would outright overthrow the High Lord, their father.

“Don’t leave me,” Sirius begged. 

“What happened?” Azriel was there in an instant. He watched the two of them silently, waiting for someone to talk. Cassian soon joined his side. 

She could feel Rhys shake his head as he held her closer. “He’s making Sirius stay in Velaris. Permanently.”

“ Shit ,” Cassian remarked. He turned away, hands on his head, looking absolutely disgusted. 

Azriel looked at the two of them, shadows whispering like an intimate lover the details of their conversation, and his face only darkened.

Rhys pulled away first. He looked at her eye to eye. “Go pack, Siri. We’ll be right down here if you need us.” He looked at Cassian and Azriel, who mumbled something in agreement.

Sirius could hear from the stairs, “Az, look after her while I’m not there.”

 

***

 

The Commander made a show of her prey, of the Illyrian, she carelessly dragged behind her with the ease of one hand. 

She left Issac to bleed on the ground while she strung up the other four bodies outside the King’s Tent and lit the bonfire. The faeries were more than happy to celebrate their death and torture. They danced around the lit flames and nodded to the King sitting on his throne.

The Commander made a show. It was her stage after all. Her time to shine in the light when she had been abandoned in the shadows. Her time to finally let out everything she had been containing. All her hate, her resentment, made it her mask. Her cruel masquerade. 

She was supposed to deliver the bodies to Rhysand. She would give him one. She would give him a fucking show and keep her order to the King.

The Commander of Hybern winnowed directly into the heart of enemy lines, into the heart of the Night Court War Camp.

It took people a long time to figure out who she was and who she was dragging up the pathway. It was like she knew it like the back of her hand. She knew Rhysand was there, in the War Tent she clearly remembered. She had walked these camps before, helped the bleeding soldiers to her right with their infection, and passed by the guards that kept watch.

Eventually, though, people realized exactly who she was. Black and silver armor. Black mask, with a silver line on the cheek. Hood up, face concealed. Wings with whisps of smoke clinging to them.

Oh, people knew her. She could smell the fear on them.

They cleared a path for her, and stayed off to the sides, watching her walk through the camp and to the War Tent. 

They all watched in awe and horror as she paused ten feet away from the Tent doors. She could hear their voices inside.

The Commander of Hybern screamed outside the tent, “RHYSAND. IS THIS HOW YOU TREAT GUESTS?”

Finally, his royal highness made an appearance, sauntering outside the tent. Feyre and the two bats were not far behind, taking up sides with their High Lord as they stared her down with a rage she had seen before. They took her in first—the black attire and blood covered hands. The mask most of all, and the lack of identity. They then turned to look at the Illyrian male that was just writhing in her hands, clinging to what life she was giving him. She dragged his body most of the way up the hill to their tent.

She tossed his body to them with ease, and a bit of magic. He landed with a dull thump at their feet. He would be dead in less than ten minutes. 

“A gift,” she announced. “From the King of Hybern. May he long reign.”

She gave him a deep, ingenious bow, looking at him as she did it. Disrespectful, but needed.

“Keep your mutts out of my way, Rhysand.”

And before they could utter a word, she vanished.

Chapter 20: A Glimpse At What Could Have Been

“When it comes time for marching,” the King said, pointing at his map. “I want you towards the middle of the column. I sent them this morning. We should have time to make it to the Winter Court before the Courts ever realize what’s going on.”

“When do you want me to leave, my Liege,” the Commander of Hybern replied. 

“They’ll be expecting you in the morning.”

A small relief, at least.

“Anything else I should know?” she asked the King, leaning back on a seat surrounding the table. 

He contemplated. She was alone with the King, one of the few times she was. “You did well today, Commander. Very well. You sent Rhysand scrambling.”

The Commander let out a light chuckle. She was surprised, to say the least. She didn’t remember the last time he ever complimented her, if he ever had. “I’m glad.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I told him, A gift, from the King. May he long reign. ”

The King stroked his chin carefully. “Perfect. It’s brilliant.” There was a smile carefully making its way onto his face.

“May I retire? I would like to get some rest before I join the army marching to Winter.”

“One last thing. If…things go wrong as they did with the last attack, I want you to winnow back. Grab as many soldiers as you can and come back here to base camp; especially so if it looks like we will lose the battle. We’ve already lost a few battalions. Not that it matters much with the size we have here. The fewer casualties, the better.”

“Yes, my Liege.”

“Hopefully, I shall see you in the Winter Court. I’m sure you can keep the soldiers in line until I can get there.”

“Absolutely, my Liege.”

The King of Hybern smiled to himself, looking at her. It was a fondness that she wasn’t used to. She could almost see him looking at his nephews this way. Well, before they were murdered by Feyre Archeron. And in a way, despite how much she hated the man to her core, she appreciated it. 

Despite everything, he had given to her a life and a purpose, he trusted her.

But she hated him so much it made her ears ring. He would care for her as one of his own one day, and then another he would raise his hand like he would to a scorned child.

“Dismissed. Stay safe, Commander.”

She bowed deeply to her King before making her exit. 

The Commander of Hybern let the shadows linger on her wings as she walked through the camp, making her rounds. She needed to cool off. Collect her thoughts. 

The next morning she would be in the heart of the other Hybern army. They respected her. They loved her. They looked up to their Commander. They would need their Commander for when they stormed the Winter Court. She had to find a way that Prythian’s army could find them before it was too late. 

Eventually, she found her way back to her tent, expensive rugs, and dark oak table with only an open glass of whiskey and letters. The familiar and frequently unused cot in the corner. A chest was full of her things. And an unwelcome guest, Jurian, drinking her whiskey at the table full of maps and battle plans. He had a few wrapped papers he had laying on top of them, along with a plate of food, all while he stared at her, expectantly.

She stopped midstep as they met eyes. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“To talk, that’s all.”

“Bullshit. You don’t come to me for anything.”

“Take off the mask, Sirius. Let’s talk.”

The Commander of Hybern clenched her fists. The room was increasingly growing dark. Jurian glanced at the corners of the room. He could probably taste the tang of magic she was putting off. The Commander of Hybern took off her cloak and gloves, undoing her hair from the tight braid.

“The mask, too. When was the last time you ate? Or slept for that matter.”

The Commander of Hybern paused. “I slept two days ago. I don’t remember the last time I ate. Probably sometime around then too. Although, I’ve had some whiskey between then.”

“By the Gods,” Jurian cursed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You need to start taking better care of yourself.”

“Well, this war isn’t going to make itself lose. Or win. Whatever side you’re looking from.” The Commander of Hybern took off her mask. She felt the cool air on her face for the first time in days. She always kept it on anymore. It helped her feel in control. “I can’t stop because if I stop he’s going to kill them all. Despite the bargain, I know he would just love to kill my family. Especially while I watched. I can’t let that happen.”

He looked at her sternly. “Not if you kill yourself first. First things first…” He nudged the plate. “Sit. Eat. Let’s talk Princess.”

“I told you not to call me that,” she growled.

He chuckled. “I know. But you have to realize it’s delicious to watch your teeth grind whenever I say it.”

The Commander was not amused, looking down at the plate of food he brought. A wing of some kind of meat burnt around the edges with some sort of glaze on it. There were pieces of cheese Jurian probably stole from the King’s personal pantry, and it had some baked crackers to go with it. “How did you know to bring this?”

“I saw you almost pass out earlier today after you dropped off that Illyrian’s body. Good thing you were near a chair, and no one could see your face. But I know you.”

“You don’t know shit about me.”

“Another reason why I’m here. We are allies , Sirius. Friends, maybe. You can trust me.”

“I can’t trust you as far as I can throw you.”

Jurian took another sip of whiskey. “Good thing you can throw far from what I hear.”

The Commander grumbled something before she sniffed the food and took a bite out of it. She didn’t want to know what where the meat was from, but it tasted just like chicken. That was good enough for her. 

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For the food. The King is sending me off to the army marching towards Winter Court. I should have thought to grab something to eat. I need to go back to Prythian’s army tonight.”

Jurian raised his brows. “ Back ? You’re joking right.”

“I have to find some way to warn them.”

He laughed; he outright laughed at her. “You’re going on a suicide mission. You can’t go waltz back in there after what shit you just did.”

The Commander shrugged. “I do every night. I help the healers tend to the wounded.”

Jurian actually looked surprised. “That’s why you haven’t been sleeping. Or eating.” He was watching her nearly gulp down the food in front of her. 

“Exactly.”

“Have you talked to Tamlin at all?”

The name made her pause her eating. “No, I haven’t. Why, is something wrong with him?”

“No, not that I can tell. He’s just been around Ianthe. Speaking of that bitch, she’s been hounding me like a dog.”

The Commander huffed a laugh. “Why am I not surprised.”

He laughed with her. And for a moment it was just the two of them laughing. The General and Commander. Jurian and Sirius. It had been a long time since the two of them genuinely laughed.

“What was it like in the first War, Jurian? Was it anything like this?” Sirius asked him.

Jurian’s smile slowly vanished. “No, it was not like this. A lot was different then, but a lot is different now. One thing remains though, Hybern is still a piece of shit island who thinks they should own everything.”

Sirius finished off the plate of food and got back up to get a glass of whiskey. “Seems accurate… Jurian, can I ask you something serious.” She set the container down and drank her glass all in one gulp, grimacing.

“Go ahead.”

Sirius took some time to gather her thoughts. “Does it…ever get easier. Doing this?”

Jurian sat, contemplating. After a moment he replied, “No, it doesn’t. It becomes easier to do, knowing you can do all of those…terrible things. But the guilt doesn’t just vanish. It takes a long time for something like that.”

She nodded, slowly, looking at him through clouded eyes. “I killed that Illyrian, and brought him to Rhysand. I used to know him.”

Jurian’s head slowly bobbed. “It happens. I’m sorry.”

Sirius cleared her throat. “Thank you. For the food. Is there anything else you wanted to talk about other than chide me?” She was staring at the mask on her desk. The intricate black lines. The way it perfectly masked her eyes and other features. 

Blank. She was nothing. She was Black Death. 

And yet here she was, Sirius Nyx of the Night Court, sister to the High Lord of the Night Court. How did this happen? Why did this happen?

He grabbed the folded and tied envelopes on the desk and tossed them to her. “Information. Since you’re headed to the Night Court’s army anyways tonight, you can deliver it. Find a good place for one of the lap dogs to find it, or for Rhys himself. Doesn’t matter.”

She caught the bunched-up letters and envelopes. “What’s in this?”

“Plans, schematics. Whatever his Royal Highness doesn’t care about and what could be useful to them.”

“Does it mention the army marching to the Winter Court?”

A coy, mischievous smile crossed his face. “There may be mention of an army somewhere. Maybe enough to make a certain spymaster send out some scouts to a certain location just to make sure it’s safe. That’s all I’ll say.”

Sirius blew out a sigh of relief. “Thank the Gods. Thank you, Jurian.”

He got up from his seat. “You owe me,” he said, pointing at her. “I’ll take payment in stealing a bottle of whiskey, although, something better than this shit. And take a shower.” He gave her a stiff pat on the back before exiting her tent.

Sirius rubbed her head. Maybe a shower could do her some good. Another thing she had neglected in the rush of things. She took a glance in the mirror across the room. Her dark, ebony hair lacked the shine it used to, dull and flat. Her eyes gave the thousand-yard stare, almost lifeless like the day she died. They were a dark purple, but the dark circles under her eyes made them almost seem to pop. Her cheeks weren’t as full as they used to be, the white scar on her left cheek only making it seem worse. 

She sighed, rubbing a hand over the scar.

She didn’t even recognize herself anymore.

 

***

 

The camp’s shield let her in just fine. She was worried they would have changed the wards, and they probably did, but her blood allowed her to pass easily. 

Sirius changed from her Hybern regalia to something much more easily passable. She wore a long skirt, mud already dried to the bottom hem and blood stained, from the previous nights, and a long-sleeved black shirt that covered all her scarring from the Drakagor. She wouldn’t be surprised if part of it peaked out at the bottom of her collar bone considering the claw marks it raked across her body were long, jagged, and fresh pink.

In one of her hands, she held the envelopes Jurian had given her. In her other was a bucket that she picked up.

Sirius did her best to glamour herself. She changed the color of her eyes and hid the random bruises all over. Her hair was tied in a knot at the base of her neck, revealing her neck and face better but not too much. Hopefully, it was enough to keep suspicion off of her, but being dead for five hundred years did come with one perk. 

No one was looking for her. No one would look for her since everyone thought she was dead. And no one seemed to remember or care, even her own family.

So be it.

Sirius made her way up the quiet street. There were only the sounds of groaning males and soldiers injured in the previous battle. Though, most were asleep by this time or trying to. She warily glanced up the camp to Rhysand’s War Tent. The lanterns inside were still on. Someone must still be in there. She weaved her way around the tents until she was close enough within earshot and where the guards couldn’t see her. Sirius made sure to guard her mind more closely and tried her best to conceal her presence entirely.

If anything, she thought of Azriel becoming one of the shadows on the wall. With it being so late, it was easy to hide. She used her shadows to cover herself so the guards wouldn’t see her as well, and she walked around to the back of the tent with enough care to not so much as wrinkle the grass. She kneeled in the trampled grass, listening.

The voices inside were tired, worn out. There were at least four people there. She could sense Rhysand’s rumbling power and knew that the High Lady was likely by his side. Azriel was talking softly in the tent, most likely reading a report. Cassian, being the general of their armies, was likely there to

“What else do you have for me, Az?” Rhy grumbled. He sounded exhausted.

“Just waiting to find out what Hybern will do next. I have spies searching for the main army and anywhere else I can think of. Still no peek at what the Commander of Hybern looks like, even when she showed up here. I can’t get my shadows to go anywhere near her.”

Sirius gave a smug smile. Of course, they couldn’t. They were scared of her. It made her somewhat proud.

“What about Issac?” Cassian chimed in. He sounded as exhausted as the rest of them. “He used to be under my direct command for the longest time.”

“His mind was scrambled by the time I got to him. He died a few hours ago. Couldn’t have made it more than an hour, even with the best healers. The few memories I could fish out were of him training with…well him training, and then how he was killed. That was it. Not how he got there, his childhood. Nothing. Just those two.”

Silence. Just pure silence for the longest time. 

Sirius shifted in the mud. Did they winnow away?

“I’ll try and fix the wards tonight,” Rhysand said. “I’m not going to let her slip past again. I am not letting her hurt any of you, understood?”

Sirius felt her blood chill. She would never…

“If we face her in battle?” Azriel posed the question.

“Do not engage,” Rhysand responded. “We’ll deal with her later.”

Did Jurian not mention she was their spy? That she was with them, not against them.

Sirius looked at the tied envelopes in her hand, and started forming a plan. Once most of the Inner Circle left the War Tent, heading their separate ways, she would slip the package in there. So there she kneeled in the dark, listening to them file out one by one, listened to their plans, until she slipped underneath the back of the tent. 

The War Tent was well lit with lanterns in all the corners of the tent. The large, heavy table held maps similar to the King with pins in various places. There was a dagger at the end of the table, engraved with ancient writing. Sirius dropped the bundle in the middle of the table. It almost looked like the table from the house they shared… but she couldn’t quite place it. It looked like the one they used to have family dinners at before Rhysand and Cassian broke one of the legs in a fight.

A noise outside startled Sirius from her thoughts. She quickly used the cover of her shadows and ducked underneath the canvas again as she sped away. The shadows ripped away from her as she grabbed the bucket she abandoned and weaved through the path once more. She threw a glance back at the War Tent.

She left at just the right moment. 

She could see Azriel and Cassian passing by the tent, talking with their hands about something. She didn’t know what. Their voices were hushed and quiet in the dark of the night, only the moonlight and spare torches to light the way. 

Azriel glanced her way, and their eyes met for just a second. 

In that second, Sirius froze. Her mouth parted slightly before she made herself look away and start walking. 

It would have been so easy to walk up to them. Talk to them. Hug her family again. Be with them. And at that moment, it seemed like something in Azriel’s mind started turning as well. It wasn’t because of their eyes meeting. 

It was the look of confusion that followed.

She wanted nothing more than to run into his arms, cry, sing, and dance. Become part of their family again. Be a part of their lives. Live. Be free. Stop pretending to be this villain, if she could even call it pretending at this point.

But she had a job to do. The King would kill her otherwise.

It’s for the best, anyways.

 

***

 

The Commander put her mask back on back at Hybern’s camp in the quiet of the early morning. Most of the soldiers were asleep except for those in the late-night revelry. The bonfire would burn out soon, perhaps at early dawn. She could hear the drums all the way from her tent.

Her tears had dried out by then. She kept thinking about Azriel, and how they stopped to look at one another. It broke a part of her knowing she couldn’t have that life. Knowing that, at the end of the war, she would likely be dead anyways. So what was the point?

At least if they hated her they would never have to love her. They would lose her, thinking, “good riddance,” rather than grieve her life once more. Rather than pull them through another loss. She saw what it did to them the first time.

The Commander of Hybern packed light. She took all her weapons and gear before winnowing to the encroaching army. 

The sun barely peaked above the mountains above them. They were deep in a valley, hidden on both sides. It was equally as dangerous as it was strategic. The huge, towering mountain range stretched far beyond them, with giant trees all around them. Snow was on the very tops of them. Dark. Cold. It reminded her of her time in the Illyrian War-Camps.

It was quiet, the embers of fires glowing and the snores of sleeping soldiers. Deadly hounds patrolled the perimeter at all times, followed by their owners. She started at the front of the column and worked her way down.

For miles and miles, they stretched. She began waking up the camp, getting ready to march for the day. 

“Be ready to pack out within the hour!” she shouted to her soldiers. “We have a long march, let’s go boys!”
Other generals and commanders followed her. They woke up the outer edges of the camp. While she waited for the army to rouse, she sat on a stone by a fire pit that had not been put out yet. There she waited, sharpening her sword with her honing steel, and watching the small flames dance. She mimicked them with her shadows, blending them together and weaving them in and out. 

Everything was slowly coming together. The battle. The King. Her family despised her. They wouldn’t care if she died at all in this war. She could rest in peace knowing that when she died in this war they wouldn’t care to go looking for her. They wouldn’t mourn again. In fact, she was almost certain they would rejoice. Now, if only she could figure out the Bone Carver’s riddle.

It’s in the words. It’s all in the wording.

She wished she shoved her fist in its mouth so she could finally get some solice.

The words of their bargain hung in the air. It turned in her head like the endless sea that once used to surround and smother her.

You are my servant and my Commander of Hybern.

Another cut on the steel. Another part of the blade she sharpened.

I will allow you your powers, but never upon me.

Another cut on the steel. It’s what she told all of her victims. Ashes to ashes… that was the song…

I will allow you weapons, but your weapons must never strike or be used upon me.

“Commander?” a general asked her, pulling her from her thoughts. She didn’t remember his name. All that mattered was that he knew who she was and that he reported to her.

“Yes?”

“The army is ready.”

She didn’t even notice everyone had packed up already. Ready to march. They stood in lines, ready to conquer the valley, and soon, the Winter Court. She quenched the fire in her shadows, simmering out in an instant.

“Well then, let’s give it to them. Start the march, General.”

 

***

 

The night deepens my love for your eyes

And the way you glimmer under the stars

Makes me wonder how long I have believed your lies

No matter how lovely they are

 

“No, that doesn’t sound right,” Sirius said. She was draped over her bed, an arm over her eyes. She needed it quiet, dark. A place where she could think. The night sky swirled around her, a part of her magic. Her father could fight her on this. She was practicing.

 

Under the field of roses

I wonder how much I pose

Am I as little as you make me seem to be

Or am I just someone as you agreed

 

Am I your doll or your love?

Am I a ripe fruit from the vine?

Or am I a person you made from design?

Made from your image so you can start again.

 

Am I your daughter or your servant?

Am I made from the stars you serve and

The current you hunt to protect me.

 

Damn your pride.

Damn your fortune.

I—

Sirius lifted her arm at the feeling of another presence in the room. She was debating the next verse, but Azriel leaned against the wall, arms crossed, with a faint smile.

“It sounds beautiful. I heard you from the hall,” he said quietly.

Sirius frowned, debating on what the next verse should be, but she lost the thought. “It’s not done yet.”

“I know. You’re never done with any of them. Have you considered writing them down?”

“It messes with the flow. It just… comes out.”

Azriel nodded slowly, “Well, should you ever write them down, you could be a big influence down in the Rainbow.”

Sirius waved him off. “I’m not that good.”

Azriel shrugged. “I think you are. So does Rhys.”

“Rhys is my brother, he always has to say that.”

“Do I?”

She shrugged. “What are you here for?”

“Just wanted to check in on you. Your father is home, and I know how you feel about him so I figured you wouldn’t mind a fresh face.”

She patted the spot beside her. “Lay down with me. You look tense.”

“I can’t, your father — ”

The look she gave her was enough that he finally laid down next to her with a sigh. His wings dangled off the bed like her, half on half off. She giggled a little bit. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you actually lay down, you know.”

“I have a bed I’m not — ”

“A bat? Oh, please. I’m sure we are beyond that.”

He frowned. Shadows curled around his wings and ear. She watched them twist and turn. He noticed her watching. He tucked his hands away. “Sorry, I don’t mean to do that.”

She met his eyes. “You know I don’t care about that. Why would I? You’re family, Az. You always have been. Look,” she said. She held up her hand and focused on her shadows, mimicking the way his shadows curled and copied them. It swirled around her fingers and wings. “See, they are beautiful.”

He gave her a half smile. “Thank you, Siri.” He cleared his throat before saying, “You can keep singing if you want.”

“Why don’t you sing since you enjoy mine so much?” she teased. “I bet you’d have a nice alto voice. Maybe baritone.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him.

Az let out a rumbling laugh that started in his chest and worked its way up. Sirius’ eyes lit up from it. “No, I’ll leave the singing to you.”

Sirius pouted before putting her arm back over her face. “Fine, suit yourself Az. Your loss, er, more like my loss I suppose.”

 

Don’t know what I said

But I got a date down on the avenue

Don’t know why she hadn’t just fled

Because I’m sure you can imagine who

Showed up knocking on her door.

 

Long, black dress with a slit that showed her ass

I can barely even manage to show some class

My eyes drift before I can even stop myself

And soon enough I’m down on one knee asking for some pussy

From that angle, she slaps me for being too pushy

But man I wish I could see more of that tooshie

“What the fuck was that?” Azriel laughed. Sirius was right along with him. 

“Use that,” she wheezed. “Next time the boys give you shit, use that. Holy fuck.”

Sirius nearly laughed herself off the bed. And Azriel was right there beside her, holding his stomach because it hurt too much.

“What the hell is this?” her father said from the doorway. Azriel immediately stopped and sat up. It took Sirius a few moments before she could gather herself. He motioned to Azriel. “Leave.”

Azriel bowed his head shortly before ducking out of the room, shadows brewing like a storm cloud above him.

Sirius lowered her eyes slowly to the man in her doorway. “What is it, Father?”

“My Shadowsinger is not for you. He’s here for me. On business. I thought it was clear you understood that.”

“But Father — ”

“ What did I just say? ”

“He’s here for you,” Sirius said quietly. 

“You’re supposed to be practicing your magic,” he stated.

Sirius got to her feet slowly so she and her father could see each other clearly. “I was.”

The High Lord smirked at her, eyes dark and his face was set like a granite statue. “No, you weren’t. I’d call that slacking off with a spy that was in a place he wasn’t supposed to be.”

“It was my idea,” she shot out. “I asked him to come to my room. I…I wanted some company and someone to teach me how his magic works so I can better my own.”

He cocked his head, almost predatorily. “Do you really expect me to believe that?”

Sirius gave a half-assed shrug, voice wavering as she said, “Yes.”

He took one step toward her. It felt like she could feel his every breath against her neck, but she didn’t back down a single step. “I don’t want you two alone in a room again unless I say so. If I catch you two again like this I’ll break his hand, and then his legs, until you can’t stand the very sight of him.”

She stared at her father in disbelief. “I fucking hate you,” she breathed. She took a step towards her father. “If you hurt him, I’ll make sure there’s no more High Lord of the Night Court. I will ruin you.”

Her father wasn’t looking at her though. He was looking behind her, and at the sharp talons her wings created with magic and the shadows that smothered the room. She could have sworn there was a rumble deep beneath the earth.

And he smiled, nodded, and left the room.

Sirius took a deep breath to calm herself.

Somehow, despite what she said and what she had done, it still felt like he won.

Chapter 21: Lord of Bloodshed

Summary:

Eyo you guys ready for a fight scene >:D

Marching. It was a constant, drumming pace of footfalls as they marched through the valley between the mountains. It echoed along the sides of the mountains, ringing back in their ears, as they kept walking, and walking, and walking. Marching and marching. It wasn’t getting colder like what she thought would happen. It stayed cool along the edges of the Autumn and Summer Court. 

The Commander of Hybern knew the Prythian army was near here, maybe a day or half a day flight to their position. She recognized some of the trees. Skirting past them entirely was risky. It was only a matter of days, moments, before they realized where they were, considering the information she left for them. She knew that being out in the open like this left them extremely vulnerable. The Commander couldn’t glamour an entire army. She could barely glamour herself. Easy magic, something a child could do, but her magic was changed since her encounter with the Cauldron. She wasn’t as adept as she could when she was a child at glamorous. She never was.

She knew once they reached the forest, the giant oaks looming over them to their left, they’d be somewhat safe. At least enough to have a break in the shade before they kept marching. Perhaps a place to settle down for the night. That was what kept her going. The idea of having a nice break to take a sip quietly from her canteen and some food that she packed for herself. 

Wearing all black did come at a disadvantage. The afternoon sun was hot, plenty hot, especially under the mask. She prayed it wouldn’t rain though. She could deal with the heat, but the rain would make this place a muddy hell hole to be caught up in.

The Commander was ready for an attack at any time. She made sure her soldiers were ready too, and spread the word to other generals and commanders that it would be wise to have a hand on their sword. They were well and truly exposed on the floor of the valley.

She peered up at the sky, at the impending clouds from the east, where the Summer Court lay. Please don’t rain , she begged. Battle was bad enough, line against line, calvary against wings, but the rain made everything worse. The clouds were looking grey and stormy enough to mean a storm. Hopefully, it would just follow them North and never cross their path.

The Commander of Hybern was never that lucky though.

She located another general and started the order to start settling down. It was better to get some rest before launching again early the next morning. It was late enough in the afternoon that if they didn’t stop soon they would be setting up camp in the dark. She’d been with the army for three days now, the third day coming to a close as she laid down her pack and started helping the soldiers gather wood to start fires.

She hated how open they were. But there was nowhere else to set up camp; there was nowhere they would be safe in this damned valley. Something felt wrong. 

The Commander gave the wood to another soldier nearby. He immediately took it from her without question. She could feel it. Something was wrong. “GENERAL PATTON!” she shouted. Her brisk walk turned into a sprint. “PATTON! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE.”

She could see him now, dark and heavy armor strapped to his lean body, dark brown hair tied back. Sweat stained his face and his hair.

“ What ?” he nearly shouted. He looked pissed as if she was the one bothering him, but to be fair she was. Maybe she was just paranoid… but her gut feeling has never been off.

“Where is Prythian’s army? Right now, where are they?”

“They should still be to the West. I had sights on them not even five hours ago.”

She could feel the world tilt. “No…no they aren’t. Get the soldiers ready for battle.”

“What kind of fucking drugs do you take? They are to the WEST .”

The Commander grabbed him by the collar and brought him close. “I can feel them. They are less than ten minutes away from us. Get the soldiers ready, right now , or so help me I will kill you myself.”

She could feel them with her mind. They were just starting to come into her field of magic. She wouldn’t have even noticed if she hadn’t been so anxious the entire march, scanning and scanning the skies above for scouts. 

She started rousing the soldiers again. She held her blackened sword in her hand, watching as the clouds started to roll in at the same time the soldiers rose to match Prythian’s army. They all knew the risks. It was only a matter of time before they met in battle. 

The only thing she didn’t expect was how eager they were. They wanted to see Prythian’s blood seep into the earth to feed the worms. The Commander of Hybern’s hands shook in anticipation. Anxious, eager, scared. She knew who would be on the battlefield. 

To be fair, Prythian “locked” them on an island for hundreds of years. It left them starving in the scourge of poverty that left them famished. It deprived them of everything. No arts, no travel, no trade. They were barely self-sustaining. It was a wonder Hybern survived from the beginning.

“On your feet!” she shouted at the soldiers. “Ten minutes to march! Ten minutes until Prythian is upon us!”

They looked at her in confusion, but got back on their aching feet. They certainly weren’t excited about it but followed their commander nonetheless. They didn’t have too hard of a march today since they knew Prythian was so close they could almost smell them. 

They weren’t exhausted at all. They were ready.

Where the fuck was that army?  She could feel their shield impending above them, but it wasn’t enough for an entire army. It was more like several legions, potentially even half an army, but not the whole.

She sprinted all around the camp, getting the soldiers up, as Patton and a few others did the same. They roused the army once more right before Pyrthian ascended against them. It was just in time too. 

They formed lines, the Commander of Hybern smack in the middle, suppressing her magic so she wasn’t immediately found in the crowd. The soldiers paid her no attention but knew exactly who was in their ranks giving them orders. Her word was law. If she ordered to reform the line, they would do it. If she ordered them to run with tails between their legs, they would do it.

She had no intentions of losing this battle though.

“Get ready!” she shouted to her line of soldiers. “They are almost upon us! Let’s make a show of them!”

If she knew Rhysand as she thought, he would make this battle as swift as possible. He would do anything he could to outsmart them, to make them pay for the blood and soil they trampled on. He would descend upon them with hell’s fury.

The army shifted uncomfortably. The Commander could see why. Illyrians had taken the skies, the shield finally ripped off so Hybern could see exactly who was attacking them. Who was killing their brothers in arms. Who was meeting them at every point in this damn war. The rest of the army winnowed in front of them in the valley. 

Hybern’s calvary was quick to charge. Once they realized their enemy, they started their surge forward on Keir’s Darkbringers and the Summer Court’s army. They did choose a good time to attack, she would give Prythian that. Right as they were about to settle down for the day, exhausted and worn out from the march. It was almost perfect.

Except for those rain clouds that inched ever closer.

It was a blood bath. The Commander wasn’t directly involved yet, but the grip on her sword tightened. She had the order to stay in the middle of the army. It wouldn’t be long until they were upon her too. She could hear the cries of her soldiers, and she wanted nothing more than to help them, to save them, in some way. Because despite what she had done, she wasn’t a complete monster.

At the front lines of Prythian’s army, General Cassian, all dressed in black, was ordering the army. Telling the army where to hold, and when to push the line. Rhysand was at the other side end of the battle, close to Cassian, raising hell where he stood. Keir was with his Darkbringers. Azriel was most likely in the sky.

The Commander of Hybern put her archers in the middle-back, close enough they would be able to strike efficiently, with their spears and calvary in the front. 

Siphons glowed and sputtered around them. Some of the Illyrians were swooping down, grabbing soldiers, and dropping them from hundreds of feet from the air, or hurling spears, stabbing in between their armor. Shields were flung up above them, the Commander of Hybern crouching behind a few of her soldiers to keep out of the way of the Illyrians. 

She threw her own magic at them, blowing quite a few Illyrians out of the sky. Some of the soldiers picked up on her strategy and copied her or came up with better ways to take them down. Magic was hurled from both sides of the battle as they picked off one another.

The sounds of battle and clashing steel got closer and closer as they marched into Prythian. 

Keir’s Darkbringers were buckling under their barrage despite the various soldiers from the mixed army helping them. They were trying desperately to reform the line. That was when the Commander broke through the soldiers and blasted her magic through. She’d been stockpiling her magic as they marched. It would take a long time to understand the extent of her magic though.

She dropped into stance as she cut through soldiers, blood coating her mask. It took her a long moment to understand that warm rain started to sprinkle on their armor and faces. The mud stuck everywhere. It was slippery and dripped the dark blood off her black longsword. They were caked with mud up to their knees.

And soon, she was close enough to Prythian’s army that she could reach out and touch them as she and her soldiers surged to cut the Darkbringers in half. Hybern soldiers were cutting them apart bit by bit. She could hear commanders and generals from Prythian shouting, and screaming, to reform the line, but they had finally managed to successfully pin them down at one point.

The Commander of Hybern put herself in the middle of the slaughter. She was playing a dangerous dance of swords and magic. All the while, singing to herself. She didn’t know where it came from, it came from her lips before she even realized it.

“ Ring around the rosies… ”

Another soldier down. She took his arm off and cut him clear up the middle. His eyes locked with her blank mask in terror. He gasped for air as the blood filled his drowning lungs. She didn’t bother to give him the mercy of killing him. He would die soon enough. She turned to her next target.

“ Pocket full of posies… ”

Alongside her sword was her magic, by far her most powerful weapon. It was itching to be let out, to howl at the army around her and decimate them. She had seen Rhysand mist people before. It used to scare her when she was younger. But as she took in the soldiers that started to overwhelm her, it wasn’t hard to gather her magic around a dozen soldiers very being, the things that held them together, and grasp them with shadows and tar. She wiggled her way into the very cells of their body with magic, like a tick on a deer, and made them evaporate into a red mist never to be seen again. Dead in an instant.

“ Ashes… Ashes… ”

She whirled face to face, sword to sword, with another soldier in golden armor. Summer Court from the looks of it. It was evident in the scale-like armor they all liked to wear. He looked at her with shock, unaware of who he just engaged in battle until the mask came into clear view. Everyone feared the mask. They knew her name. They feared her. It made her smile. She cut down the center with her sword, but he easily blocked it, retreating a step. But she was there in a heartbeat, following his footsteps with ease despite the rain and mud. She didn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop until his blood mixed with the mud and gore. She got so close she could see the pores on his face. She grabbed him by the throat with her offhand and threw him to the ground. It was there, while he slipped in the mud trying to get up, that she killed him.

“We all fall down… ”

She could hear her soldiers crying out around her, and it took her a long moment to realize why with the bellowing and screaming. Soldiers were crushed around her in a sea of red. Flashes of siphons tinted the edges of her vision as Hybern overwhelmed the Prythian army.

“ TRAITOR !” the Night Court’s General screamed at her.

The Commander of Hybern turned around with her head cocked at General Cassian, who flew into the middle of the slaughter. The soldiers gave them a wide berth as they realized who he was and who he bellowed to. Off in the distance, she could hear Rhysand screaming his name.

“General Cassian,” she purred. “Lord of Bastards. So we finally face one another.”

 

***

 

“Okay, stay still Cas, otherwise I’m going to mess this up.”

“Just hurry it up,” he whispered. He had a giddy smile on his lips. “I want to see the look on that poor bastard's face.”

“Shhh,” Sirius said, quietly giggling as she finished up the final touches of her glamour on him. “I’m so bad at glamours, you know this!”

“I don’t care just finish it up. It’ll work well enough.”

“Okay, okay… And done.”

Cassian took a look at himself in a mirror. “Holy shit.”

Sirius was holding her mouth to not laugh as she beheld Cassian. “Okay, let’s go in before I lose my mind.” She took his hand and dragged them into their childhood cabin up in the mountains. She was going to surprise Rhys with Cassian. Her Father was away on business and her mother was looking after another one of their estates. So it left her and Rhys at the cabin to themselves to do whatever they wanted. It was just her luck that Cassian was there. 

Sirius entered the house.

“Rhys! I have a surprise for you!” she shouted down the hall. 

“What is it?” he shouted back. 

She turned around the hall to the open kitchen and living room, the wall adorned with windows to let in the winter sunlight. There were a few paintings strung about but nothing neither of them did. 

Rhys was cooking at the stove when he saw them. He raised an eyebrow.

“Rhys, I want you to meet my girlfriend,” Sirius said in a very serious tone. She even forced a small blush on her cheeks.

It took him a moment to completely realize what was happening as he looked up and down at her “ girlfriend .”

She was taller than Sirius, but Illyrian, and had a tan, lean build. She had fighting leathers on, with long curled brown hair and a soft smile. 

Rhys stopped cooking and put on his best smile, holding out a hand to her. “Hi, it’s an absolute pleasure to meet you. Sirius talks about you a lot.”

She gripped Rhys’ hand in a firm grasp. Although, instead of a nice, pleasant voice, Cassian’s deep rumbling voice said back, “Nice to meet you too, you son of a bitch.”

Rhys’ eyes widened and he failed to grasp words as he opened his mouth and gaped at Cassian under the glamour. By that point, both Cassian and Sirius were doubled over in laughter. Sirius managed to even fall over and curled up on the floor as she howled at Rhys’ stunned face. 

“You assholes !” Rhy shouted at them. The glamour on Cassian finally dropped as Sirius wasn’t concentrating on the magic anymore. “Especially you!” he yelled as he pointed at Sirius. 

It only started a new bout of laughter.

“Fuck you guys,” Rhys said, starting to laugh himself because of them. 

“The look on your face!” Sirius wheezed. “Oh gods, I’m never going to erase it from my mind!”

“I hate you.”

“Wasn’t he pretty?” Sirius asked him.

Cassian was crying with laughter.

All he did was raise his middle finger to the both of them as he turned back to his cooking, focusing on the stew instead of the two dumbasses laughing their hearts out.

“Is Az on his way too?” he asked them.

Finally, Sirius was starting to calm down. It was Cassian who replied, “Soon. He had some work to finish up with your Father then he’ll be right over.”

Rhys nodded with a smile.

“Oh my fuck,” Sirius whispered, wiping her eyes of stray tears. “Do you have any wine?”

He pointed at the door to the wine cellar. “Down there, as usual. Grab two bottles while you’re at it, Siri.”

“Sure thing,” she answered, slowly climbing up from the floor and down the wine cellar. She could hear the two Illyrians making idle conversation in the kitchen as she grabbed the wine and four glasses to go with it. It was just in case Az showed up early before they were all piss drunk.

She walked back up the stairs to see Cassian leaning over the table listening to Rhys talk. 

“Any word from Mor?” Cassian asked Rhys.

“Not in a while. She’s taking care of some business in the Court of Nightmares. Still with her Father, unfortunately.”

Cassian frowned. “I thought she’d be here tonight.”

Sirius shook her head, setting down the wine glasses and the bottles. Cassian reached across her and grabbed a bottle as she was setting it down and walked into the kitchen looking for something to take out the cork. She rolled her eyes as she said, “Not this time. Maybe another. She said something about wanting to fuck up some courtier and then rail their Father. I don’t know. Her words, not mine, although, I’m sure something very different is happening.”

Mor, as always, was hiding something from Sirius, despite being one of her few confidants. 

She may be named Truthteller, but she lied constantly.

“Shame, I told Az she’d be here.”

Rhys shot Cassian a glare. “Why?”

He shrugged. “It’d get him through the door.”

Do you want any help, Rhys?

He was busy stirring and prepping some vegetables as a side for dinner.

Not at all. Just sit back and relax Siri. It’s our holiday.

Sirius smirked and opened the other bottle of wine since Cassian had stolen the other. He was chugging straight from the bottle. It was older than her. Probably more expensive than any paycheck he’d ever seen. 

Pour me a glass too , Rhys said in her mind. Sirius did just that.

“I hate it when you two do that,” Cassian muttered, sitting down and laying dramatically on the couch. 

Sirius took her glass of wine and punched Cassian in the arm. “Scoot over you hulking giant.”

“By the Mother, Siri! Have you been working out? That hurt like a bitch.”

“Good because you whine like a bitch. Move your wings asshole.”

Rhys chuckled from the kitchen.

Sirius leaned into Cassian as she closed her eyes and took in his warm and familiar smell. Home. This place was a home. Her brothers would soon be all together. No daunting parents. No Court to worry about. Just a home on the mountain with the most important people in her life. It was a shame that Mor couldn’t join them.

The door opened again as a pair of boots thumped against the wood, trying to get the snow off his shoes. It abruptly closed before Sirius could shout at Az for bringing in the cold.

“There he is!” Cassian said, getting up from his spot on the sofa and clapping Az on the shoulder. He looked disgruntled, to say the least. 

Rhys stopped cooking and hugged his brother. 

Sirius was made that her shoulder rest left her. But regardless, she craned her head to see Az shirk off his cloak and make his way into the living room. “Az, you made it!”

“Yes, I did.”

“How is Father?” Rhys seemed to stiffen at the mention.

“His usual self.” An asshole is what he meant. 

Sirius got up from her seat and gave Az an easy hug. He was warm despite being outside for so long. “It’s good to see you,” she said into his chest.

“You too, Siri.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her for a moment before they let go.

“I don’t even get a hug when I walk in,” Rhys grumbled. 

“That’s because you’re a prick,” Sirius said offhand. 

Rhys poorly mocked her, to which she stared him down until he smiled up at her. “What? It was just a joke.”

“Do you want a hug Rhysie boy?”

He cringed. “Don’t ever say that again.”

“You Bat Boys need to get over yourselves,” Sirius said before sitting back down on the couch again, sipping her wine. They all stared at her in silence for a moment. She looked at all of them with a cocked eyebrow. “What?”

“Did you just call us The Bat Boys ?” Cassian asked in disbelief. 

“Yes…?”

“Mor is going to give us so much shit,” Rhys said.

Az took a seat across from her in a comfortable chair. His face could have been etched into stone. “Oh, no doubt.”

“Oh come on? Really?”

“Really,” Az said, his voice grave. 

Cassian put a hand on her shoulder. “Please, never her tell her that. We will never hear the end of it.”

Sirius’ mind started turning. A smile, creeping smile, slowly rose on her cheeks. “I won’t,” she lied.

Cassian took his seat next to her again. She again got back her headrest. She leaned against him and closed his eyes again. She could almost feel Az’s smile, and she saw it when she cracked an eye open to look at him. He quickly hid it with a hand though.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

He didn’t hide his smile that time.

“Food is ready,” Rhys said. 

Sirius hopped to her feet. “Thank the Mother. I am starving.”

Rhys gave her a bowl and she served herself some food. Rhys was soon after her and so were the other boys. 

“How did you manage to escape your Father?” Az asked Sirius.

She swallowed the food in her mouth before answering. “He let me stay with Mother to keep practicing magic. Mom let us go out, and said she’d take the fallout if Father came back home early. It just so happened Rhys would be home.”

Rhys frowned. “He shouldn’t have to let you do anything. You’re an adult.”

Sirius shrugged. “You tell that to him.”

“So you two snuck away,” Cassian asked.

“Yes,” Rhys said. “As much as I like being home, it’s nice to get away too.”

“The House of Wind gets so boring sometimes,” Sirius complained. “I have nothing to do. And Father won’t let me do anything at all. I feel like a political prisoner up there. It’s all ‘the Court’ this and ‘manners’ that. I hate it.”

“He is right, you could do with better manners,” Az stated quietly. 

She smacked his arm. “I do not.”

Rhys pointed at her. “Point exactly.”

Sirius glared at her brother while sipping at the stew. It was surprisingly good. She could taste the tang of venison and rosemary. There was celery and bits of carrot there too. It had the dark tang of almost chocolate alcohol cooked into it. It gave it a sweet, dark flavor.

“When is our snowball fight going to be this year?” Cassian asked, turning to Rhys.

“After the snow starts falling this year. Around winter solstice if all goes right, but it wholly depends on the weather.”

“Gentleman and one lady, your savor is here!” Mor shouted from the hallway. She had a bag in her hands as she was dressed in a cozy sweater with her hair tied up in a bun. “But I see you already have food, which is surprising, actually.”

“Mor! I thought you wouldn’t be able to make it!” Sirius exclaimed, running up to Mor and giving her a big hug. It must have been months since the last time she saw her, let alone all of them in the same room together.

“I snuck off for the night,” she said warmly. “And by snuck off I mean actually snuck off. Nobody knows I’m here.” She laughed nervously but set the bag down on the counter. From the smell, Sirius knew it was from Ritas.

Azriel’s face lit up as he saw her, and Cassian gave her a warm clap on the back. Rhys gave her a side hug as she joined the conversation next to Sirius. “Well, I see you brought out the wine, which means I was definitely supposed to be here tonight.”

“Well, I had a suspicion,” Rhys said. He tapped on his head. 

“That’s not fair. You and Sirius play too many mind games, especially when you talk shit at the dinner table.”

“We aren’t talking shit,” Sirius amended.

“We are commentating about the conversation,” Rhys finished in a purr.

“ Right ,” she replied. She turned to the other two. “You never wrote me letters back.”

“I was getting around to it,” Cassian said. 

“So you mean never.”

“Yes…”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Mor said.

Sirius poured herself another glass of wine and grabbed the bag Mor set on the counter. “I’m going to eat and drink. Does anyone want to join me?”

Mor jumped in, “I will.” She followed her to the couch, and eventually, everyone piled in, Rhys sitting next to Sirius.

They spent the night laughing, drinking, and spending time with one another. It had been months, maybe even a year or two, since the last time they were all together like this. Like a family. Like the Court Rhys dreamed of when he finally took the throne. Home. 

This… This was home.

 

***

 

“You have a lot of nerve showing up here,” General Cassian growled. 

The Commander of Hybern twirled her blade. Smoke surrounded them in a black mist as if they were in the middle of a fighting rink. The sounds of war disappeared around them. It was just him and her. Bastard against bastard.

“So do you, General Cassian. It’s not so smart to jump in the middle of the fray.”

“It’s not so smart for you to be out here alone either. No bodyguards?”

The Commander of Hybern sneered, “I don’t need lapdogs, unlike Rhysand.”

That was when he attacked.

It was all the Commander of Hybern could do to keep her sword steady under his strength. Despite being well trained, by him of all people, she had the disadvantage of strength. But she was more cunning. She wasn’t just a brute to be toyed around with.

The Commander put all her weight into it as she shoved him backward. It gave her an inch of relief as he back peddled a few steps. Enough time to come into high guard and strike hard and low, using the momentum of her blade to keep her going as she came in for a sideways cut.

He blocked her on both fronts, grimacing at her. Not in pain or fear. But rage.

He swung underneath her sword, causing her to take a step back and flick her wrists back. She hit the weak end of his blade, causing it to beat toward the ground. 

“You’re getting tired, General. How long will you keep this up?”

He grit his teeth. “As long as I need to.”

The Commander didn’t know where it came from. It bubbled from her chest and out of her mouth as she laughed. She laughed at General Cassian in his face and continued to laugh as his sword whipped up and cut her arm and her thigh. But it was a quick victory. The Commander of Hybern returned the favor.

The Commander of Hybern extended her blade while he went into the next overhead stance, twirling his blade. She cut right where the armor separated under his arm. As his sword sliced down she twisted her wrist and fell into a hanging stance, blocking his blow. It shook her arms as the echo of power reverberated in her bones.

General Cassian winced as he brought his arm down and stood in a low stance, his hands close to his waist but the tip still pointed at her.

The Commander of Hybern smiled, even though he couldn’t see, as they circled one another again.

It didn’t hit the artery under his arm, otherwise, blood would be pouring out by now. Lucky for him. 

She charged him, not waiting for him to recover too long, as they locked in a struggle against each blade. She grunted, aiming her sword just right to nick the top of his shoulder with the edge of her blade, before she winnowed behind him and kicked out his knees.

He rolled into the hit and mud covered him at this point, the rain only growing stronger. The shadows grew stronger around them too despite Rhysand's furious screaming. Ordering him to get away from there, to disengage. But Cassian was too caught up in his rage to hear him or Azriel trying to fight their way to him.

She thrust her sword at him, trying to strike him with his back turned, but he kept rolling until he was on his back, sword up, as she struck. She leaned into it, pushing him deeper into the mud. 

“Why don’t you fucking quit,” she grit out.

He kicked her square in the stomach, sending her sprawling on her back, as he got to his feet. He took a deep breath before saying, “It’s not in the job description, Commander.”

The Commander of Hybern groaned as she got to her feet again, flinging off the spare bits of mud.

“Do you not like rolling around in the mud, Commander?” General Cassian said with a grin.

“I grew up rolling in it. If I remember correctly, the same one you grew up in, but I doubt you remember me now. Tell me, did you mourn Issac? Did you cry over his death? Or is it just another one to the list, General?”

He wasn’t smiling any longer. “How dare you speak his name.”

She bent her knees, falling easily into stance as her wings flared out behind her for extra balance. She started laughing again. “Poor Issac. He was the last one alive. I doubt you and your friends found the others though.”

Shadows swirled around her shoulders in great arcs as she let her magic take more control. So much for secrecy. She would show them the power she controlled in battle.

“Do you know why they call me Black Death, General?”

Those shadows kept forming around them until they made a dome shape around them. It was just the two of them now. No one would get past those shadows unless they were stupid. To Cassian’s credit, he tried his best not to look scared, but as the shadows finally blocked out the last little bit of sun, he looked wary.

They could still see one another from where they stood. 

“You’re not a Shadowsinger.” General Cassian stated.

“No, I’m not. But good guess.”

She could feel his fear now. Feel it in her very bones. She wasn’t even trying to enter his mind, she wasn’t in his mind, but she could feel it now. 

The Commander of Hybern toyed with it, played with it like a cat pawing at a mouse, as she let the sounds of battle drain away and echo a new sound. A sound he heard echoed at the bottom of a library in Velaris. 

That made Cassian look scared. Terrified.

“What the fuck,” he breathed, looking into the darkness that surrounded them.

The Commander of Hybern almost caught him unaware at that time. He barely caught her blade in time to beat it away, but she was instantly there again. Thrust after slice after cut. She was there after every block until he wasn’t.

The armor didn’t prevent enough of her attack. She cut him right up the center while he was trying to come down on her. She saw his blood spill immediately after the cut. That was when she knew it was bad.

He yelled out in pain, but she wasn’t done yet. She cut him deep in the arm, and then his leg. General Cassian fell hard to the ground in a heartbeat. 

The Commander of Hybern was above him, sword pointed at his throat, before she stopped herself. 

This was supposed to be who she was protecting. Not killing.

How had she forgotten that? This was why she was with Hybern in the first place. Not to kill her family, but to save them.

She was getting too deep in her role as Commander. This was not what she intended.

The Commander of Hybern removed the sword from his throat. Cassian held a firm hand against his stomach, gasping for air. The Commander could not remove her eyes away from him. “I don’t want to kill you, Cassian.”

He looked at her, even more enraged, as he spat on her shoes. “Why?”

“Because that’s not how this is supposed to go. Another day, General, we will face each other again. But today is not that day.”

The shadows around them were gone now as the Commander kneeled before Cassian.

Her hand twitched around his face as she grasped his mind, and his eyes widened in understanding. She wasn’t a Shadowsinger, she was Daemati. His mind had strong deep walls around them, but her smoke seeped through the cracks in his fortress. It wasn’t long before she let him fall unconscious to save him from the pain. So he wouldn’t have to suffer more than she’d already made him.

“GET AWAY FROM HIM!” a voice screamed behind her. It wasn’t Rhysand or Azriel, but the Morrigan. She had a sword in hand, adorned in the Night Court’s armor.

The Commander of Hybern peered at her from behind the mask as she stood up.

“The Morrigan, a pleasure, as always.”

Her eyes flitted between her and Cassian, unconscious on the ground. He was going to bleed out if they didn’t act quickly. “Get away from him,” she ordered again.

“He’ll live, but you need to act now.”

Her eyes widened as the grip on her sword only tightened. “I’m going to kill you.”

The Commander of Hybern raised her arms in challenge. “I’d like to see you try. If the Lord of Bloodshed could not do it, I cannot see how you would.”

Rhysand stepped out from behind her. Despite how drained he was of magic, she could still feel the unmistakable mark of the High Lord. His voice was hoarse and cold. “The Commander of Hybern. How am I not surprised?”

“I was ordered to be here. I’m surprised Jurian’s notes did not tell you that.” She moved to watch Rhysand, putting distance between the Morrigan and the High Lord so she could watch them both.

“What are you talking about? Jurian didn’t leave us notes,” Rhysand replied.

“Oh, I know he did, because I’m the one that put them there.” His face went blank. But he didn’t say anything in return. “I’ll explain soon enough. When it’s safe, High Lord of Night.”

The Commander of Hybern winnowed away before either of them could do anything. She went straight back into battle, right into the Summer Court, as she helped where her soldiers faltered. 

She couldn’t think about what she did, the damage she just caused. The people she hurt. She couldn't face that it took all her restraint to pull away from killing Cassian. So, she turned to the people she could hurt. She poured her magic and her hate and her grief into battle and used it in battle just like a weapon. 

But the tide was quickly turning. It wasn’t long before Hybern was losing more and more ground, and that was when the Commander knew it was time to go. She could feel it as more soldiers around her lost their lives fighting. Shot down by arrows, cut down by swords, flung into the air. Dying. One by one they were all dying.

She grabbed as many soldiers and generals and commanders as she could and winnowed them all straight back into Hybern’s nest. Their home camp.

Straight back into the center of camp, where all the resting soldiers stopped and stared at them.

The Commander of Hybern rested her hands on her knees as she caught her breath. Mud and blood were caked onto her, crusted deep into her clothes. Cassian’s blood. Prythian’s blood. Her own…

The King soon found them, and in the corner of her eye, she could spot Tamlin watching them. Jurian echoed the King’s footsteps. They must have been speaking moments earlier.

“What happened?” The King of Hybern spoke. “Tell me everything, Commander.”

He led her back to the War Tent with Jurian and a few of the high-level soldiers that she managed to grasp before she fled as they talked about the failed battle. The battle she failed because she couldn’t kill her family. 

As they talked about the details of the battle, the Commander of Hybern couldn’t help but wonder if the King would punish her in some way for her failure. 

Chapter 22: Fly, Fly Far Away

Notes:

I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! I've been also working on the earlier chapters and revising and rewriting a few, so if you get weird updates from me that may be the cause. It's mostly just cleaning up grammar and rewriting a few scenes, so nothing super plot heavy. I may be also adding some foreshadowing so future readers can have fun with that >:) I hope you all have a great day! Enjoy!

Sirius flapped her wings as she soared up and up into the sky. Her brother was always within eyesight though. 

She was young, too young to understand completely why Azriel still had a healthy respect for heights and why her brother always give him shit over it. Cassian too.

All four of them were watching over the small Illyrian Sirius as she flew through the air, but nothing too high. Just above the tree tops and touching the wisps of fog rolling off the mountains.

Cassian laughed as he ducked under her and over her, sailing around her. Azriel watched with a bemused look on his face, while Rhys was in parent mode. He didn’t want her to get hurt on one of the tops of the trees or strain herself by flying too long. 

The first war with Hybern was over. There was a fragile peace everywhere. It was calm here in the mountains. It was the first time any of the boys had gotten together in a long time and even fewer when Sirius was involved.

Her child-like giggles echoed above the trees as she watched Cassian make circles around her. “Cassian!” She squealed. “How are you doing that?”

“When your brother Rhys decides that you’re old enough, I’ll teach you kiddo,” he yelled over the wind. He shouted into the sky as he sailed upwards and touched the clouds before closing his wings and freefalling from the sky. At the last second, he spread his wings out and caught the updraft of air.

“He’s going to kill himself doing that one day,” Azriel yelled to Rhys.

Rhys responded with, “At least that would make for a funny story one day!” He banked so he could fly next to Sirius. “Are you having fun?”

“Yeah!” she responded back to him. “I love it!”

He gave her a big, bright smile. “What do you say we head back to the cabin? I can make you some hot chocolate!”

Hot chocolate did sound good after flying most of the early afternoon. It was brisk up in the sky unlike how it was on the ground. Even when it was hot outside, when she was in the sky, it was brisk.

“Yes!” she shouted to Rhys. He quickly rounded up the boys as they descended into a little meadow full of flowers not far from the cabin they shared. It was on the outskirts of the Illyrian war camp. 

Sirius landed safely, managing not to scrap her knees like last time. Rhys was right there beside her, coaching her. As they all walked back together to the house, Sirius picked as many wildflowers as she could carry to take back with them. The three brothers chatted in friendly banter as they walked a little ahead of Sirius. 

All three would occasionally glance back to make sure that Sirius was following them.

She was, but every few feet, she was picking another flower, and then another, and then another, until she had a full bouquet in her hands.

She giggled as she ran up behind them. “Look!” she told Rhys.

He stopped for her and picked her up as she ran to him so she could rest in his arms. “Wow! What beautiful flowers you have! We are going to have to put that in a vase when we get back.”

Rhys limped alongside Azriel and Cassian as he carried Sirius back to the cabin. 

“Do you want me to take her?” Azriel asked quietly. He was eyeing his leg.

“No, I’ve got it, don’t worry,” Rhys said back.

But wordlessly, Sirius took a fleabane from her bouquet, a stem with several white flowers, and handed it to Azriel. He gently took it from the girl’s hands, smiling at her fondly. “Thank you,” he told her. He carefully tucked the flower behind his ear.

Sirius giggled back, burying her head into Rhys’ shoulder.

Azriel smiled even more.

Cassian rose his eyebrows. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile. Like, ever.”

Rhys rolled his eyes, but Azriel responded with, “Way to ruin it, asshole.”

“Hey,” Rhys interjected. He pointed at the child in his arms. But it was too late.

She perked up, looking at Rhys quizically. “What does asshole mean?”

Cassian was biting his knuckles white as he tried his hardest not to laugh his head off. Rhys was too, but he covered it with a smile as he said, “I’ll tell you later, Little Siri. These boys just need to learn how to watch their language. ”

Azriel almost looked offended. “Don’t rope me into this. It’s only Cassian that is like this.”

Cassian scowled. “Only me? May I remind you of the time that you—”

“Shut up,” Rhys hissed. 

They walked inside the cabin where Sirius and Rhys’ Mother was humming softly to herself while she cleaned the living room. Rhys set Sirius down so she could run up to her Mother and give her a big hug. “Momma!”

“Hey there baby!” she said, picking her up with a groan. “You’re almost too big for me to carry!”

“I swear, she gets bigger every time I see her,” Cassian said as he walked into the kitchen.

“I promised her hot chocolate when we got back,” Rhys explained. 

Their Mother frowned. “Then you get to put her to bed.”

Rhys shrugged. “Fine by me.” He walked into the kitchen with Cassian as they bantered back and forth while making Sirius hot chocolate. They ended up making enough for everyone.

Azriel sat on the floor with Sirius and talked back and forth while waiting for Rhys and Cassian to make the hot chocolate. Azriel managed to find a vase and filled it with water. He brought it back for Sirius, and they worked together on the floor as they arranged the flowers in the vase.

Sirius hummed to herself a similar tune to what her Mother sang when they walked in as they arranged the flowers together. Rhys brought her out a mug full of hot chocolate and set it on the floor next to her. She happily drank the sweet concoction while taking off the bad petals on the flowers and shaped the vase. 

“And done,” she said finally. There was an array of deep blue and light blue flowers, sprinkled with the white fleabanes she picked. There were a few yellow flowers with long petals, but they all fit together nicely. 

“How beautiful,” her Mother said, placing the vase on the mantlepiece above the fire. “How does that look?”

Sirius beamed up at her Mother. “It’s perfect.”

 

***

 

There was a forgotten creek in the Spring Court where the Commander of Hybern finally took her clothes and mask off. No one from Hybern would be able to find her here. It was her peace, her solitude, at least for a moment.

Mud covered her clothes along with blood that seemed to stain even the black of her armor.

The King gave her the luxury of having her wounds healed after the battle. It didn’t take too long. The healer, some soldier with the face of a gnarled knot of oak wood, healed the various cuts on her body, and then immediately ordered her to rest. She took it with a grain of salt. The healing magic left an itch on her body. She rarely let people touch her, let alone heal her. And the healing itself made her skin stretch uncomfortably over her previous wounds.

After that, she told the King that she would be going to the creek here, in case anything attacked her in the dead of night. Monsters were prone to roam these woods, but she hoped that her scent of her would scare them off.

The Commander quickly splashed into the water as she let out a sharp inhale as the cold water rushed over her calves and quickly rose to her waist. She ran her hands quickly over herself, washing away the stains of battle.

Blood pooled and ran down the stream away from her. She grabbed a bar of soap she grabbed from camp and ran it over her legs and chest. The Commander untied her braid and let her hair loose. It tickled the small of her back now, curled in waves from the rain in battle, but was covered in mud. She dunked herself under the water.

Instantly she was back up, teeth chattering, as she ran the soap through her hair and scrubbed it into her scalp.

This wasn’t the warm, welcoming bath she envisioned for herself.

But it would do. It was secluded. It was peaceful. The night sky glittered, but not nearly as much as it did in the Night Court. But she could still appreciate the sky here too.

She wished she got to show Tamlin the Night Court’s sky. Truly show him the Night Court and everything it had to offer. Maybe he would understand why she loved it so much. She doubted he would go anywhere with her now though.

The frigid water slowly warmed up to her. She eased herself lower and lower until she could rinse all the soap out of her hair and off her body. Her skin was nearly raw and red from her scrubbing the echoes of battle off herself. But it seemed like her stained hands would never be clean again.

For the longest time though, she just leaned back into the stream and watched the sky. How she longed to fly. She didn’t remember the last time she took flight, despite the wings on her back. Maybe it was punishment for herself. Maybe she just couldn’t remember how. She couldn’t tell the difference.

By the time the Commander of Hybern exited the water, her fingers were pruned like an aged human. She dried herself off with a thin grey towel and threw on some clean clothes, and shoved her clothes from battle into a sack she brought. The mask was a familiar comfort, cleaned with a snap of her fingers.

Winnowing was as easy as stepping into another room. And there she was in front of the camp, waving to the guards as she passed. Exhaustion tugged her along to her tent.

“There you are Princess,” Jurian said as he sidled in beside her.

“I’m done with you Jurian. Leave me alone.”

“You don’t want to hear the King’s new orders?”

She sighed. “Tell me in the morning. We already had a three hour long meeting with that damned Cauldron in the room. I want to sleep. I swear to god that wretched pot was watching me.”

He was walking backward now, keeping pace with her but face-to-face now. “They hung up new Children of the Blessed in the square. The King wants you to be there to babysit the Children. Maybe give the soldiers a few laughs,” he said. 

“The King can wait a fucking hour so I can rest,” she snapped.

Jurian held his hands up. “O-kay. I’ll reason with him then. It’ll be all night from what I hear.”

She didn’t say anything in return as he dwindled off into the camp. She could hear the revelry even from where she was.

Her feet were sore from the long day, and by the time she made it to her tent, she collapsed into her cot. She didn’t even bother to take off her shoes or mask. Not that she really bothered to take off her mask anyways.

It was extremely early in the morning. She was used to prowling around the camp or at Prythian’s camps at this time, but it was everything she could do to turn over in her cot.

Sleep took her quickly. 

Dreams seeped into her mind, filled with battle and blood. The little girl cried in her arms, trying to push herself away from her. Her sandy grave. The way Cassian’s blood mixed with the mud underneath him, spitting at her. The way the Drakagor’s claws ripped through her shoulder like it was a knife through butter.

The Commander of Hybern couldn’t have been asleep for more than an hour before she jolted awake. She could feel it. Wind bashed at the side of her tent, but most of the soldiers were asleep in the camp. Except for a singular but many voice. They were…singing. Ancient, howling, singing.

The Cauldron. It was singing. 

The Commander of Hybern sprang from her bed and sprinted out of her tent, following the singing. It was yelling at her, screaming to find it. Find it. Find it. Find it.

Soldiers blearily looked up at her before immediately falling back to sleep as she ran, ran, ran . She nearly collided with Jurian, his eyes as startled as she felt.

“You heard it?” he gasped.

“I did.”

As they looked around them, none of the soldiers noticed the noise. No one heard the calling of the Cauldron in the nearby tent, screaming at them to follow its voice. 

It was calling to the other in the world. To those who were Made.

Like her and Jurian. Like Feyre, Nesta, and Elain. And Amren, should that dreadful creature give it the time of day to hear it.

The Commander would not be surprised in the slightest if they could hear it all the way from their camp.

“We need to find the King,” Jurian murmured. “We need to find him now .”

“Agreed.”

They ran in the direction of the revelry, but as they rounded the massive tents, he was nowhere to be seen on his massive throne outside. But the singing was getting louder. More frantic as it called to them.

It came from the King’s Tent, his personal tent. He must have moved the Cauldron after their meeting a few hours ago.

 The Commander of Hybern had her hands over her ears to stop the shrill voice of the Cauldron. It was so loud, no longer the calm melody it once sang when she first awoke.

As the Commander of Hybern and Jurian burst through the tent’s doors, the singing stopped. The King was there, seated at the long table. The maps and plans were rolled up in a neat pile on a spare table.

But he wasn’t looking at them. He was watching the petite female that had managed to stand in front of the Cauldron in her nightrobe. Her hair was curled at the edges, thick with beauty and serenity. She looked like a carnation in the middle of a blood bath.

A subtle pink flower surrounded by death.

Elain Archeron.

“Oh shit,” Jurian breathed.

Elain didn’t even seem to notice them, nor did she even care if she did. Her focus was wholly on the Cauldron.

“It let her through,” the King of Hybern said. “She just appeared before it.”

The Cauldron. It let Elain just walk through their wards, unnoticed, to get to it.

“It’s like a siren,” the Commander mused. The two looked at her, and her cheeks flushed under the mask. “It called to those who were Made. We could hear it.”

“A calling.” The King played with the idea, hand on his chin. “Jurian, gather the chains we use for prisoners. It’s time to dangle a prize for dear Rhysand.”

Jurian ducked away out of the tent, leaving the Commander alone with the King and Elain. He was watching her with curiosity as she placed her hand on the Cauldron and shuddered. It was at that moment she snapped out of her daze. 

She slowly turned to look at the two of them. Elain wasn’t trembling like a flower in the wind though. Her eyes just watched them curiously before she bolted upright and tried to sprint out of the tent.

The Commander of Hybern caught her with an arm as she struggled in her arms. She wrapped her arms around Elain’s torso as she thrashed in her arms. The King of Hybern got to his face, pinching his calloused fingers on Elain’s cheeks. 

“What a pretty little thing we have here, don’t we Commander?”

A giggle forced its way out of her mouth in response.

“What would your dear High Lady think now? Did you run off all on your own?”

Elain was startled but didn’t bother answering him. The King let go of her as Jurian returned, chains in hand. They were thick and made of steel. He clasped them on Elain’s hands and feet. Nowhere to run now.

The King sauntered away and grabbed one of the many spell books he took from Hybern. From the worn cover, the Commander could tell this was most likely one of his favorites.

“Let’s see here…A simple binding spell won’t do. Let’s do this one…”

The Commander of Hybern didn’t let Elain out of her grip. Instead, she wormed her way into her mind as the King started reciting his spell that glowed on the chains around her.

Her mind was an open garden of tulips. There were no gates on her mind, a dangerous way to leave her mind. She would have thought Feyre would have taught her at least the basics of it.

My name is the Commander of Hybern. She said in her mind. She started to struggle in her arms, but she held onto her only tighter. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to help you get out of here. I met your sister, and I owe her a favor. I think she would appreciate her sister back, don’t you think?

I think she would , Elain said back carefully. Why are you holding me instead of helping me escape then?

It’s all a game. He thinks I am under his allegiance. It’s a mask, Elain Archeron. I want to help you get back to your family like I am trying to get back to mine. I will find a way to get you out of here, but I need you to be patient.

Okay, she said carefully. She stopped struggling in the Commander’s arms. 

The chains solidified and glowed violet under the power of the spell. The Commander barely heard the King’s command as she was lost in her own train of thought. “Hide her behind that curtain there and leave her chained. I’ll figure out how to deal with her later.”

The King left his tent, brooding. The Commander of Hybern carefully placed Elain behind the curtain, crouching down to her level as Jurian left the tent to accompany the King. 

The Commander looked over her shoulder just to make sure she was alone. “I don’t know how to take off the spell. I can’t break spells. But I’m going to find someone to help. Stay here, don’t make a sound.”

Elain nodded carefully. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry, I have to put the gag on you. I won’t let anyone hurt you. I’ll be back soon”

The Commander of Hybern tied the gag on her as tight as she could without hurting Elain. She took one more look over at Elain before she closed the black curtain. She could feel the fear cascading off the poor girl. The Commander couldn’t blame her. Neck deep in enemy territory with a Commander everyone knew was notoriously cruel as her only salvation. 

That was unless the Inner Circle could get to her quickly enough.

The Inner Circle .

They would be coming for her. And soon. She needed to find Tamlin. He might be able to help her. He had to. He has to .

She walked around the numerous tents looking for the blond-haired male she so fondly knew. 

The Commander of Hybern couldn’t just winnow Elain away. It was her first thought, but that would be too easy. The Commander was allowed to go through the wards which kept the camp safe with ease since she was a part of the army. But Elain was not in Hybern’s army. The wards were meant to keep people like her out, which meant now that she was in she wouldn’t be able to just go. At least, not by winnowing. It either meant the Commander would have to sneak her out or find a way to get her through the wards unnoticed. All the while, the King had to be unsuspecting.

The Commander saw him as she passed by, sitting on his throne outside while the Children of the Blessed were tortured on racks. He sat idly by as the revelry took place; fae and beast alike danced around the fire. 

She avoided the Children’s eyes as she passed.

Where the hell was Tamlin?

A cream-colored tent popped up alongside the black tents of the Hybern soldiers. He was closer to the outside than she was, but close to the center of the camp where the King could still keep a careful eye on him.

She pushed back the flap, not bothering to knock. 

“Tamlin!” 

He was laying on a cot covered with furs and blankets, half-naked. She couldn’t tell with complete certainty as the furs draped over his legs and waist. She could still see the contours of his body, the way his waist twisted as one arm lay over his face. The Commander didn’t remember his waist being that small.

At the sound of his name, he startled awake, hand on a knife under his pillow. It didn’t leave when he saw her there in his tent, lighting a lantern on his desk.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he questioned her.

“Get the fuck up, right now,” the Commander seethed.

Tamlin furrowed his brow. He pulled at the furs over his legs, covering himself a little more modestly. “Excuse me?”

The Commander of Hybern turned to face him. “We have a problem. Get dressed.”

“I can’t when you’re in here.”

“Did I say pretty please oh my perfect Tamlin ! Put some fucking pants on we have to talk right now.”

He scoffed as the Commander of Hybern turned around. She almost wanted to turn to see his reaction. Another part of her wanted to see if he was dressed or not under those furs.

The Commander looked through the papers on his desks. Nothing too important from the looks of it, but from the quick scan she knew he was most likely hiding something. Tamlin grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the table. He was wearing forest green pants with gold embroidery. 

“Hey, why the hell did you just let yourself into my tent? I told you I don’t want to be a part of your games anymore, Sirius.”

Her eyes slowly dragged up to his eyes. “Elain Archeron is here . In the camp, Tamlin,” she said quietly.

His eyes slowly widened. The anger that was there a moment ago vanished. “What?”

“She just appeared before the Cauldron. The Cauldron was…singing? I don’t know how to explain it. She just showed up as Jurian and I ran into the King’s tent. She’s chained up there with the Cauldron. I need to find a way to get her out of here.”

“ Shit ,” he muttered. He held a hand over his face, most likely still trying to wake up. Or sober up. “Why did you come to me for this? Why not Jurian?”

“I’m going to him next, he’s with the King right now at the revelry. And I trust you, Tamlin. I know you don’t trust me, but I trust you. I know you wouldn’t just leave Elain here.”

There was a look on his face that was considering otherwise. He didn’t owe Sirius or Feyre anything. But he didn’t want to just leave her here for whatever torture the King planned. 

“If I help you, and we get out of here…I’m not coming back, Sirius.”

Her breathing spiked. “Why?”

“Unlike you, I’m not a masochist. I want to go home, Sirius. I don’t want to be a part of this. I never wanted to. I got information out of the King, I gave the Court’s their information, I want to be done.”

The Commander of Hybern blew out a breath. “Tamlin, if we get caught, he will kill me, and then he will kill you. And not fast, he will do it slowly and painfully.”

He shrugged. “Then we don’t get caught.” The Commander caught the look in his eyes though. Not fear, not for himself, at least.

“I don’t think you get it. If he chooses to kill me, he will. And if I don’t follow the bargain, my own magic will rip me apart.” The Commander of Hybern was shaking. “I’ve come to terms with facing the King at some point. I know I’ll most likely die, no, I will die. But I can’t just…not try.”

He was searching for her eyes, but couldn’t see past the mask. The Commander of Hybern didn’t know what to do with her arms as he pulled her into a hug. 

“I hate you,” he said quietly.

The Commander of Hybern let her head rest on his shoulder, arms tentatively reaching around him. “I know.”

They stood there for a long time. She almost forgot what he smelled like. Rolling fields of lilacs. The cherry trees in bloom with their pastel pink flowers. The pine wood his fiddle was made of. She always loved the smell of pine.

He was the first to let her go. “What are we going to do to get Elain out?”

 

***

 

The Commander of Hybern was rehearsing everything she was going to say in her head and all the plans she formed with Tamlin. His words reverberated in her head.

The King is on the throne watching the fire and the fae.

Jurian is going to maintain his position by the fire and make sure the King would be looking the other way.

If you see Ianthe don’t trust her, she’s planning something. Tamlin hasn’t seen her in two days.

Tamlin will meet her at the other side of the camp near the ravine. 

The hounds were caged.

The Commander prayed this would work. This had to work. She didn’t have the luxury of a mistake.

Smoke billowed over her shoulders as her anxiety spiked. Her heightened emotions only led to her magic leaking into the world around her. The skyline beyond the camp was turning a pale blue. Sunrise was going to come soon, and she needed to be gone before the sun even touched the sky.

She passed by tent after tent with her sleeping soldiers. Some were slowly starting to wake up, some were tending to fires, but many were laid in cots or tents to rest for the next day.

At this point, adrenaline was the only thing keeping her going. She wanted nothing more than to curl up on her cot and rest for the whole morning.

The fire and dancing had died down somewhat as she rounded the pathway and into the main portion of the camp. The Children still dangled from their posts, crying or trying to pretend like they were dead already. Some of their bodies were rotting, smelling up the whole camp. The soldiers didn’t seem to mind it. The Commander learned to tolerate it.

She glanced around the fire. The King was still on his throne, face resting on his fist as if deep in thought. Jurian, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Shit . Where the fuck was he?

She searched for his mind through the camp, trying to pick apart who was who in the mass of bodies. She didn’t stop her walk as she made her way to the King’s tent. The guards outside immediately straightened at her arrival. They didn’t even bother to stop her as she entered.

Ianthe had just begun her prayers as she entered, praising her fucking Cauldron. 

The Commander of Hybern had a long day, and she didn’t need this bitch of a priestess interfering with her plans. She picked at her gloves.

“It’s just my luck isn’t it, Ianthe? You just had to fucking show up you fucking cunt.” The Commander of Hybern grasped Ianthe by the collar of her cloak, surprised at the Commander’s arrival. She shoved Ianthe against the Cauldron’s rim. Ianthe opened her mouth to stutter something out, but the Commander didn’t let her finish. “What did I tell you about fucking around with my soldiers? Feyre should have finished what she started with your hand. If you want, I can finish her job you—”

Ianthe’s nose wasn’t right. Something was off about her. And it wasn’t a gemstone on top of her forehead, it was a siphon. Azriel’s siphon.

Ianthe was frozen under the Commander’s grip. She let her go. Because it wasn’t Ianthe in her grasp, it was Feyre Archeron, the High Lady of the Night Court.

“Where is he?” the Commander said in a hushed voice. She put up a makeshift sound barrier between them and the soldiers. “Azriel. You have walked into something very dangerous Feyre Archeron.”

Azriel was behind her, she could smell him in the room now. Too flushed from her livid anger to notice when she walked in. 

“Where is my sister?” Feyre said, trying to put on a confident face.

“Behind the curtain, over there,” she pointed. Azriel was there in an instant pulling it back, revealing the gagged and chained Elain.

She wasn’t out of Feyre’s face though, still close enough to breathe on each other. The Commander was wondering if she would make the first move. She started talking before either Feyre or Azriel could behead her.

“I owe you a favor, Feyre.” The High Lady almost breathed a sigh of relief. “Where is Jurian?”

“He said he’d give us five minutes to get Elain out of here,” she said.

The Commander stalked to where Elain was, and knelt down to talk to her. “Are you okay? Did anyone come in here?”

Azriel looked at her with wary eyes, and then at Feyre. “No, no one came in here,” Elain said softly. “I did just as you said.” She turned to her sister. “She said she could help me get out.”

“Feyre,” the Commander started in a hurry, the words coming out in a rush. “We don’t have the time I’d like, but I will help you get out of here if I can. There’s a lot I need to explain with so little time. Trust me now, please, and I will be able to help you get out.”

Screams and shouts arose from the camp around them. 

Instantly, the High Lady was into action. “For now that will do.” She turned to Azriel who hauled Elain into his arms. He spoke to her in a soft tone that she had seen him do with few people.

“Out the back?” Azriel asked her. 

Feyre nodded. “Get ready to run.” She held up her hands and looked at the Commander. “Thank you.”

“I’ll find you and try to keep the hounds off your trail,” was all she replied, as she walked out the front. She didn’t wait to see them run. She did her best to look irritated as she walked out the entrance of the tent. 

She turned to the guards. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I’m not sure, Commander. Shit just started going wild.”

“Fuck.” The Commander ran off, winnowing to where she knew Tamlin was. 

He wasn’t startled at her arrival. Tamlin turned to her, waiting for her to explain why there were people screaming. Wondering why the whole camp woke up. “Feyre is here. With Azriel,” she told him, her breath coming out in a gasp.

He didn’t say anything as he transformed into his beast form and started running toward the sounds. The Commander of Hybern took a moment to gather herself as she threw her body upwards and flapped her wings, flying high above the tents. 

Already she was sore, her back screaming at the motion.

Once the shield was done, she could easily spot Feyre and Azriel sprinting like hell through the camp towards the edge of a cliff, where one of the Children of the Blessed sat. Of course, she was trying to save more than just her sister.

The King was striding down the line of tents, unhurried at the rush of his assailants. The Commander of Hybern flew above them, targeting the hounds around them with spears of her magic that impaled them to the ground.

Feyre was not looking great as she rounded the tents and went for the cliff. The Commander met them there, flying down to their side. As if to catch them.

“What intrepid thieves,” the King of Hybern drawled. “How shall I punish you?”

The Commander of Hybern drew her sword and stepped in front of the girl by the cliffside.

She knew Jurian would be watching, wondering why she wasn’t stepping aside. 

Feyre was shot by an ash arrow, stumbling to the ground. She shot an arrow at the hound pursuing them. The Commander of Hybern gathered whatever leftover she had after the battle from yesterday and used it. Throwing it at the hounds and whatever she could that stood in their way.

“Torturing you would be so dull. At least, the traditional sort of torture.” The King was slow and agonizing with his steps. “How Rhysand shall rage. How he shall panic. His mate, at last come to see me.” 

That triggered the Commander into flight as Tamlin tumbled through the tents in his beast form. He ripped through the hounds that were chasing the two. He shredded the hounds into bloody pieces, all while Azriel and Feyre flew towards her. 

“COME ON!” the Commander urged. 

“You need to fly,” Azriel panted to Feyre, as he adjusted to take on the extra weight of another girl. 

“I’ll take her,” the Commander shouted. “Go!”

They sprinted to the edge together and the Commander grabbed the girl on the ground. Elain shouted to the girl, “ Grab onto her !”

Then the cliff. It was an immediate drop to death below on the river. The Commander lept off the edge like it was second nature, only with the added weight of the girl in her arms. She squealed in her ear as they free-fell for a second before the Commander pushed them forward on her wings.

Azriel was just barely ahead of her, but Feyre was lagging behind, not used to the weight or feel of the wings. 

One of the hounds broke loose from Tamlin and jumped at them. The Commander of Hybern swerved to avoid it, but Azriel didn’t see it until it was on top of him. He battled to keep airborne as it ripped into his wings and back.

The girl in her arms, black hair streaming around her, screamed. Elain kicked at the beast until its claws broke free and it tumbled into the ravine below.

Another hound ran for them, jumping over the edge.

“Faster!” Azriel roared. “Push up!” Azriel and the Commander kept pushing forward. Feyre was running for the cliff. “Hold them tight! Legs up!” he shouted as Feyre lept off the cliff.

The King of Hybern shot two arrows. One headed straight for Feyre. It met with a wavering blue shield that held off the attack. The Commander of Hybern felt the thud of the second arrow as pain erupted in her leg as Azriel wasn’t able to shield the last ash arrow.

The Commander of Hybern cried out as it pierced through her leg, but she kept pushing on and on despite the pain. She used it to fuel her, to keep her going. 

Azriel glanced at her, a concerned look on his face, before looking back for Feyre. Pain laced the very fiber of his body as the blue patched covered his bleeding wings and back. A patch appeared on her leg to staunch the bleeding as they flew. 

The King barked a series of commands and a barrage of arrows flew their way. It felt like the entire camp was reigning down on them.

Azriel’s shield buckled under the barrage, but they were flying like hell to get away from there. To get out of this god’s forsaken camp. 

Feyre unleashed Helion’s Day Court powers as a whole and ripped wide open the ward surrounding their camp. The Commander of Hybern flew forward, amazed at the powers Feyre possessed. It was barely wide enough for all of them. 

Tamlin was surrounded by the hounds, bleeding and panting in his beast form.

They cleared the ward as the Commander fell from the sky, along with Azriel and Feyre. The Commander did her best to shield the girl in her arms from the fall, but it wasn’t pretty. Azriel was instantly beside her, taking the girl from her. 

Tamlin lept the gap on the cliff as his spring air carried him through the ravine, aiming for the hole that Feyre had made. He wasn’t looking at any of them as he cleared it and winnowed away to who knew where. The Commander of Hybern was relieved at that.

“ GO! ” the Commander shouted at Azriel and Feyre. “GET OUT OF HERE.”

Feyre took Azriel’s hand, giving the Commander a single nod, before winnowing away as well. 

The Commander of Hybern looked at the arrow sticking out of her leg, the tip protruding at the top of her thigh. It burned like nothing she had ever felt before. She couldn’t move it without feeling the twitch of the arrow inside her.

She tried her best to get to her feet, to fly away, to do something. Once the King found her, there was no telling what he would do to her for helping the High Lady’s escape. 

But as she turned to winnow away as well, the King had her by the throat, and slammed her back into the ground. 

She had never seen the King as livid as he was now. His eyes burned with a vengeance.

“Now what do we have here, Commander?” he sneered. 

The Commander of Hybern gasped for breath under the hand he choked her with. She clawed at it with her gloved hands, struggling under his grasp. But he didn’t relent. 

“You are going to regret ever crossing me, Sirius Nyx .”

Chapter 23: "The Ghost of You"

Desperate. Aching. The Commander of Hybern wished she saved a dagger for her own heart. Something to save her from her fate.

But fate was cruel. It was always cruel to her.

The King’s tent was cold, it lacked any warmth that would have otherwise comforted her. She didn’t remember it being this cold, but maybe she had lost too much blood. There was no more patch for the wound on her leg, where the arrow still protruded out from her leg. She couldn’t walk at all, just a slow limp. Like a deer on the verge of death.

That’s what she was as she stared into the King’s eyes, her hunter. Her death.

The ash made her feel even weaker. 

The King threw her on the ground before his throne. The Commander wept behind her mask but made no noise outside of it. The only evidence of it was the stains that marred her cheeks, the red eyes, and the swollen lips. 

Jurian stood by his throne, face blank as he watched her on the ground.

The King faced the tent’s wall.  “I should kill you,” the King stated. “But I think I have something better planned. Something much better.”

The Commander of Hybern remained quiet. She was waiting for her King’s command.

He then slowly, collectively, walked up to her, before throwing a punch straight at her face. She didn’t even dare throw up her hands to protect herself. She felt the mask crack from the pressure as it broke on her face.

The Commander of Hybern ended up laying on the floor groaning. 

The King grabbed her by the collar and lugged her up to her feet. She could barely stand, her ears ringing ever so slightly. Sounds were dimmed, even as the King said, “Take off the mask.”

Slowly, she did. It hit the floor with a small, pitiful noise. His fist didn’t leave the fabric he gripped from her shirt. She realized how little time she had between the battle and helping Feyre. She didn’t even change into her fighting leathers.

The King took a knife out from her belt as her mask slid off, showing the Commander’s dazed face. Blood ran down her forehead from a cut made from the mask.

“I think you can imagine what happens next, right?” he asked her. “I’m sure you were hoping to crawl back to your family after this was all over. Somehow hoping poor Rhysand will take back his broken sister crying for his help.” The Commander was outright weeping now. “But how can he take you in if he can’t even recognize you?”

“You promised you wouldn’t hurt them!” she sobbed. “You bargained with me you wouldn’t hurt my family.”

The King of Hybern spun the blade in his hand. The Commander watched carefully as he raised it to her face, barely feeling its cold edge.

“If memory serves, Rhysand is the only living relative of yours. The others weren’t included in our bargain.” The look on her face made the King smile. Smile wider than she had ever seen. “You should have been more specific.”

As soon as the blade made its first mark, blood was pouring down her face.

The Commander of Hybern was screaming as he cut her from the top of her forehead all the way across her face, across her nose, all the way down to her chin and neck. She could feel the blade chip the top of her nose. As the blade dug in deeper, the Commander could swear she felt it scrape against her skull. He didn’t do it in a clean cut as the Commander struggled under his grip.

For good measure, he made the cut deeper.

She couldn’t see out of her left eye anymore, the blood in her eyes and in her mouth. Warm and sticky.

Her hands tried to push away from the King’s, trying to get him to stop somehow. Get him to drop her. But his fist was still in her shirt holding her tight.

At last, he finally let her go, dropping her to the ground. She writhed in the dirt, holding her face, sobbing. He gave the bloody knife to Jurian, who wiped away the blood in disgust.

The King turned back to face her. “Go ahead, pull the arrow out.” He was so calm now. No longer that screaming rage he once had when Azriel and Feyre flew across the ravine. No longer livid, but cold and cool anger, sharpened like a dagger. 

She looked down at her thigh, at the end of the arrow sticking out of her. She wanted to vomit. Every second it was getting worse. The pain built into a symphony. Blood pooled around her, caking the dirt on the ground. She was lucky he didn’t hit the artery in her neck. 

She didn’t dare look at Jurian, but instead pleaded in his mind, How the hell do I get this thing out of me? 

Snap the arrow’s tip off, then pull it out the other way. It’s the quickest way to do it. Then you’re not drawing the feathers through. Be slow, you don’t want any splinters getting in there or some kind of infection.

The Commander of Hybern grasped the tip of the arrow. The pain was instant. She could feel the arrow pierce all the way through her thigh. It burned like the fire she felt laying face down in the snow as the previous High Lord of the Spring Court cut off her wings.

She ground her teeth so hard that her jaw hurt as she pulled the arrow through a slight bit more and grasped the tip. Fuck fuck fuck. It hurt so bad. The pain was coming off her in waves, and she could swear she was about to pass out. The sweat on her hands was coming off her gloved hands.

In a quick movement, she snapped the tip of the arrow off, shouting in pain. She glanced up at the King only once and found him watching her in amusement as she panted through the pain. It was all she could do. Breathe. She had to breathe through the pain.

What more could she do?

Gods her face… She couldn’t even think straight. She just wanted it to end. She wanted the pain to stop. She just wanted something to make it stop.

Her leg shook violently as she ripped the rest of the arrow out of her, bellowing in pain. 

She panted, trying to wipe away the blood that was pouring down her face. Trying to see through the blood and sweat and dirt. Just even touching her face pained her beyond knowledge.

The King motioned to Jurian. “Don’t stop until I say so.”

What? Before the Commander could even ask what he meant, Jurian had kicked her hard in the stomach. It knocked all the wind out of her as she curled up on the floor of the tent. It didn’t stop there.

Jurian did as the King commanded as he kept kicking her and kicking her. Pain exploded across her stomach and chest. She couldn’t breathe. That’s all that ran through her head. 

I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe.

She didn’t know she was echoing that in Jurian’s head, didn’t know she somehow slipped into his mind.

I’m sorry .

She could feel her vision slipping from underneath her. Like the carpet was being pulled from underneath her sturdy feet. Just falling and falling into herself. The pain itself felt distant.

And it was black.

Then a cold rush washed over her, bringing her back and wide awake. She gasped as the King dropped his hand and motioned for Jurian to continue. Over and over and over again they did this. She felt one of her ribs crack under the pressure. She felt her nose break and her eye swelled up. At one point she was sure that Jurian got on top of her to keep going, but she wasn’t entirely sure by that point.

Jurian followed the King’s orders.

He didn’t stop until he said so.

 

***

 

It’s in the words. It’s all in the wording.

 

The Commander of Hybern slowly came to in her tent. Every ache and pain came with it too. Pain pounded in her head to the beat of her heart. Her thigh was by far the worst of it, where she had taken the ash arrow. It shot through her with every heartbeat, with every breath. 

Her groan alerted Jurian as she roused from unconsciousness. She heard him let out a sigh of, what she assumed was, relief. “Thank the Gods. I thought you weren’t going to make it through the night.”

“What happened?” she sputtered out. She couldn’t open her left eye at all. From a quick, painful, scope with her hand, she could tell it was swollen shut. Two of the fingers in her right hand were broken, bandaged together. So was the massive laceration across her face, loosely, so it wouldn’t restrict her eyesight. There was extensive bruising all along her torso.

Jurian handed her a glass of water as she slowly tried to sit up and would have failed if it wasn’t for Jurian’s guiding hand. “Take it slow, Sirius. And be careful, don’t choke on it. Sip it slowly.”

She gulped down the water from the glass. She didn’t remember the last time she had plain water. Most of the liquid she put in herself was alcohol, mainly the whiskey on her table. Speaking of the whiskey…

“Get me a shot. Please,” she muttered, shoving the glass back to him. Her vision was swimming. She motioned him towards the desk and didn’t bother to look to see if he followed her.

The Commander of Hybern slouched over herself. Every fiber of her was crying out, either from the ash or just the amount of physical trauma she suffered. It could be both. She knew the King wouldn’t let her visit a healer. And considering many of her wounds were still present, it meant that there was ash still in her, or that she was beaten so badly this is what was left.

Jurian handed her back the glass filled with the whiskey from her table. She took it all in two big gulps, sputtering and coughing after. Coughing was a chore. He looked at her with such concern in her eyes.

“The King had me stay here to make sure you woke up.” He ran a hand half-hazardly through his hair. “I have to act as if I hate you because of the shit you pulled. You nearly exposed us both!” he hissed. 

“I know,” she croaked out. “I’m sorry. You were supposed to stay by the fire.”

He huffed a breath. “You are…unbelievable.”

“I’m fucking sorry! What do you want me to say? I can’t exactly get on my knees to beg for your forgiveness. I don’t even know if I can stand.”

“Try.”

Her eyes snapped up to his. “Excuse me?”

“Try to stand.”

The Commander swung her legs off the edge of the cot, letting them hover above the ground. Her tent had been stripped of most of her things. Just the bare essentials. The King must have taken everything. Even the nice fur rugs were gone, just canvas flooring once more.

The moment her feet touched the ground, pain laced up her right leg where she was shot. It took her a moment of wavering silence until she stood on her own two feet. She placed most of her weight on her left leg though. She wouldn’t be able to walk well until her leg healed, producing a heavy limp in her step.

Jurian watched her carefully, arms half extended as if she might fall.

“I’m fine,” she croaked out. The Commander stumbled over a step.

He caught her with a hand, grasping her forearm. “That’s bullshit.”

She gave him a withering glare, but he didn’t retract his statement. It seemed like he was avoiding her gaze entirely. As if the wounds on her face were that ugly. As if she was the worst thing to look at. She had seen him look at the beaten and bloody Children of Blessed with less disdain than her.

Jurian sat her down again on the cot. “You need to rest. We are going to be moving camp soon.”

“What?”

“We are moving the camp South, towards the coast. I don’t know completely yet. He’s going to ravage the human lands.”

The Commander bowed her head and sighed deeply. Of course, the King was going to. Of course, she had to jump ship and try to save everything only for her to be left in the dust. Only for her to be so injured she could barely walk. Only to be so disfigured that her own ally, her own friend, won’t even look her in the eyes.

The King was right. He did make her unrecognizable. A stain on this very earth.

“So what does that mean for us?” the Commander finally asked.

He chewed on his words. “The final battle is coming. He’s going to do one last push before he brings Prythian down. They’re running thin.”

“Do you have any more information? Papers, plans, maps? Something?”

“Why? What are you planning?” The Commander of Hybern turned her gaze to him, but as soon as she opened her mouth he paused her with a hand. “I don’t want to know. I don’t want it used against you.”

The Commander sat back in the cot as comfortably as she could. “You make a fair point. I want those papers though. I need to take it somewhere.”

“Do you even have the magic? Or strength?”

A good question. “I can push it.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“What other choice do I have, Jurian? I can either lay here and rot or I can do something about this fucking war. If you’re not going to do it, I will. I can’t just…leave them.”

Jurian took something out from underneath his chair. Her mask. But it was different now. A long, stark white line ran across the mask. The same pattern, the same way, the King had mutilated her across her face. Her failure, her disobedience, on display for all her soldiers

It was part of her punishment.

“If you’re going, then you’ll need this.” The Commander slowly took it from his hands, turning over the mask and looking it over completely. “I don’t think it’s a wise decision, although I doubt you’ll listen to me.”

“I do listen to you, Jurian.”

He scoffed. “Sometimes, I think you do. But it’s not often.”

“I would flip you off but I think that finger is broken.” Jurian wasn’t smiling. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I didn’t think this would happen.”

“Well, it did. I’m not going to be able to be with you as frequently except for war meetings. If you seek me out, I won’t let you into my tent. If it’s an emergency, get in my head. I don’t want to be seen around you until after this war is over.”

She felt her heart sink for some reason. “Okay. Fine.”

Jurian stood up to leave. “I’m going to tell the King you’re alive. Try to rest before you… do whatever it is you’re going to. I’ll get you the information as soon as I can.”

“How soon will that be?”

“I don’t fucking know. With all the shit going on it might take me a while.”

“I don’t have that long.”

“I don’t care. Take it or leave it. You may be the Commander of this army but I am still your superior. You may be more powerful, but you are one of the stupidest people I have ever met.”

“It’s not like you have a family you need to protect! All of yours are dead!”

He paused, taking a deep breath. Trying to collect himself. “Don’t burn all your bridges, Commander. You have no idea the hell I went through. The things I did for the exact same reason. I understand where you’re coming from but you need to be careful. Sirius…”

She cringed at the sound of her name.“What?”

He watched her carefully. Calculated. “Remember what I said. About the mask. Be sure you remember who you are.”

And who was she anymore? She was the Commander of Hybern. She was Black Death. She was one of the most powerful High Fae to ever walk the earth. She would be Hybern’s downfall. She was a spy.

She didn’t want to remember the person she was anymore. That pathetic girl died in the forest over three hundred years ago.

 

***

 

“Focus,” her Father said. “Otherwise you’ll never master it.”

“Yes, Father.”

He watched her intently as she manipulated her shadows. The room went completely dark, and then light again. It flashed in a single second. And then again. And again. Until at once, she didn’t let the light back in. The room stayed a solid black, the shadows were so thick she could almost taste them. She could almost make them into a physical block of darkness. Something she could physically interact with.

It was almost within her reach. She couldn’t even see her Father sitting across from her. She couldn’t see her hands resting flat on the table between them. It was just pure black; it was what she expected the darkness of the dead to be.

Then she let the shadows recede into the room. She let them crawl back into her. Let the room glow with sunlight once more.

Her Father sat there with a look of boredom. Not at all impressed by her magic. Not that he was ever impressed with her. She didn’t even remember the last time he told her that he loved her, let alone that he was proud of her and anything she did. Her magic was impressive, growing to nearly the power of Rhys, but she didn’t like to show it. Nobody expected it from her, and she liked to keep it that way. 

If any courtier knew that she had that much magic, they wouldn’t touch her. At least, that’s what Father always told her. And she knew as soon as he could, he would marry her off, once he found a male suitable enough. 

Sirius thought that maybe he didn’t want to marry her off. There was a fondness between them, somehow, that she had never gotten from her Mother. Her Mother loved Rhys, and in a way, Sirius thought that maybe her Father loved her in some crooked way. Her and Rhys. 

He would always talk to the courtiers, look over the offers for marriage, and throw them off to the side. Like he didn’t want it or care. It gave her more time to prepare. He probably already knew she was off fucking other males, and the occasional female, but he didn’t acknowledge that. The Court of Nightmares especially. They hated anyone like that. The only people that knew were her brother and her cousin, Mor.

“Is that all you have?” her Father asked.

Sirius didn’t smile. Practicing her face for the Court of Nightmares that she would likely take over. “No. It’s not.”

Her brother would be the High Lord, and she would be the ruler of the Court of Nightmares. At least, until Rhysand visited. The perk of having two children.

As above, so below.

They were reflections of one another.

“Again. Tell me what the first rule of war is.”

The room went pitch black. She materialized her shadows like physical beings, like an extension of herself. 

A circle around the table opened up around them as she consumed the room. She could only see her Father sitting across from her. “The first rule is to protect civilians. Do not target civilians or those who are there for aid.”

“Excellent. What is the second?”

“Protect those who are unable to fight. The injured, the dying.”

The shadows around them swirled as if they were fighting to get in. To consume them, if that was possible.

She made the shadows darker, stronger. Strong enough that it would suffocate anyone that went in them.

“Do you know the third rule?” her Father asked.

Sirius thought for a long, hard minute. “No torturing?”

“No,” he said sternly. “Try again, Sirius. You need to know this if you are going to rule.”

“Did you do this to Rhysand?” she challenged him.

“Yes, I did. I was a lot more harsh on him too, so please, try again.”

The shadows swirled around her now, threatening her Father’s disdained face. “Do not target those there to help.”

“You’ve already said that. It’s part of the first rule. The Night Court has its own rules, too. Besides the treaties we have with the other Courts.”

“And what would that be?”

“Well, the third rule is to never attack hospitals or healers. It goes for either side. The torturing is…not so strict. Why do you think I have Azriel?”

She raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said he was a spy?”

Her Father, the High Lord, shrugged. “He has many purposes.”

The shadows dissipated. She could see her Father’s shoulders relax once more as if he was waiting for them to strike. And strike they could, if she wished. Into black shards of shadow, but she couldn’t figure out how to make them pierce through skin. 

“Desperate to prove yourself, aren’t you?” her Father stated. Sirius said nothing as she looked into his cold eyes. “If only you could hide your wings like your brother. Maybe it would make you more suitable, tameable.”

“I don’t think my lack of wings would make me more tame.”

He let out a cold, cruel chuckle. “No, I don’t think it would.” He got up from his seat. “I want you to study the Court of Nightmares closely. Read about how they operate and their politics. I’ll show you what I can tomorrow when we visit.”

She bowed her head slightly. “I will, Father.”

“I’m serious.”

No, I’m Sirius. The words almost jumped out of her mouth.

“Yes, Father. I heard you.”

When he finally left, Sirius let out a sigh of relief. She slouched in the chair, finally able to feel comfortable. She could still feel Azriel’s presence in the room, tucked behind a bookcase behind her, hidden between the shadows once more. He was supposed to be there to protect her Father, but she knew he wasn’t entirely there for him.

“Are you going to come out of hiding Shadowsinger?” A small smile found it’s way onto her face.

“I was waiting for your Father to make his way back to his room,” he said, stepping out from behind her. He took the seat closest to her. “Thankfully, he is working on paperwork.”

“You aren’t scared he’ll show up again?”

“No, my shadows are aware. Don’t worry, he won’t do anything to me.”

Sirius couldn’t stop smiling. “I got something for you. And before you object, think of it as an early birthday present. I don’t know the next time we will see each other.”

From a pocket of air, Sirius grabbed a wrapped package. She and her Mother were the only people who wrapped presents in this family. It was a tradition during Winter Solstice she and her Mother would sit down and wrap presents together. Every solstice without ever missing one. It had been a long time since she had seen her Mother. She was staying in the Illyrian camps with her brother.

Separating them.

Sirius handed Azriel the wrapped package. “This better not be something…inappropriate.”

She had to hold in a deep chuckle as she looked at the wrapping. Round, about the size of her forearm… “No, it’s not something for ladies. Although, it is shaped that way, huh?”
“It sounds like something Cassian would do,” he mumbled as he opened up the packaging. He paused midway through when he realized what exactly it was. “You didn’t.”

Sirius sat with an anxious smile on her face as a dark scabbard peaked out from underneath the brightly wrapped paper. “You don’t even know what it is yet!”

“I think I do…” He tapered off as he fully revealed the blade. A blue jewel was embedded into the pommel. An obsidian hilt, dark scabbard. On the scabbard were dark runes in Illyrian, almost hidden. “Sirius…”

“It’s for you. Last time I made a trip down to the Court of Nightmares, in my Father’s trove, I found it. It…called to me, and I knew you had to have it, being the spy to the Night Court and all that. It just seemed fitting with your blue siphons.”

“I can’t accept this, Sirius. This is too much.”

She waved him off. “My Father won’t miss it. I’m sure he never even knew it was there. Plus, when that bastard dies, it’ll be mine anyways. And I want you to have it. Plus, apparently, you torture people now. It seems like a good blade for it, don’t you agree?”

The blade was absolutely stunning as Azriel turned it over and looked it over, testing the blade and its sharpness. “I do have to agree, but I can’t.”

“Please take it. I want you to have it. It’s a present! Remember?”

He glanced at her, frowning, but could see a glimmer of delight in his eyes. It seemed as though the blade called to him as well, glowing ever so faintly under his touch. As if it wanted to find him. “Thank you…so much. I don’t think I can ever repay you, Sirius.”

“I know how you can.” His eyes met hers, beautiful hazel matched with violet flowers. “Tell me what you name it.”

A whisper of a smile. As if he knew exactly what to name it. Azriel spoke softly, “Truth Teller.”

 

***

 

“Tonight,” Feyre said. “We winnow—those of us who can. To the human homes—towns. And we winnow out as many of them as we can before dawn.”

Prythian’s war tent was silent with the might of several High Lords, along with their associates. The Night Court stood at the head of most of the planning.

“And where will we put them?” Helion demanded.

“Velaris,” Feyre offered.

It was Rhysand who objected, “Too far.” He was scanning over the map on the table. Looking, hopelessly searching for a place where they could place all those human families. “To do all that winnowing.”

Tarquin pointed to a spot on the map. “Then bring them to Adriata. I will send Cresseida back—let her oversee them.”

“We’ll need all the strength we have to fight Hybern,” Kallias said carefully. As if not to spark any controversy. “Wasting them on winnowing humans—”

“It is no waste.” The voice of the High Lady of the Night Court. “One life may change the world. Where would you all be if someone had deemed saving my life to be a waste of time.” She pointed to Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court. Her equal. “If he had deemed saving my life Under the Mountain a waste of time? Even if it’s only twenty families, or ten…They are not a waste. Not to me—or to you.”

“Sorry to interrupt. That sounded important…”

Everyone’s hands went to their weapons as the Commander of Hybern stepped out of the shadows of the tent from where she had been listening moments before. Her gloved hands were extended up, fingers spread, to show she was unarmed. No shadows above her wings. No magic at all.

Carefully, slowly, with a heavy limp, she made her way to the table. 

“How did you get through the wards?” Rhysand asked. His own metaphorical mask sliding into place, hands sliding into his pockets. “I made it specifically so no one with Hybern could winnow in.”

Azriel, grayish looking from the amount of blood lost, had a hand on the knife, Truth Teller, strapped to his waist. The Commander’s gaze lingered there for a moment before she said, voice hoarse and almost broken, “I just…went through.”

“You came,” Feyre said. 

“I have.”

“Why is the Commander of Hybern here?” Helion said, his gaze wary of her very presence. Tarquin had a murderous look on his face.

“If you check the pocket on my left side leg pocket, I brought information for you. I’ve been the spy working with Jurian. We’ve been working together.”

“She shouldn’t be here,” Tarquin said, looking at Rhysand.

It was Feyre who said, “She helped save my sister, and helped Azriel and I. She gets to stay.”

But even Rhysand looked like he was questioning his mate’s decision. There was probably some back and forth behind closed minds.

General Cassian, alive and well, was the one who reached into her pocket to grab all the documents the Commander scrounged. Everything she could find and had access to. All of their assets, all of the details she could manage to find on the King, all of the battle plans. Everything.

It still didn’t feel like enough.

Jurian didn’t have much to offer.

“There should be notes where the King plans to host where he wants to have the last battle. He’s going to bring out everything he can. Including the Cauldron. He’s been waiting to use its power, but it’s missing a piece of it. Ever since Nesta Archeron. He’s going to be looking for her most of all.”

Cassian was flipping through it, handing pieces to Azriel and Rhysand to look at, while he slowly nodded his head. All the other High Lords were looking in anticipation.

“It checks out,” Rhysand said. “Our sources say the same things, but this brings light on a few things. How did you manage to get your hands on these?”

The Commander shrugged. “It’s not important.”

“Why?” Feyre said.

“I owed you a favor. For taking the ash out of my wings…”

“No, that was repaid by helping us with Elain. Why now ?”

The Commander paused, thinking. “My family. The King knows them—threatened to use them against me. I was forced into this role with the assumption that I was either going to be thrown into the lowest pit of Hybern and tortured until my last day on this earth again, or I could be his Commander and he wouldn’t touch my family. I just want to go home, to Velaris. That is why.”

There was a look of understanding that flashed in Rhysand’s eyes.

The Commander continued. “Please know I never wanted this, and that I didn’t mean to take it as far as I had. I didn’t ask to be Made.”

“Made?” Helion asked.

“I died. A long time ago. I think three hundred years ago…Someone kept my wings as a mantle piece and somehow the King managed to get a hold of them. He brought me back to life from the Cauldron.”

“Similar to Jurian…” Feyre said, trailing off. 

“Yes. Like Jurian. I had only been alive again less than two months before you found me, High Lady.”

“Well,” Feyre said, looking at Rhysand and the other High Lords. “I did promise she would have a place in Velaris. I’m willing to keep that promise.”

“She should be hung from the gallows for what she has done,” Tarquin, the High Lord of the Summer Court said. 

The Commander slowly lowered her arms, so as to not startle anyone, resting them flat on the table. Some of them, especially Azriel in the corner, noted how she shifted the weight off of her injured leg, black bandages wrapped around the outside of her leg as well. He was sure if he touched it blood would come away, but since it was dark no one would see the stains.

There was an air about her that almost seemed familiar to him. But he couldn’t quite place it.

“If that’s what you decide,” the Commander said. “I’ll accept whatever punishment for the things I’ve done. I know there are some things I can’t ever take back.” She actually sounded…remorseful. 

Cassian handed his High Lord the rest of the papers. There was blood staining a few of the pages, still wet. All of the people she killed were written in there as well, as well as the list the King gave her.

“What kind of punishment would you deem fit?” Rhysand asked Tarquin. “As if the King hasn’t given her enough of one.”

“You have the Prison? Right? Some sort of justice system?”

“Amarantha destroyed most of what little justice system we had. Most of my territory is still trying to be tamed once again. It’ll take time to undo everything she had done.”

“Maybe this is something better decided after the war is over,” Helion stated. “What else can you give us?”

“Ships. He has more coming.” There was a weight that dropped on everyone’s shoulders. As if it wasn’t dire enough. “More soldiers, I’m not sure from where. Maybe Hybern. He doesn't trust me enough to tell me these things anymore. But there is a rumor among the soldiers about it.”

Amren eventually made her way to the tent, Book in hand, with claims to be able to immobilize the army. The Commander listened carefully. What she had didn’t sound entirely unreasonable.

They needed access to the Cauldron, and split amongst others, those who were Made, they might be able to have the Cauldron under their control. They could harness its power to bind the King and his army. Wipe them from the earth entirely.

It was the only thing they had at that point. To cross through two armies and face the Cauldron.

“I think I have a way to distract the King for you,” the Commander finally said after hearing everything. “I might be able to lure the King away from the Cauldron for you. Find a way to get him away from there.”

“Do you really think so, girl?” Amren asked her. “He is not one to be toiled with.”

“Oh, I know.”

“He will kill you if he can.”

There was a long silence, but the Commander didn’t object. She didn’t balk from it. 

“I will do what I can to get you there,” was all the Commander replied.

Everyone’s expressions were grim. 

One by one, the High Lords filed out with their people. To command their armies. To ready them for one final stand. That night, they would winnow as many humans as they could to the Summer Court. Even Nesta and Elain left. It was only the Night Court and their associates by the end, the Inner Circle, looking over the maps with the Commander. And it almost felt natural to her. What it should have been. There was this pit in the bottom of her stomach that threatened to swallow her whole.

“Thank you,” Feyre said quietly. “This…this helps so much.”

The Commander bowed as well as she could. From the look on Feyre’s face, she could see how much she was trying not to flinch from the movement. 

“What did he do to you?” The Commander knew exactly what she meant.

The Commander of Hybern lifted her mask just slightly and pulled down the portion of her armor that covered her neck. There was a long, jagged knife wound. Even Cassian grimaced at the sight. “It stretches across my face, the same way the mask reflects. It’s only part of the punishment. There’s a lot more underneath all the armor.”

“Do you want me to—” but the Commander held up a hand to stop her.

“I can’t receive healing. Not unless the King grants it.”

“What a prick,” Mor remarked. 

The Commander, to her credit, tried to chuckle. A hand pressed against her torso to stop it from aching. She cleared her throat. “Speaking of…I should probably leave before he figures out I’ve left.”

Rhysand interrupted with, “Come outside with me for a moment.”

Fear spiked through the Commander.

Was he finally going to kill her?

Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court, waved off the guards by the door. She could still hear the chatter of the Inner Circle from inside the war tent. But Rhysand stood quietly off the the side of the entrance, his hands enclosed in front of him, as he looked up at the afternoon sky. She didn’t know exactly what he was going to do.

Her mind was screaming at her. Roaring. Hellcat…

“I wanted to thank you for the part you played in helping Feyre. I…wasn’t entirely sure if my mate would have made it back as well as she did. I know what it’s like to have your family under threat.” He took a moment. “I can protect them too. If you want.”

“You already do,” the Commander quickly said. Almost too quickly. “I’m not likely to survive the next battle to come. There is still ash in my leg. I can feel it. There isn’t a clear way to get it out, and with all of injuries…I doubt I will walk away from my encounter to the King. I did find a way around the bargain, but it’ll only buy me time.”

Rhysand nodded solemnly. “I understand.”

“If I do, on the off chance, survive, will I have a place in Velaris?” Gingerly. She almost didn’t ask it. She wasn’t sure what his answer will be.

“Feyre insists on it, but we will still need to decide. Some rules would have to be put into place if you do. If you do survive, if any of us do, I would like to work with you in the future. You would make a valuable asset considering your strength in magic. Maybe working with Azriel would be a good fit,” he pondered. He shook his head. “But I’m getting ahead of myself.”

“I don’t know,” the Commander said. “I’m Daemati. I don’t know if I could keep up with your spymaster.”

Rhysand’s eyes only widened slightly at the indication. “Interesting.”

She shrugged. “I’ve always envied shadowsingers. I try to mimic my shadows like them. It keeps people unaware of what actually lurks underneath the mask.”

“And what is that?”

The Commander gave it a thought. “I died too long ago to remember who I used to be. How I’m supposed to be now. If I do survive,” the Commander said, turning to him. She held out a gloved hand. “I’d love to work for you. To…find some way to make up for what I’ve done.” 

He took hers and shook it. A firm look on his face.“It’d be a pleasure, Commander. See you on the other side.”

Every part of her wanted to scream out, It’s me! It’s your sister! I was trying to protect you!

But she said nothing, and let him walk away. 

She couldn’t. He didn’t even recognize her.

Notes:

The song this chapter is referring to (it's in the title) I think pretty well describes Sirius. I used it a lot while brainstorming for her. So if you want some free foreshadowing... here it is :)) Especially considering the contents of this chapter.

Chapter 24: A Sprig of Wildflowers

Tam, Sirius said quietly in his mind. Tam, come here.

She knew he could hear her as she stood behind the Spring Court Manor. It was dark out, far past dusk when only the stars and moon would guide her. His parents and siblings were asleep, but she could still feel his mind awake. 

Waiting. Waiting for her.

Tamlin hurry your ass up , she barked.

Give me a moment, he argued back, mind to mind. You’re more impatient than my Father on a bad day.

Sirius scoffed quietly as she hid behind one of the many rose bushes in the garden. She was not nearly as bad. 

She heard one of the patio doors shut, the glass rattling the only indication it shut. It was almost so quiet she barely missed it, except for the distinct hurried crush of gravel heading her way.

Ready? Sirius asked him. 

She saw him round the corner of the bush, eyes bright despite the darkness surrounding them. He held out a hand to help her up, and she gratefully took it, holding his hand like it was a lifeline.

Tamlin grasped her hand, his thumb tracing over hers. I’m ready. Let’s go .

Sirius winnowed them far, far away. The usual darkness surrounded them, the familiar lack of air as they took the plunge, before they arrived at their destination.

A beach along the Spring Court’s border. The waves rolled lazily over the sand. The tide was far out, enough that she could see glittering sea shells amongst the sand. Sirius let out a little giggle as she tugged Tamlin closer to the ocean.

“Come on! This is the best time of night to go!”

He ran beside her, laughing all the way. “Slow down, Princess! You’re going to run me over!”
She laughed into the wind, dragging Tamlin along. Water splashed along their ankles, frigid and chilling. “Princess?”

He shrugged as he slowed down next to her. He pulled her in ever so slightly, settling his hands on the tops of her hips. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. Do you like it?”

She gave him a shy smile. “A little bit.” She rested her head on his shoulder as she breathed him in. “It’s so good to see you again.”

He rubbed a hand slowly through her hair. Tamlin traced the lines of her neck, moving her long ebony hair off to the side. A quick, stolen kiss along her temple. “I’ve missed you too, Siri.”

“If you want, we can still run away together. We can still leave.”

“I can’t just… abandon my Court. And you shouldn’t either.”

Sirius looked up at him. “I don’t care. As long as I’m with you. Nobody would let us be together if they found out.”

Tamlin’s jaw was set in a firm line. “If they haven’t found out already. Your brother made a remark last time I saw him.”

Sirius took a step back. “You saw Rhys? Where?”

“It was something with the Courts. My Father dragged us along. He took Rhysand to the meeting and we ended up sitting together. He said something along the lines of being careful around you .”

“Oh shit ,” she muttered. “Do you think our families know?”

Tamlin shook his head. “My family has no idea as far as I know.” He crossed the distance between them, taking her hand. “It’ll be okay, Siri. Nothing bad is going to happen, okay?”

And maybe it was the way the moon almost gave him a halo, or the way his voice reassured her, but she believed him. For a moment, she believed that everything would be okay. 

They were each other's haven. Their safety. Their light in the darkness. When everything else seemed bleak they always found a way back to each other. With every heartbeat.

“I don’t want anything bad happening to you,” Sirius said quietly. 

He chuckled, pushing a strand of hair out of her face. “I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you.”

She smiled ever so slightly, nuzzling her face into his hand. Sirius closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. They had been away from each other for almost a month, and the distance had almost killed her. She missed him more than she cared to admit. More than she liked to acknowledge. 

Only Rhys seemed to catch onto what was going on between the two of them. And maybe Cassian, but she knew neither of them would tell her parents. If they deemed she was in danger, maybe, but Rhys was always relaxed with who she was with. This was the only relationship he truly frowned upon, and that was likely only because of the wrath her Father would rain down upon her. 

How dare she befriends and courts someone from an opposing court. The Spring Court and Night Court were always against each other.

Sirius leaned up and kissed him before he could utter another word. She missed this. She missed him. She missed being vulnerable, being herself, with the male she loved.

Tamlin laced his fingers through her hair, pulling her closer to him. His other hand landed on her waist again as he traced her lower back. She arched into the touch. Everything about him. They were two souls bound into one in the quiet of the dark. Their only witness was the moon and stars hovering overhead.

He pulled back, not wanting to take things too far too soon. “I thought we could save some of that for the end of our date, don’t you think?” His finger lightly trailed the inside of her wing in emphasis. A whisper of a promise. 

Sirius shivered, a part of her curling into the touch. “ Stop ,” she teased. “If you do that again, I won’t make it to the end of our date.”

He chuckled slightly before he just held her hand. She missed his touch already. This time, it was Tamlin tugging her along as they splashed along the beach. They stopped and picked up shells as they talked, telling each other events that they had missed in each other's lives. 

Sirius had figured out how to send small notes to him in her spare time. Between the notes and secret letters, there wasn’t much she was missing. Other than just him.

Tamlin bumped her in the shoulder. “I heard you were going on a trip soon, Princess.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t tell you that…”

“Rhys told me when I last saw him.”

“Oh, when was that?”

Tamlin took a moment. “A week or two ago, I think. He just mentioned that you and your Mother were going to visit him in one of the war camps. Said that he was going to meet you there or something.”

“Yeah, I’m going to go see him. I haven’t seen him in almost…four months? It’ll be really nice honestly. I need to get away for a bit.”

His thumb rubbed her hand reassuringly. “What do you think you guys will do?”

“I don’t care,” she said. “We usually end up in some taverns to sing or just pace around the camp for a bit. I think we are supposed to have a snowball fight…”

A light chuckle escaped Tamlin’s throat. “I can’t imagine him doing that at all.”

She turned her head slowly to him. “He takes it very seriously. Very.”

He couldn’t contain his laughter. Tamlin couldn’t even imagine the famous Illyrian warrior, snowball in hand, fighting his sister with such ferocity to make her react this way.

“So… Do we want to sneak into the Manor to finish the night?” Sirius asked him. She had this mischievous look on her face, a face like a cat, as she smirked at him.

His face went bright red. “Well- I, I don’t see why not?” It was her turn to laugh this time. “Shut up,” he muttered half-heartedly.

“Expecting something?” Sirius asked, poking him.

Even his ears were red. Sirius had never seen anything like it. “Only if you’d like to have sex. Otherwise, it’s fine.”

“Are you kidding me?” she said. She sent an image to him through his mind of the last time they were together. The position they did…How much pleasure he made her feel. How much she really enjoyed him. “But first, I wanted to give you this.”

Out of her pocket, she pulled out a small box and handed it to him. Tamlin looked at it curiously before looking at her, even more curious. What could be inside?

“Open it,” Sirius encouraged.

She had snuck into her Father’s trove again and found the perfect thing. While her Mother hid Rhys’ ring in the Weaver’s, Sirius had to find her own ring. Something she could call her own.

The moment he opened the box, his eyes widened. Tears slowly grew in his eyes, landing on his cheek. Sirius watched him register what exactly he saw. 

“It’s not for an engagement unless that’s what you want…”

“Sirius…”

He pulled out the ring, golden and lovely just like him. There were emeralds along the top of it, diamonds separating them. There was a single dark blue sapphire next to the emerald at the top. 

Darkness and light. Sirius and Tamlin.

“I thought you’d like it… But if it’s too soon, then we don’t have to. There is no promise beyond what you want. If you don’t want to marry, then we won’t, but I wanted something you can always look on fondly. Think about me.”

Tamlin slid the ring onto his left ring finger. It was a perfect fit… as if it was meant for him. He put the box into his pocket before he turned to hug her. She could feel his shoulders shaking as he held her, and Sirius didn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around him.

They stood like that for a long time, holding each other, just the two of them. Under the moon and stars.

When he let her go, Sirius wiped away the stray tears still on his cheeks. She had a few tears of her own. 

They would make it work. He loved her and she loved him. They had to make it work. She couldn’t imagine her life with anyone else.

“I want to live a life with you, Sirius. I don’t want anyone else. No one could ever love me as much as you, and I to you.” Tamlin held her in the palm of his hand. Like no other. 

There was no love like this.

“What do you want to do?” she asked him quietly. “We have a few options. Marry in secret and forsake our families. Ask for their permission and pray to the Mother they will allow it. Or run away.”

He pressed his forehead against hers. “I don’t care. I just want to enjoy this moment a little longer. Ask me again tomorrow.”

She grasped his hand, holding it in hers. “Do you want me to take you home?”

He looked at the sky once more, beholding the slowly rising sun. Already in the distance, he could see the light blue of the sky. Dawn would be approaching soon. 

Tamlin slowly nodded, but not before giving her a deep kiss. A genuine kiss. One that could bridge the dusk and dawn. “Let’s go.”

Sirius winnowed them back near his family’s manor in a grassy meadow. There were wildflowers in bloom, and quickly, Tamlin picked a few of them before handing them to her. “I’m going to get you a ring too, Princess. One as beautiful as you, if they can ever achieve that beauty.”

Sirius felt her heart rush, flood with giddiness. She was going to be with him. She was going to spend the rest of her immortal life with him.

“ TAMLIN !” his Father’s voice roared. They both froze in their tracks, their silhouettes barely illuminated in the morning sun. Heavy footsteps, fuming, thumped down the many steps.

“ Go ,” Tamlin urged her. “Hide.”

Sirius bolted to a nearby bush and used the shadows of the early light to cover herself. 

“Tamlin!” his Father’s voice thundered. He rushed down the steps outside, wearing only a fine cream silk robe, and came at Tamlin. 

Tamlin stood there in fear of what his Father would do, waiting for the blow. And the blow came. It left Tamlin on the ground holding his face, blood trickling from his nose. 

“Where the fuck were you, boy ? What did I tell you?” his Father seethed. “Where. Were. You.”

“I took a walk…” he said. Meek. Holding his face even though his fae body was already healing the bruised flesh.

“A walk ? For three hours ?”

“Father…”

“ Get up! ” he screamed. Tamlin sprung to his feet, a soldier at war.

Sirius could only watch as he berated him. Struck him. Belittled him in every way for his disobedience.

There was an evident fury in his eyes as he connected the dots, as he said, “Were you out with that little bitch from the Night Court again?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me, boy. Athelas said he saw you sneak off with a female with wings this morning. You don’t get to lie to my face and claim it truth .”

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT ME TO TELL YOU!” Tamlin roared. His claws were out now, glimmering. 

Sirius flinched.

His Father did a double take. Looking down at his youngest son with disgust. “Is she still here?” Tamlin went still as death. “I can smell her,” he growled.

Oh shit.

Go, Sirius. Go now before things get bad , he said to her. She was already in his mind, waiting for him to say anything. Waiting to see if things got better. It was evident it would not.

She didn’t wait. Sirius winnowed back to the Night Court, a heavy strain on her already depleted magic. She landed with a thump on the House of Wind’s floor. In her dark, empty room. The wildflowers were still clutched in her hand.

Her heart was racing, not only for her, but for her lover nearly a continent away. At his Father hitting him. She had never felt such stark fear and rage at the sight. The way he instantly cowered before the male.

She waited in the darkness for a long time, long enough she could see the sun slowly rise against her window. She waited long enough that her eyes were beginning to droop in exhaustion. Until she finally had enough. 

Until she pulled out a small slip of paper and wrote on it, Are you okay? Are you safe?

She didn’t get a response until late morning. Almost two hours later. And in those hours, her eyes didn’t leave her desk, didn’t take her eyes off the spot where she knew it would reappear. 

Tamlin’s only response was, I don’t think we should talk for a while. Goodbye, Sirius.

She could feel the tears press up against her eyes, falling onto her cheeks. Could feel her grief just barely held back by the slight hope that they could make it. That their love would be strong enough to pull them through.

But a moment later, a thump landed on the desk, and the small box she gave him appeared before her. His ring was inside.

And there was no one there to comfort her as she wept, clinging to the last trace of him, clinging to her wildflowers. 

Her only company was the shadows under her bed and a love that was no more.

 

***

 

The Commander of Hybern did not get much sleep that night. They were filled with tangled sheets and nightmares of familiar old faces. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a pleasant dream, let alone a time when she slept for so long. Even if it wasn’t long.

Tomorrow, she would die. Her fate was foretold in the stars and in the mark of her bargain with the King. At the beginning of the world and all the way to the end.

Always an angel; never a god.

Her last day alive was spent planning and marching with her soldiers. Her limp was still heavy and evident. It hurt whenever she put weight on it, which was any time she moved. But duty demanded her to be there, to help her soldiers, to help her King. Most of the soldiers looked at her with disgust. Some with opportunity at the chance to be the next Commander. They would have a more likely shot than she cared to admit.

The human lands were ravaged, as foretold by Jurian. The soldiers had a fun day of pillaging, raping, burning, and taking whoever was left alive to be tortured and killed. There was no one left after Hybern had toiled it.

She thought long and hard during those hours about how she was going to distract the King. How she would work her way around their bargain. This was her last chance, after all. 

It was almost a eureka moment. And it finally clicked in her head what she should do. But there was one issue she had to sort out first.

Jurian, I need you .

He didn’t even glance her way. Not as he chatted with the young soldiers near the revelry. They were burning whatever was left of the humans, whoever wasn’t ruined enough to be fun to play with. 

The King sat next to her on his throne. He watched idly as their soldiers celebrated. She sat beside him on the ground, legs stretched out onto the ground below. There was only a small platform separating the ground and where she sat. She wasn’t even given the luxury of a chair.

He didn’t trust her. That much was evident. He always kept a close eye on her, never letting too much information slip besides those that are most vital to her.

What is it? Jurian asked her, mind to mind.

I need to see you tonight. I have an idea .

There was a moment of pause before he finally said, Fine. But make it quick .

The Commander of Hybern quickly left his head. She didn’t want to hear his criticism. His thoughts about her. She didn’t want to know whether he hated her or not. 

She let out a quiet sigh and to her surprise, the King noticed. 

“What’s wrong?’ he asked her, glancing down at her from where she sat at the edge of the platform.

The Commander of Hybern did her best to hide her surprise. “Just anxious about the battle tomorrow. It’ll be our last stand against Prythian.”

The King had a smug look on his face. “That it will be. You have nothing to be worried about, Commander. It will go swiftly. In fact, you shouldn’t have to worry too much at all.”

She frowned. “Why is that?”

“You’ll be with me tomorrow. Not on the front lines. I need you there with me and the Cauldron to keep it safe. Any chance Prythian gets, they’ll use it to steal the Cauldron away.”

“Why not the front lines?” She would have thought he loved to have her slaughtered. By her own people.

“The Cauldron has shown to have an effect on you. If I use the Cauldron, you’ll go down in battle, and I can’t have you wavering. We have enough soldiers to make up for your presence.”

It was almost like he was begging her to kill him. Like he was asking for it. Like he expected it.

But all the Commander did was nod. “Yes, my Liege.”

“Meet me in the war tent early tomorrow morning. From there, we will move the Cauldron to the top of the cliff.” He pointed behind them. To the looming cliffsides next to the ocean. By having the Cauldron take the high ground, he could use it as a weapon. He would use it to wipe out thousands at once.

“Would you like me there at sunrise?”

“A little bit before then. We need everyone in position by the time Prythian decides to show up. Go, get some rest, Commander.”

The Commander of Hybern got to her feet, swaying slightly as she tried to get her injured leg under her, and bowed to her King. “I’ll see you in the morning then, my Liege.”

“Do take care, Commander. I wouldn’t want anyone hurting you.”

She furrowed her brow under the mask. She wanted to ask more but decided against it. Was he threatening her? Or was she overthinking his words?

The Commander didn’t give herself the chance to ponder. She turned her heel and began her march to her tent. Dark, oily shadows curled around her. An unnecessary expense on her magic, but necessary to keep her soldiers from feeding on her carcass. It was like they smelled the soon-awaiting death on her. 

There was a rotting smell that came from her leg. She was sure the other soldiers could smell it too. Infection, from lack of care or cleanliness. She could almost feel her body begin to weaken as it ate at itself.

The soldiers looked past her as she limped back to her tent. She was exhausted. Finally.

“You asked for me?” Jurian sat on her cot, a glass of whiskey.

She didn’t even see him slip away from the revelry. Let alone how he managed to sneak into her tent. 

The Commander of Hybern frowned. “Is that my whiskey?”

He carefully looked at the glass and then back to her. “Yes.”

She didn’t bother to reprimand him as she took a seat on top of her desk. She slowly took off her mask so as to not irritate the laceration across her face. It still wasn’t healed. It would probably take a long time for that to heal as well. There were large, ugly scabs now. And whenever she wore the mask, the sweat would collect and make them peel like wet paper.

The Commander grabbed the glass bottle of whiskey and downed three big gulps before setting it back down on her desk again. Jurian watched with raised eyebrows. 

“I didn’t come here to drink with you,” he said. 

She replied, “I know. I found a way around the King’s bargain.”

He gave her a once over. All of the wounds on her. “I think it’s a little late for that.”

“He wants me there with him tomorrow for the last battle. It could be my chance to finally kill him, or at least give Prythian a chance to get to the Cauldron.”

“He’ll kill you,” Jurian stated plainly.

“I know. I’m sure he would take delight in being the one who delivers me back to the Cauldron.”

“So,” he said, shifting on the cot. “What did you find?”

“I need to borrow your sword.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s it?”

“He said I could never attack him with my weapons. He never said anything about other weapons.” She took another big gulp from the whisky bottle. “It feels so stupid. Like…it was right in front of me this whole time. If it even works at all…”

Jurian turned it over in his head. “It could work. It’s definitely clever. What gave you the idea in the first place?”

The Commander of Hybern said, “I visited the Bone Carver, if you know who that is. Ancient being. I don’t think it's from this world at all. He said something about how my answer is within the words of the bargain. So instead of looking for a way to break it, it suggested a way around it.”

Jurian nodded, thinking everything through, before unsheathing his sword. He handed it to her, hilt first. “Take it. Trade me with yours. If you keep it in the scabbard I doubt he’ll notice.”

The Commander traded him swords, letting out a quiet sigh. As if she thought that it may not have been enough to convince him. She replaced where her sword should have been on her side. His was a little lighter but not as balanced as hers. Where hers was a pure black blade, his was sharpened steel with leather. 

Jurian tried out the sword in her tent. Testing the length, the strength, the amount of bend that was in the sword. “I wish he gave me a sword like this. It’ll do well for tomorrow. I have a long night ahead of me, one that I started this morning.”

The Commander only sat back at her desk. “Why’s that?”

“Unlike you, I don’t plan to stick it out for Hybern. I’ve gathered some human soldiers.” He put up a hand before she could speak. “Nothing outrageous. Just whatever Grayson’s family could grab and are willing to fight. We’ll be joining Prythian tomorrow. You just join us.”

“I…I can’t. I told Feyre I’d find her a way in. To get to the Cauldron.”

He almost looked disappointed. “Have it your way.” He sheathed her sword in his scabbard. “I can’t stop you. But if you want to, there is a slot open for you. For you to lead, and hopefully not be killed. If any of us survive.”

She gave him a half smile. “I hope so. I think I was just starting to like you. You of all people deserve to live. You’ve been living this war for almost five hundred years.”

He gave her a once over. “Yeah, you too Sirius…You don’t have to stay here. You can leave with me. Please leave with me.”

The guilt racked her. It hit her straight in the chest. But all she could do was shake her head. And with the mask off, he could clearly see her reaction. The agony. The anger. All the lines in her face and eyes. “I can’t. I can’t do it, Jurian. He…He has a hold over me; I don’t know how to explain it.” She could feel the pitiful tears welling in her eyes. “I can’t leave.”

He set a hand on her shoulder. It almost made her flinch. “Please. I don’t want to leave you here, my friend.”

All she could do was pull him into a hug. And there they stayed for a long time. “If the King asks—”

“Tell him. Tell him what I did, and I want you to save that memory to show me later.”

“Jurian…”

He pulled back to look at her. “Survive. Show me after the carnage. Show me, Sirius.”

And he left before another tear could be shed.

 

Chapter 25: My Children, Where Have You Gone.

Notes:

Hey! I'm so sorry for waiting so long to update. Life got busy. I visited my long-distance partner, then I had college work, and then my pet passed away. Now finals... it's been a whirlwind and I appreciate your patience immensely. Here's the long-awaited chapter! And it's long.

I have one more chapter planned before the second part of this fic. I may take a small break there too to read up on Silver Flames again, but I've got some stuff in mind ;)) Not sure if I'll continue into the new Cresent City because I haven't read it yet, but who knows? Maybe it needs a bit of Sirius-ness... ENJOY!!!

The Commander of Hybern wished she had never woken up. 

Her last night was spent drinking herself to sleep. What was the point? If she was going to leave this world again, she might as well make the most of it, despite the shooting pains in her body and a cut across her face that it hurt to talk. To blink. To do anything.

She didn’t even have time to hate herself. She strapped on all her gear and Jurian’s sword, now in her sheath, and strode out of her tent. They were located along the coast. The wind whipped against her braid that she wrapped around her head like a crown. Stray hairs from the back of her head were pulled out of the braid. 

Their camp sloped upwards to the East, rocky outcroppings and cliffs jutted out like a crone's fingers. The drops were dangerous, hundreds of feet below to more rocks. The shore to the ocean was less than a mile away. Perfect for ships.

The Commander of Hybern limped to the King’s tent. The thrum of the Cauldron emanated from inside, her skin shivering in response. Almost in instinct.

“My Liege?” she spoke outside his tent. Waiting for his approval. Already the camp was beginning to stir, thrumming with energy for the fight coming their way. They were waiting for the bloodshed, eager for it.

His voice was clear. “Come in, Commander.”

His tent was cold and for the most part barren. Like winter had snuck into his tent and made a home there. The Cauldron sat there in the middle of the floor with the King standing beside it. His clothes were simple, but he was armed and ready too. His wicked crown sat on his bleak brown hair. It was almost too gold for his skin. It made him look sick.

“Ready I see.”

She looked down at herself. Her mask was as comfortable as ever. It fit snugly against her face, not revealing a single thing about her. She was blank. Besides the white mark on her cheek and across her face. The mirror image of the cuts he gave her.

“As ready as I can be.” She sauntered up to him, placing an easy gloved hand on the Cauldron. She could feel its thrum of power like a jolt to her blood. As if it beckoned her to use it, a whisper in the back of her ear. Hellcat… 

She shivered, feeling the power snake up her neck to the back of her head. She raised her chin to the King. “Where would you like to move it?”

The King also put a hand on the Cauldron. “To the top of the hill. The tallest one. Can you winnow us there?”

She bowed her head. “Of course, I can.”

It only took half a thought as she visualized where she wanted to take them. It was atop a cliff overlooking the whole valley. From up here, she could see all the way to the coast and many miles to the West. They would know exactly when their enemy would arrive. 

The wind whipped at them more up here. Many of the generals and commanders would be placed below them on the foothills of the cliff. But on the other side of the plateau, it was a direct drop to a rocky outcropping. The splash of the sea was not far away. A mist upon the rocks.

“Now we wait,” The King said. He clasped his hands together. “Come stand with me, Commander. Isn’t it beautiful?”

The Commander of Hybern stood beside him at a safe distance. Within arms reach. She looked over the valley, their dark camp lit up by the golden sunlight of the morning, some parts shadowed by the cliffs. The valley was bright orange. A gentle sway of grass, a forest off in the distance that had hundred-year-old trees. It was quiet. 

“Yes, it is beautiful, My Liege.”

“One day, this land will be ours. And we can look at this sunrise every day. I want that for my people, and for you, Commander. I want us to feel the sunrise and never have to bow our heads again. Do you understand my vision now?”

And maybe it was the peacefulness of it. Maybe it was how he spoke in earnest that made her pause. That made her question if she was making the right choice. “I think I understand.”

He placed an assured hand on her shoulder. Not one to hurt. Nor to comfort. But a steady weight that grounded her. “One day. Maybe not today, or tomorrow. But we will make that dream.” He let it sit there for a long moment as the sun rose above them. “Come, we need to get the soldiers ready.”

When he took his hand off her shoulder, it felt barren. A lack of warmth that used to be there. She couldn’t figure out his motive behind this. This back and forth. This love and hate. But regardless, she felt its absence. And with it, she left to ready her soldiers and alert the other commanders.

It was boring, to say the least. She made her rounds and alerted the soldiers. They had a mid-day meeting with the King, who had busied himself with setting up massive, powerful shields around the entire army. Along the entire battlefield. There were many more. Shields within shields. Just to protect them. 

The Commander had to give it to him, he was well prepared. And impressively powerful. Jurian’s absence was a startling realization, one that made the King rage. She could see it in his eyes. The way his fists clenched at the news during the meeting. He would be looking for him on the battlefield.

He wanted to be the one to kill him for his betrayal. Little did he know the one that would be coming as soon as his back was turned. 

She could feel Jurian’s sword on her side. Heavy and weighted with an agony for which she had to use it for. It was reassuring as she placed her hand on it whenever she could.

Her last day. 

That’s what she kept reminding herself.

She would make it one worth a story and song. A ballad. One that soldiers told their children to get them to sleep to make them behave. Otherwise, Black Death will catch them at the door, under their bed, or inside their closet.

She would never truly be dead if she kept their fear alive.

Time passed, and for a while, she thought Prythian wasn’t going to show up at all. That she had one more chance to run away. To run away as she once dreamed of as a child.

It wasn’t until late afternoon, almost night, when the first alarm sounded. It started the Commander into action.

Even from where the Commander was, she could see the underwhelming force on the slopes opposite Hybern—barely standing and exhausted. They didn’t choose a very good time to make themselves known. They should have attacked in the early morning when very few soldiers roamed about. But they weren’t thinking of that. They were thinking of how to end this quickly. For whose side, she wasn’t sure at this point. 

The Commander winnowed to the King’s tent where he waited patiently. He heard the alarms as well as she had. “They’re here,” she said pointedly. 

“To the hill, then. Let’s finish this. Are all the commanders in place?”

She nodded. “They are along the hillside. All of the soldiers are getting into rank. I made sure of it.”

He held out a hand for her. “Yes, let’s go then.”

This time he winnowed them there. The wind whipped around them, and if it weren’t for the bloodshed that was about to occur, she would have thought today would have been a good day to fly. Maybe she would get one last flight before this was all over. One more flight… that’s what she’d fight for. That’s what she’d fight for as she felt the wind circle around her, her arm slightly raised to feel the pull of it.

They could see everything clearly up here, with such clarity it scared her. She could almost see each individual soldier. Every soldier that would inevitably die. Every soldier that would fall from the sky or drop to the ground.

“You’ve fought in very few battles. Do you know what comes next, Commander?”

“The magic. They’re going to try and break the shield.” She tucked her hands behind her back, observing silently.

The King looked somewhat impressed. “Good…very good. Let’s see how well they’ll do.”

The long silence was broken by the first barrage of magic. It came from both sides, tearing at each other through the barrier of adamant force. Magic hit the shield so hard she could feel the ripples in the very earth around her. 

“Why put up the shield if they are just going to tear it down?” the Commander asked her King. 

“Because,” he said, watching with intent at the battle before them. “It will chip away at their magic.”

So that they were less hard to fight; so they were easier to kill.

Hybern’s army was eerily silent, waiting calmly for Prythian to break through. All of the High Lords were launching magic to break the barrier except for one. The blackness of the void was missing, waiting for his opportunity. Rhysand. He was waiting for the shield to buckle before unleashing his horrifying power.

The Commander of Hybern’s hand itched for Jurian’s sword on her hip. It was the only thing holding her together. 

The barrier stretched and rumbled from the barrage, and it only took a moment to break entirely. First in small pieces before the entirety crumbled down. And then they saw it. The black mass in front of Prythian’s army had been glamoured over until that moment. Poised and waiting for the shield to crumble.

A living nest of shadows and a figure she had met only once. Bryaxis and the Bone Carver. It was still wearing the Summer Court girl’s face. She felt a shiver go down her back. A glance at the King of Hybern showed no acknowledgment of what form he saw the Bone Carver took.

And then the Weaver of the Woods appeared beside her siblings. A small, cruel family reunion. She was a slim creature, wearing Ianthe’s jewel atop her head like the mighty crown of a queen. She turned to Prythian’s army, to her brothers, and gave them a small, mocking bow before facing the host before them. Before facing Hybern and her army. 

Her hands shook as she scanned all the minds in her proximity. She couldn’t find Jurian in the crowd or feel his mind anywhere through the mass of bodies.

He wasn’t anywhere to be found.

It’s fine. It would be fine. He was probably safe.

There was a pause, a breath, before the actual fighting began. 

The clash boomed through the valley. Blood and steel and wings clashed. Some Hybern soldiers were left in husks from the ancient death gods. Some of Hybern’s soldiers outright ran from Bryaxis, and the Commander of Hybern could feel her blood boil. 

Her soldiers turning and running…

Obsidian power, black and powerful as the night, rippled through the air and through Hybern’s army. 

And the soldiers that were standing there right before them…Gone. Misted. Just metal shavings and splattered blood were all that remained of her soldiers. Soldiers she knew the name of, had shared camp with, shared her blood with. 

Shock and guilt twisted in her gut. 

It split their army in two with barely enough time to register what happened. 

She should have been down there, fighting with them. Supporting them. But in doing so, it would betray the whole reason she became Commander. It would betray her family, betray everyone she knew and loved. 

But they didn’t love her. They didn’t care about her. They would rather see her blood soaking in the soil rather than save her. They had made that clear enough. At least Hybern took care of her…at least when she didn’t disobey the King. When she didn’t disobey her soldiers.

She could see their sneers and veiled threats. Nowhere felt safe anymore. Even the King beside her, who was the one to bring her to ruin and back, didn’t feel safe.

Which was why she clutched Jurian’s sword so hard. 

A heavy breath left her chest, and she could feel the King shuffle to the Cauldron.

“Two can play at that game, Rhysand,” the King muttered under his breath. His hand was placed steadily on the Cauldron. His head was bowed in concentration as the Commander of Hybern watched from the top of the hill watching soldiers fall left and right. 

Blasts of power echoed from both sides. She could see Rhysand’s power flash in various spots of the army, splitting them even further apart. But to Hybern’s credit, they did their best to fill the holes, to replace the ranks.

Prythian was pushing the lines, but she knew they wouldn’t win in the shape they were in. With the Attors in the air to match the Illyrians, and the ragtag army on the ground, Hybern outmatched them with a fury.

A horn sounded in the North, and it seemed as though both armies turned and paused for even the slightest moment. 

Not was it just an army that stood on an opposing hill. But three. One was the burnt orange of the Autumn Court, and another was the deep green of the Spring Court. 

She could feel her heart leap.

The last one was Graysen’s crest, its cobalt flag with a detailed badger.

“Sirius, what is happening on the field,” the King of Hybern asked her behind closed eyes. Hearing her name was jarring. He was muttering under his breath only what she could assume to be a spell of some kind. Her stomach churned uncomfortably at first, only rising as the spell started to rouse the Cauldron.

“Three more armies have arrived to help Prythian. It seems as though it is the Autumn Court, Spring Court, and humans.”

“Where are they? Where is their attention?”

“On the Night Court’s army. I can feel their minds but they are too far to do anything. The High Lords are talking with one another while their soldiers join the battle.”

“Good, they will be distracted then. You’ll want to step back from that ledge, Commander.”

The Commander took a few wary, heavy steps away from the ledge and away from the battle ahead of her. Behind the Cauldron that beckoned her to join hands with it. She could feel her stomach fighting with her, her strength entirely giving out on her as she dropped to the ground with a thud.

Her leg cried out as she landed on the ground, breathing heavily through her mask. It seemed like no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t get enough air in. She couldn’t even hear the King reciting his spell he was nearly screaming by the end.

Then the Cauldron finally unleashed its hell. She saw the King out of the corner of her eye point the Cauldron upwards—towards the sky full of Illyrians—as pure power erupted from it.

Illyrians were in the sky fighting, and in the next, they were all gone. With a blink and half a breath, they were all dust raining down from the sky onto the foot soldiers down the hill. 

The Commander couldn’t hear anything but a dull ringing in her ears as she watched the ash rain down from the sky as a forest fire had swept through a forest. Except no trees were spared. All of them were gone. Dead. Dust.

She could feel a cry lurch in her throat as she tried to rush forward, but not being able to as she was splayed back on the ground as a wave of nausea overcame her a second time. It wiped out another large portion of Prythian’s army. 

The Cauldron hit dead center, not hitting the same spot twice, right where the ancient death gods battled their way through Hybern’s ranks. The King didn’t care about hitting a few of his soldiers, they had plenty of them, but it ravaged Prythian’s soldiers. Tore them apart. 

They had become ash too. Nothing but a memory that was whispered in the wind.

The Commander could barely think through the ringing in her ears. It was too quiet. Eerily quiet and serene the Commander of Hybern drew her sword as his back was turned.

She got to her feet with a stumble, her leg throbbing from the force, but she pushed the pain down. She used it as a clutch, as something she could consistently rely on. The pain was always her weapon to wield, against herself and others. And so was fear.

Ships were arriving towards the sea, the rest of Hybern’s army, but she didn’t pay their horn any mind. Her focus was purely on the King as she rose her sword and she lunged. Her sword was poised above her head, ready to bring down on the King's neck when—

“I should have known…” he said, and she could have heard her father’s voice, almost disappointed. Jurian’s sword was almost scraping his skin when it stopped. Her whole body shook as she could feel his magic surround her, keeping her and the sword in place, as he merely stepped away from the sword’s edge.

Her arm snapped in two with a flick of his fingers, the hardened air around her turning forceful as it give into her arm. Pain lashed through her body as she cried out, almost dropping the sword from her dominant hand. Her left hand held on though as she fought against his magic. 

The Commander of Hybern’s bone was sticking out of her arm as blood fell against her elbow and onto the ground of the craggy outlook.

She cried as she winnowed out of the air around her and behind him as she attacked him again, only getting a scratch against his leg and the upper part of his back. He lurched forward, drawing his own sword, and swinging back at her. 

She could barely grip the sword in one hand from the weight of it, but she held strong, parrying his blade out of reach as she thrust it forward.

The Commander of Hybern wouldn’t be able to use her magic against him without the bargain tearing her apart. And she wouldn’t be able to use her fists either. But Jurian’s sword…it was her only way.

He noticed the look of the sword, smiling ever so slightly. “Clever, I’ll have to give you that much. I thought I made our bargain foolproof.”

“Most fools think so,” she retorted through grit teeth as she took a painful leap forward and clashed with his sword again. “Until they are shown otherwise.”

It looked like he was having a light training day. The Commander was fighting for her life, clearly outmatched without the reach of her magic and all her injuries combined.

The King of Hybern looked at her through shadowed, hateful eyes. Analyzing her. She could feel another piece of her snap and break, somewhere in her chest. Her lungs tightened instantly as she nearly doubled over. 

He used it as an advantage over her as he clashed with her sword and made a long cut across her already broken arm along the bicep. The armor around her mostly protected her but it didn’t stop the burning sensation of the cut. She could feel her blood bubble to the surface of her skin, leaking onto her black and silver armor.

The Commander of Hybern took a step back, but he advanced instantly to make his next attack. She tucked her arm into her chest, bleeding down her chest plate in the process.

They led each other through a series of attacks of furious blows. A dangerous dance. She could just barely keep up with the rate of his attacks, adrenaline and pain were the only thing keeping her weak limbs going. He was going to kill her otherwise, slowly and painfully.

In a last surge of power, the Commander of Hybern pushed onwards. If she wasn’t going to live, then she was going to make sure he remembered who exactly gave him each and every scar. Her muscles strained as she pushed ahead towards the ledge, hoping to maybe shove him off it. 

If she couldn’t beat him in swordplay, she’d at least try to outmaneuver him.

As they approached, the King whipped around and kicked her to the ground face-first. She twisted at the last second so as to not land on her broken arm, but hardly missed the blade going for her throat.

The Commander twisted in a last-ditch effort and kicked him in the face. His teeth clacked from the force, and she could see the light blue of an early bruise. Maybe a few broken teeth as he spits on the ground. Blood mixed in the saliva.

“I can’t wrap my head around it,” the King said, wiping the spit away with the back of his hand. “You could have had everything. Money! Fame! Power !” His voice raised in challenge. With every bellow, she could feel her body strain against his magic and the bargain surrounding them. Pushing on her very cells. “I would have let you fly around my castle for days! I would have made you a queen , Sirius! Not some measly court member, living as a brooding mare for some male to produce offspring.”

The Commander of Hybern’s eyes widened behind the mask, breathing a rasp behind the mask. “My name isn’t Sirius anymore. It’s Commander. You should have just let me rot in hell. You should have kept me dead.”

His eyes grew, enraged, and climbed on top of her with sword raised. She couldn’t move. She could scarcely breathe.

“I thought you were meant for something more. I thought it would be worth the second chance. I would have given you a good life. But not anymore.”

He plunged the sword down through her torso. She gasped, but she didn’t recognize the sting of the blade until he was pulling it out of her. 

The King took her by the neck and dragged her to the edge of the outlook overlooking a cliff. 

She could see out of the corner of her eye the sea and the hundreds of feet that lay below. She tried to fight his grip, to push herself away from him. Every second felt like a lifetime of fighting as he dragged her closer and closer to that edge. Her gloved hand shoved his against her throat which restricted her with every second. 

Her legs dangled helplessly below her, her hand trying to push against the King in some final fight. “Anything else you wish to say to Commander?”

“Please,” she choked. “Please don’t.”

It was all she could mutter to her King as she dangled above the cliff. She knew she could never survive the fall. Not even with her wings that draped weakly behind her.

He smiled at her, his mind already made up a long, long time ago, and the Commander gasped as she felt herself free fall.

 

***

 

Sirius was sobbing as one of the two brothers pushed her face harder into the snow as Tamlin’s father, the High Lord of the Spring Court, cut off her mother’s head. “ No, please please .” Her sobs echoed through the empty woods, whatever creatures sensed the bloodshed and waited until they abandoned their bodies to have a meal.

The other brother was holding Tamlin back, who was once fighting to save her mother, but now just sat quietly in the snow as silent tears rolled down his cheeks.

Every wound against her mother she felt deep in her heart as if the High Lord was carving it out of her himself. Every cut and every plunge of the large hunting knife. Like they were the prey that needed to be hunted.

Snow was beginning to fall as she watched her mother stop breathing entirely. It was strange at first. She almost couldn’t believe her eyes. But she couldn’t stop looking as her blood soaked the snow, so bright against the pale white.

The High Lord of the Spring Court threw her mother’s head in her direction, her open, empty, glazed eyes, watching her scream and sob. Her hair was thrown in every direction.

Then, as if he hadn’t done enough, he carved off her wings. Trophies…

Oh, Mother above she was next. 

“Well,” the High Lord of the Spring Court said. He wiped his mother’s blood off in the snow like she was just another gutted deer. “I’d say this trip has still been beneficial, despite Rhysand not being here. Now I can finally kill that bitch whoring around with my son.”

Tamlin was staring at her mother’s blood in the snow, but his eyes slowly shifted to Sirius again. “Please don’t father. Please, you can’t possibly mean to—”

His brother’s slap echoed in the trees. “Do you ever shut the fuck up?” he questioned him. 

Tamlin let his head hang as his cheek stung from the hit. 

Sirius began to cry again, struggling under the eldest brother’s weight, as the High Lord began approaching her. But he pushed her down right in the middle of her back, arms pinned. “Please don’t, I’ll give you anything. Please, anything ,” Sirius pleaded. 

The High Lord knelt in front of her, gripping the top of her head and raising it to look her in the eyes. “I don’t believe you.” He pushed her back into the snow and felt him sit on top of her. 

She didn’t know what was happening, couldn’t breathe through the snow and the stinging cold of winter. 

And then she felt it. Her body tensed up underneath the High Lord’s body as she thrashed in her arms, screaming for him to stop. Pleading to every god under and over the sky to make it stop. 

She could feel every tendon, every muscle that held her wings upright, snap from the blade of his knife. It burned more than any pain she had ever felt before as she struggled underneath his grip. Her hands grasped at the ground and snow for any release, hard enough that dirt and ice settled in the cracks of her nails.

And Tamlin didn’t do anything. Nothing but stare as his father butchered Sirius’ wings from her back as he cut and cut and cut at them. 

Once he cut through the muscle and hard, fleshy tendons, he grasped her bloody wings and used his body weight to snap them entirely off her back.

Sirius screamed. Loud enough that birds flew from their nests and into the sky, scared of what may arrive. 

The pain was overwhelming, lacing every part of her body. Every part of her was screaming at the pain to stop, if it would just stop —

And then the High Lord moved to the next wing.

And the process repeated all over again. Cutting through her back and through the tendons of her wings. Burning her nerves that Sirius couldn’t think of anything else but the pain. She would do anything to make it stop.

The second snap echoed through the forest. Almost like a tree branch falling from a collection of too much snow.

Sirius laid her head down in the snow, defeated. 

But the High Lord gave her no relief as he flipped her over in the snow. The cold bit into her back and the open stumps on her back were where her wings used to lay. Her wings, detached and bloody from her body, lay next to her in the snow. 

Her eyes locked with Tamlin. His eyes were nothing but regret and grief. But hers…they were alive with fury. As he sat there dumbfounded. As he just sat there.

The High Lord relented and got off of her, wiping his blade with his pant leg. She and her mother’s blood stained it almost entirely. He threw the hunting knife at the ground by Tamlin’s feet. 

Sirius lay there panting for what seemed like a century of suffering. 

Her eyes watched the snow flit from above her. Circling around her and on her.  She couldn't help but watch the patterns form around her and encase her shaking body. 

Tamlin looked up at his father, who motioned at the knife. “Take it. Finish her off, boy.”

But Tamlin began shaking his head. “No, I can’t. Father, please don’t make me.”

“Don’t you want it to be by your hand? Wouldn’t it be comforting to her to be killed by the male she loves ?” he spat. Like the word love was poison. 

Tamlin’s eyes shifted to her. But she was watching the sky with tears falling down her cheeks. Her last moments watching the snowfall.

“Sirius?” he quietly asked her. 

Her brow furrowed as if she was being awakened from a dream. “What?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, a hoarse croak above the silence.

“I’m sorry.”

She finally met his eyes again. Watching him carefully take the blade in his hands with eyes lined with silver. “One day I pray you are cursed with a heart of stone.” He stiffened, looking back at her. Waiting for her next words. “I pray you live with the pain of breaking me every day , you son of a bitch. For killing my family.”

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed. His hands clutched the knife, shaking so violently she could see it in her clouded eyes. 

“Kill her Tamlin or I fucking will,” the High Lord pushed on. “If you don’t, I’ll make sure she suffers for every second she’s left alive.”

Tamlin pushed himself off his knees and stumbled to Sirius in a daze. He kneeled before her, wiping the tears from her cheeks. She tried to push him away, but she couldn’t. She could barely even lift her arms.

“Please don’t,” Tamlin said. “I know you hate me but I was trying to protect you I swear . I promise you I didn’t mean for any of this to happen you have to believe me.”

“But you didn’t keep your promise,” she sobbed. “How could I ever believe you Tamlin.”

“Please forgive me,” he cried. His hands shook as he positioned the knife over her neck. “I will love you, always…I’ll try to make it painless.” Tamlin grasped her hand in his, but she didn’t hold his hand back.

Sirius just pushed her head back in the snow, exposing her neck to him. There were no more tears now. “ Just do it. ”

She felt the blade quickly lash against her throat before she felt the blood pool in the base of her neck. Choking on it.

Tamlin held her closely, holding her cheek as he looked deeply into her eyes as her vision slowly turned black. 

Her vision was the first thing to go, then the feeling of pain entirely as she just felt bliss. But she could still hear Tamlin in the darkness. Hear him crying, whispering his last I love you’s , and a final last kiss on her forehead, before she died in his arms.

 

***

 

The Commander didn’t fall gracefully like any hero or legend of old. It wasn’t some glorious ending to a tale. It was painful. It was like the fall of an angel who was disgraced by the gods and tossed aside.

She tried to extend her wings as the air whizzed around her, but she couldn’t catch the wind. Flailing, she tried to grip the rocks and slow her fall, but she ended up hitting the wall at full force and tumbling further to the ground.

One of her wings gave a sickening crack as she landed wrong on a ledge before falling another twenty feet and hitting her head on a rock hard enough that her vision turned black.

She didn’t remember how far she fell. She didn’t know how long she fell for. She didn’t even know if the battle was still waging. She was falling and then she was in between the cracks of rocks staring up at the sky.

Ashes rained down from the sky that looked like the first winter she spent in the Illyrian mountains. Her breathing was labored by then, head pounding and body aching.

Broken arm, broken wing, and a few broken ribs from the tumble down. Her ankle too, she discovered. She didn’t know entirely what she suffered from at that point. But she did know one thing.

She was dying.

Slowly but surely, her breathe would stop entirely and she would fade back into that endless sea. There would be no pain, and she could finally fade into the afterlife with her mother and father, or maybe make a new life in a world far away from here. Somewhere she didn’t fight in a war and lived peacefully with her happily ever after.

She closed her eyes, watching the ashes of soldiers collect upon the rocks and her body, waiting for death to claim her.

She didn’t know how long she waited there, dimly hearing the roar of battle mixed with the splashes of the sea somewhere off in the distance. She listened to the sea, watching with half-closed eyes the sunset reflected above her. 

Then she opened her eyes again and someone was yelling her name. How long had it been since she closed her eyes? 

Faded in and out of consciousness. It was just black with no memory in between.

“ SIRIUS ,” he yelled. Over and over again. It met deaf ears. But she did open her eyes, too weak to really speak as she just focused on her breathing. 

There were still ashes falling like snowflakes, and for a split second, she thought she was back in the mountains. Back home. Home, away from this place, this battlefield. Where the days were cold and nights colder. The Commander was so cold.

“SIRIUS WHERE ARE YOU?” she heard again, a little closer this time. Who was that? She didn’t recognize the desperation. Who would be desperate to find her? “ Fuck. Fuck where are you, Siri .”

And then a sigh of relief mixed with horror as she heard rocks tumble from somewhere below her. 

“ Sirius ,” the voice said again. “I’m so sorry.”

His scent was what hit her nose first. The first rain upon the earth that fed the roots of great trees. That fed the wildflowers in the springtime. 

And then his golden hair appeared in her vision that she had to squint for against the mask.

Tamlin. 

What was he doing here? Why was he trying to find her of all people?

The Commander of Hybern was nestled between two large boulders in a small patch of dirt. Blood pooled around her stomach as a hand laid carelessly on the wound but without enough pressure to keep her from bleeding out. Tamlin could see the broken wing she laid on as well as the various other body parts that were bent in ways they shouldn’t.

Tamlin cut the straps that connected her armor together and threw the chest plate away. Her breathing was shallow and sporadic. Placing a careful hand on her stomach, he put pressure on the wound so it wouldn’t bleed as much.

She hissed in pain, trying to push his hand away, but all he could do was say, “Don’t.”

“Stop,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Just let me die. I can’t do this anymore. Put me out of my misery Tamlin. Just do it. ”

He stiffened. “No.” His voice was stern as he looked her over. It would be hard to move her, but he couldn’t leave her here. He wouldn’t let her die here.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled the mask off her face. 

She was battered and bruised everywhere, the cut across her face fresh and infected. There was a black eye that was almost healed, but blood dripped down her forehead and onto the ground. Her violet eyes flecked in confusion as she looked at him.

But it was her. It was Sirius.

Tamlin let out a shuddering sigh as he looked at where his hand was, where she was bleeding out. He knew how bad it was.

“Tam…remember the promise you made me. Back in the sand.” Her eyes were watching him carefully. But not with clarity.

“I’m not going to let you die, I promise you.”

“Tam spread my ashes in the wind on…on the mountain.”

He shushed her. “Focus on your breathing. Don’t worry about it okay.”

“Take me home,” she muttered. Her voice wavering. “Please.”

“Sirius, look at me.” Her eyes flitted to his, quiet and sorrowful. “I’ll take you home. Okay?”

She gave a brisk nod. Her breathing quickened, and he knew it wouldn’t be long now. “I need you to stay awake for me, Princess. Can you do that for me?”

The Commander nodded drowsily, trying desperately to keep her eyes open. 

Tamlin slipped her mask around his arm so she’d have it later. But for now, he had to be able to see her face to make sure she didn’t try and fall asleep. So that she might slip away from his grasp again. 

He carefully lifted her into his arms as he sprinted down the stones and towards camp. Every jostle made her whimper in his arms. Every movement set her body on fire again. 

“Tell me the story you used to always tell me about. The snowball fights in the winter. Tell me about it again, Sirius.”

The Commander could barely keep her eyes open. “The what?”

“The snowball fight. Tell me about it.”

“I don’t remember…oh. I think so. In the forest?”

Tamlin wasn’t listening. Only trying to keep her alive enough to make it back to his army where she could see a medic. Tamlin winnowed, not sure if it would worsen her wounds, but her worsening condition warranted it so.

He grabbed the first healer's attention and led them back to his tent.

Chapter 26: It's Okay, We Will Watch Over You

The Commander of Hybern, or rather the former Commander of Hybern, opened her eyes from the pitch-black sea to an unfamiliar tent. There was no part of her that was rested, but sore and aching. It didn’t matter how she lay, it was a throbbing sensation in the back of her mind and in every muscle. It was part of her every fiber.

The encampment around her was buzzing with life. Soldiers were marching, giving whatever remaining orders were needed as the battle was over. 

Her ears could pick up their heavy footfalls and the cries of the wounded, somewhere on cots trying to rest. She was on a large cot, much larger than her one in Hybern. The tent she was in was giving a poor imitation of darkness, trying to blot out most of the sunshine the canvas pushed through. But it was dark enough for her to float in and out of consciousness. 

She didn’t dare move. Her wing and arm were in a splint, but how or from who she didn’t know.  She could feel the wrappings around her arm, torso, and even around her head. She didn’t even notice she hit her head on the way down.

The Commander turned her head to see a small table full of half-empty vials and used syringes. Her mask lay beside them, untouched and still usable. A small miracle, perhaps. She felt naked without the mask.

She didn’t know how long she lay in the cot, blankets carefully tucked into her sides to make sure she wasn’t cold. She couldn’t imagine how much her body shook from the blood loss. It’s a miracle itself she was alive. 

How was she alive?

She didn’t remember much after she fell from the cliff the King of Hybern dropped her from. It was a hazy blur. She remembered seeing Tamlin and Rhysand, but not much besides that. Just flashes from darkness to the light of his golden hair.

Somewhere in between life and death. 

Tamlin saved her.

Her eyes began to water, then they began running down her cheeks. It was like opening up a floodgate. The tears began coming, and soon they were overflowing. She couldn’t get herself to stop now. Her shivering breathing caused her ribs to ache and her stomach to hurt enough that it felt like a thousand needles in her legs and chest.

“You’re awake!” a male, surprised to say the least, said. His steps hurried to her bed, but she didn’t recognize him at all. She did recognize the Spring Court outfit, a pin on his chest that indicated him as a healer. A four-leaved clover with a star in the middle. 

He hurriedly wiped the tears from her face and did his best to calm her down. “The stitching on your stomach is still sensitive, you’ll want to be careful, okay dear? Be careful speaking too, there was some damage to your throat that is still healing. It’s still a little swollen, but you should be able to speak with time.”

The Commander carefully cleared her throat, trying to speak as softly as she could so it didn’t hurt. Her voice was gravel. “Where…am I?”

“In the Spring Court’s army reserves. The war is over. Prythian won.”

Her eyes widened ever so slightly. They… actually won. 

“You’ll be feeling much more of the pain soon as you are coming off the pain medication I administered, but if it’s starting to feel overwhelming, let me know.”

The Commander nodded her head slightly. “Name?”

“My name?” the healer asked, pointing to himself. The Commander only gave the barest confirmation. “My name is Spruce. At your service, my lady.” He gave a quick bow before glancing at the table. She was surprised he hadn’t brought up the mask yet. “I’m going to look over your wounds once more, and before I leave I’ll give you some more medication to manage the pain.”

She did her best to do everything Spruce asked. He was gentle and quick though, scoping over the planes of her body without judgment and only professionalism. He cleaned her wounds without causing too much pain, although he took notice of her slight hiss when touching where the King had stabbed her. 

Her torso was covered in black and blue bruises, either from her tumble down the cliff or the two broken ribs. She was lucky she didn’t rupture a lung, from Spruce’s words. And while she didn’t let Spruce touch her wings now that she was awake, she did let him see her ankle that was in a heavy splint. It broke in two separate parts and would take much longer to heal than many of her breaks. Another result on the way off the cliff.

“I’ll get you a crutch or something to walk on,” Spruce muttered under his breath while looking it over. “But I recommend resting it as much as you can. Do not walk on it if you can help it.”

How long had she been laying on this cot? 

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Spruce asked her one last time. 

The Commander shook her head. There was nothing she could do. Only time would heal the wounds on her body now. 

“Alright,” he said. He fumbled between the vials, looking at their names, and pulled out a new, clean syringe. He gave her a few injections in various places, to either help with the pain or fight infection. She knew her leg was infected, but didn’t know how far it progressed. “I’ll be back with a crutch, but for now, try to sleep.”

Already she could feel her eyelids trying to lull her back to sleep. She only nodded, not even waiting to see if Spruce had left the tent yet.

She smelled him again before she saw him. Sitting in a chair close to her cot reading a book. The same book, she was sure, that he was reading when she accepted the bargain with Hybern. At that, she gave out a half-choked chuckle. More of a wheeze than anything.

His eyes snapped to hers. “You’re awake.”

Her eyes eventually met his. “How long…asleep?”

“I’ve only been here for an hour.” There was a bandage on his neck and arm, he wasn’t totally unscathed from the battle. He set the book down on the table. “How are you feeling?”

The Commander grimaced. She shook her head slightly, not trusting her voice to convey the right words. 

Tamlin frowned. “Do you want me to call the healer back?”

The Commander shook her head, trying to push herself up with her unbroken arm.

“Hey, hey careful.” He shot to her side. His hands grasped underneath the shoulder of her broken arm along with her torso and helped her sit up. Then he stacked the pillows so she could lean back into them. “It’s not a good idea to push it so fast.”

“I’m fine,” she shot out, voice hoarse and broken. She cleared her throat again, pressing her hand against her collarbone. It hurt to even touch. She didn’t know how extensive her bruising was. 

Her head pounded against her skull. Tamlin watched her carefully as she cringed and closed her eyes against the pain. “You have a concussion. It’s why I’ve been trying to keep the tent dark. It’s a bad one Sirius, you need to take it easy.”

“Don’t call me that,” she grit out. He seemed a little taken aback, maybe even sorrow crossed his face, but only for a second.

Tamlin slowly sat back in his seat, keeping his eyes on her as if she might disappear before his eyes. He cleared his throat before saying, “I have to leave soon. I just…wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Where?”
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “The High Lords and generals who helped in the war discuss peace treaties between humans and fae. Now that the Wall is down…there needs to be some boundaries.”

The Commander watched him closely before swinging her legs over the cot and pointing at the crutch against the tent’s wall. “I’m coming…with you.”

He scowled. “Absolutely not.”

She gave him a withering glare. “Get me. The crutch. And help me.”

Tamlin didn’t move from his seat. “Sirius, will you listen to me? For once, just listen. Stay here and rest. Recover. Get better. This meeting isn’t going to be life or death if you stay behind.”

She cleared her throat. “I need to. I need to find my family.”

His expression dimmed. “They are fine. Even Rhysand, somehow.”

“Jurian?”

“He’s alive too. Does that satisfy you? Will you lay back down now?”

But the Commander didn’t budge, only motioning for her crutch again. “Either you take me or I will limp all the way there. Pick.”

He weighed his options, looking her over. He huffed a breath before leaning back in his chair. “No. I’m not going to take you. It’ll only make your injuries worse.” He went back to his book. “I’m going to leave in thirty minutes. If you need anything after I leave, I’ll have the healer stationed outside the tent.”

The Commander didn’t smile as she laid back down in bed, trying to find a comfortable spot in the cot. “Are you going to lock me in here?”

He glanced at her from between the pages. “If I have to, but I won’t need to, right?”

She only nodded her head in return, resting her eyes.

 

***

 

The crutch was beginning to feel unbearable and her underarm was sore from pressing her weight on it so heavily. Only a few people looked her way as she ducked behind tents and away from the encampment. The mask was a dead giveaway to who she was.

She scanned Tamlin’s mind for information with whatever power she had remaining in her blood after the battle. She got an image of a location, which is all she needed, to winnow to once she got outside the shields placed on the camp.

A partially destroyed and abandoned manor near the outskirts of the forest. There was an overgrown garden of weeds that once used to house the most beautiful flowers. 

She hobbled across the border of the encampment, slower than she cared to admit, before winnowing a few miles to the east where the manor occupied.

The Commander must look as bad as she felt. She still wore her underclothes from battle, black leggings, and a loose black tunic that hung at her shoulders. Her hair was still in braids from the battle, loose hairs catching at her neck and around the mask. Her broken arm was in a sling while her ankle was in a splint. With slow, heavy steps, she made her way to the open doors of the desecrated manor. 

The bruises around her neck were clearly visible now with the lack of armor. It hung around her like a necklace, along with the scars all the way back from the Drakagor. It seemed like a lifetime ago. The tight wrappings around her stomach were catching on her tunic in an uncomfortable way as she crossed the threshold to see Rhysand, Feyre, and Lucien waiting. Azriel was at Rhysands side, almost knowing she was there before she even stepped foot on the manor’s grass.

A cracked and shattered chandelier lay broken on the marble floors, still needing to be cleaned. But there was no use to clean it anyways. 

Rhysand’s eyes widened, but that was the only indication of surprise from him. “So the rumors are true, the Commander of Hybern lives.”

The former Commander of Hybern only gripped her crutch harder as she wobbled forward. Her voice was scratchy like it was trying to come back to life. “We will probably have to do something about that later, won’t we?”

He gave her a small smirk. “We will.”

But it was Feyre who said, “I’m glad to see you are alive.”

The Commander only bowed her head. “You may be the only one, my lady.” She cleared her head. “Is there a place for me to sit?”

Feyre nodded. “There is. It’s just past those doors. I’ve arranged seating but…we didn’t know where you were.”

She waved her off. “It’s fine. I’ll find a windowsill to perch on.”

“Commander?” She twisted her head to see Jurian standing in the doorway with Graysen and a small collection of humans. 

She let out a sob of relief as she looked at him. Alive and well, with only a black eye. “Jurian…”

They collided into an embrace. He was careful as he saw the bandages scattering her body, and the way she slouched forward from the stab wound. She was shaking. They stayed that way long before Jurian spoke, “When I couldn’t find you we assumed the worst. How did you—”

“Tamlin found me.” She could already sense the Inner Circles' contempt and disbelief.

He looked her over, seeing how far the scars went, and how deep the wounds got. “You look like shit.”

“I feel like it.”

Feyre coughed, getting their attention, before saying, “I put you on opposite sides of the room.” From Miryam and Draykon. But also from Elain, the Commander put together, because of Graysen.

Jurian nodded, but turned to the Commander and said, “Sit with me.”

“I was planning on it.”

They walked through the foyer, Jurian lingering at her side a bit closer than they usually allowed, and into the sitting room of the manor. All the High Lords were there, including Tamlin, who she could see in his eyes was surprised. It quickly turned to anger, but he didn’t say anything. He only held his stare while she quickly sat in the back of the room on a window ledge, as she promised.

She wanted to run to him and apologize, cry, and say sorry repeatedly but pushed the feeling down. Not here.

Jurian sat in front of her, in a formal chair, but she could see the way he glanced back every now and then to make sure she was okay.

She leaned her crutch against the wall and leaned against the frame of the window, allowing her wings to have room with the open space behind her. It was starting to get dark out now. This would go late into the night.

She slipped into his mind with little magic. I’m glad to see you’re alive and well, General.

One could say the same for you, Princess. Tamlin looks…

Pissed?

You can say that.

The Commander gave a small grin behind the mask. I promised him I’d stay in camp.

Jurian did his best not to smile back. But she could feel the echos of a small chuckle in his mind. Oh, really now?

I wanted to be able to find you. After…well everything.

At that, Jurian settled into a more serious tone. How bad was it? When Tamlin found you. Like he was almost timid to ask it.

Less than an hour later I would have been too late…Did you actually look for me?

Until nightfall.  And then again in the morning in case I accidentally missed you. It wasn’t until you woke up that Tamlin sent a message that you were alive. I was going to find you after the meeting but… well, you beat me to it.

The Commander did her best to keep her breathing even. She didn’t think he cared about her that much. Didn’t think he would search battlefields for her. She couldn’t imagine the feeling of flipping over winged bodies and hoping that she wouldn’t see her friends, or maybe hoping it was so she could have some sort of closure. 

At least then she wouldn’t have to tread battlefields looking. She wished Jurian found her so he could have that closure, even if it did mean she died.

I’m sorry I put you through that.

Jurian glanced over at her. It’s not your fault.

There was fae from every territory. From every Court. Some glanced at her warily, knowing her name and what she had done. Others were chatting softly with one another. But the humans around her, especially, gave her a wide berth. She could smell the fear on them. Ripe and stark against the rest of the scents in the room.

They all stopped when Feyre Archeron, the High Lady of the Night Court entered the room. Even the Commander stopped to look at her as silence filled the room.

And then she lifted her chin ever so slightly, smiling at the humans and fae alike, and said, “My name is Feyre Archeron. I was once human—and now I am Fae. I call both worlds my home. And I would like to discuss renegotiating the Treaty.”

It started out with people telling stories of their experiences in life. Between the fae and humans, the most prominent problem on the agenda for the night. Tales from either side of the Wall, the Wall she and Jurian helped bring down.

The Commander shifted uncomfortably on the windowsill, trying to find a better way to sit.

This was going to take a while.

The High Lady opened up about her story, something the Commander wasn’t totally familiar with up until Under the Mountian. She didn’t realize how much she had gone through to get to that point. And she sympathized with her brother’s mate. 

The Commander glanced over at Tamlin, at the love he used to share and still shares with Feyre, and was stone-faced the entire time. She knew what it was like to love him too. To share that love with him. She still dreamed about it.

She didn’t have time for love anyways.

The Commander had bigger issues than love at that point. She was looking at a death sentence from some Courts. The humans feared her, and rightfully so, and many fae did. But most wanted her dead. Others wanted her to serve her time in prison or through some sort of justice system. But she was sure she could cut a deal with Feyre, maybe Rhysand too since the jurisdiction would rely on them. She was, after all, a citizen of their Court.

While she did survive the war, she wasn’t out of the woods yet.

Miryam and Drakon stepped forward with their story from the previous war, showing that humans and fae could live together, work and love one another. She worked as a healer in Jurian’s army during the first war when humans were still enslaved to the fae.

She told their story with their heart, and as the Commander watched around the room, it was obviously moving. Even the High Lady shed a few tears, but her friend, Jurian, sat and watched with a straight back, eyes forward. 

When they finished, others moved forward to tell their story. More and more, proclaiming either how humans and fae could work together or others where it was the complete opposite. Some, she realized part way, were because of her. Slaughtering whole camps, stealing humans at night, and torturing them in the camps. 

The Commander knew it was her, but didn’t say anything in reply. She just listened, never replying, never apologizing either. Just accepted that she had done it. Some she forgot happened until she was mentioned by name. Not by any fault of her own, but after a long time, it was normal. Her brain blocked it out.

Jurian stood and gave part of his story. He told them about the actions that he and the Commander made during the war, and the experiences he had while in the war with her. The way they would help humans when they could, and the experiences they had with the fae too. The relations they had with them. The horrors they faced, but it was the truth. 

And then came the arguments about another Wall. Whether it would be best to keep the fae and humans separated once more. 

The High Lords argued over it the most, deciding whether a wall would be the best option for their territories and less about the people it would serve. Most ended up having to redraw their Court lines that night, but it was a start.

A slow start, but a start nonetheless.

Many started leaving, as dawn was not far off. Even the Commander was feeling the weariness after the many hours of back and forth. Some flew back, others winnowing or marching back to their camps. Tamlin spared her a glance, a quick pause, before leaving.

Jurian turned his chair back around to the Commander. And then a woman with beautiful golden skin and red hair plopped down next to her in the windowsill. “I take it you’re the Commander of Hybern?” she asked her. She extended a hand. “My name is Queen Vassa of the human lands.” She smiled at her, her dark brows lifting up.

The Commander shook her hand. “ Former Commander of Hybern.”

“Then what shall I call you?”

She looked to Jurian, who had a look on his face that said, Figure it out .

“Just…Commander. For now.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, Commander. This is my friend and associate, Lucien.” She pointed to the red-haired male to her right with the metal eye, who was sauntering up to the conversation. “And I see you two have known each other,” she said, in reference to her and Jurian.

“Yes,” Jurian said, leaning back in his chair. He glanced at her. “We do. And we know Lucien too.”

He stiffened looking at the two of them. “You’ve seen better days,” he told the Commander.

“If only you had a towel to offer me,” she replied. His eyes shifted before he recognized what she was referring to. 

A small smile crossed his face. “I’m surprised you remember.”

“I remember. I assure you.”

“Well, I’ve heard good things about you two, besides the whole Hybern thing. I think you two would make a good fit in my Court. What do you think? Would you be willing?”

The Commander reigned in her surprise. “You realize,” she said, clearing her throat so she could speak clearly. “That I am a wanted war criminal .”

She shrugged. “So is Jurian, by that logic. But that’s exactly why I want you and Jurian. You two have done great things together, and I intend to keep doing great things for my country too. I would be able to protect you from punishment of said crimes too.”

So could Rhysand, but she wasn’t ready for that conversation yet. Jurian looked deep in thought.

“I’ll have to think about it,” Jurian said finally. “But I will keep it in mind. What of the death-lord holding your chain?”

Vassa’s expression darkened. “I’m working on someone who could break the spell binding me. I was hoping the High Lady might be able to…but it seems like she doesn’t believe she can. I’ll keep looking though. As Lucien said, there must be a loop-hole somewhere.”

Jurian glanced around the room, noticing the people leaving by the armful, many finishing their conversation and leaving for the night. Still, deep in thought, he dismissed himself, leaving the Commander to visit with the human queen Vassa and the Night Court emissary Lucien. He was adorned in their Illyrian leathers, which the Commander looked over carefully. It was fitting.

The Commander watched Jurian saunter over to Feyre Archeron on the opposite side of the room, speaking quietly with her as the two beside her laughed and chatted together. There was only a few hours until dawn. It was best to use what little time left before Vassa turned back into a firebird once more.

“So, do you ever fly around on those wings or are they just for show?” Vassa asked, turning the conversation back to her. 

The Commander dragged her eyes away from Jurian and back to Vassa. “I do.”

“We should fly together,” she said with a wink. “Once you’re healed, of course.”

“It’ll be a few weeks until I can even walk without a crutch.” The Commander cracked her knuckles. “It may be some more time yet before I can start flying. I can take you up in the sky too, Lucien.”

He shivered as if remembering some awful memory. “No thanks. I’m good. Azriel already took me for a ride.”

She almost laughed at the image in her mind. Both scowling and flying through the air. “Your loss.”

Vassa giggled, covering her smile with a hand. “Oh, I do like you.”

“I have no idea how.” The Commander glanced at Jurian, who had his eyes on her. Feyre was watching as well, but only for a moment before she turned back to the window, watching the others leave.

She wanted to go back to bed. Her stomach was killing her now. Whatever Spruce gave her had definitely worn off by now. All of her aches and breaks were beginning to wear on her.

The Commander watched as Jurian walked back to them, Feyre breaking off to walk hand-in-hand with her mate and out of the manor. 

A tap echoed in her mind. Rhysand. Somehow having weaved between all the shadows and touch the walls of her mind. The Commander froze before quietly excusing herself and shuffling out of the room and into the foyer where she saw Rhysand. Her heart was pounding.

He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, looking relatively well. Feyre was beside him, clinging to his arm as if she had lost him. The others were waiting outside. 

“Hello, Commander,” he purred.

She gave a light bow of her head, leaning onto her crutch. “Why did you tap on my mind, High Lord?”

“I heard Vassa offered you a place in her Court.”

“She did. I’m thinking it over.”

He nodded slightly. “That’s good. Some people want your head.”

“I assumed so. Do you?”
“That is a debate for a later time. For now, nothing will happen to you. I know you want to return to Velaris, but with the current political climate, I don’t think it would be safe right now. Considering we don’t know your name, and we couldn’t allow you to wear the mask out in public, it’s not… realistic.”

She could feel her heart sink. Break, with every word.

“Do you still want me to work with you?” she timidly asked. 

He chewed the inside of his cheek. “When you are healed, perhaps we can have something for you. We will need someone on the inside to track the other queen’s movements. Befriend them. Lucien will be there too if you need to reach us. He is still, as of right now, an emissary to the Night Court.”

“But I cannot come home to Velaris.”

His eyes darkened. “Not right now. In the future, perhaps.”

She nodded. “I understand. What would you need from me in the future to change that?”

Feyre rubbed a hand over Rhysands. “To know you. To know if you are safe enough to let around our people.” Our people . Like she wasn’t one of them. “We still don’t know what all your intentions are, or were.”

“I…I just want to go home.”

“What about your family?” Feyre asked her. “We can send word to them, maybe even connect you with them.”

She almost wanted to laugh at the notion. “That’s okay my Lady. They don’t recognize me anymore. I…I tried.” She took a deep breath. “They’re happy and safe. That’s all I ever wanted for them anyways.”

“It’s worth a try though, right?” Feyre said. She was trying to see her eyes through the mask. See her expression. But there was only darkness there.

“You already saved them,” the Commander said suddenly. “I appreciate the offer, however, High Lady. I know it will take time…to heal and build that trust. I’m willing to wait.” It struck the Commander then, as she then slowly got to her knees, doing her best to do so without hurting herself further. 

Her body was screaming at her. And then bowed before them, her wings extended as best as she could. Without even realizing it, there were tears dripping down her nose.

To offer herself to them in the traditional Illyrian way.  “Forgive me, for what I’ve done. If you can ever forgive me.”

She could feel them both watching her. And then slowly, Feyre got to her knees too and lifted her chin up. She could feel her warm fingertips as they met, eye to eye. “Whatever you have done, the darkness will pass. I see you, Commander. There are beautiful skies after the rain.”

And then before the Commander could object, she could feel Feyre’s arms wrap around her and hug her.

 

***

 

“Why didn’t you tell them?” Jurian asked her quietly in the space of his tent. He was letting her stay with him for the time being. She didn’t feel comfortable seeing Tamlin yet. Not after running off and coming to the meeting anyways.

The Commander shrugged, setting her crutch down on the side of the cot that was brought in moments earlier. “I don’t know. I…I didn’t want to hurt them.”

“By being alive?”

“No, by being the Commander of Hybern. I didn’t want Rhysand to think lesser of me.”

“Rhysand wouldn’t think lesser of you, and if he did then we would have a problem.”

She looked over at Jurian, still struggling to fully turn from her stab wound. “Why’s that?”

“Because he acted as Amarantha’s Whore for fifty years, and if he judged his sister for playing the King’s Right Hand for one year, then he would be a massive hypocrite. Rhysand doesn’t strike me as a person to do that, though.”

“He’s happy, though.”

“And you don’t think he would be any less happy without you there?” Jurian scoffed, unfolding a few blankets. “Take off your shirt and mask. Let me check your bandages before we go to bed.”

The Commander grumbled something about getting a healer and leaving them to do the job but found herself taking her shirt and mask off anyways. “He doesn’t even want me in Velaris right now. He said that I could be too much of a risk and doesn’t want to terrify the citizens. You know what, I don’t want to have this argument with you right now. I’m exhausted.”

“I wonder why,” he muttered under his breath, knowing fully well she could hear him. He grabbed the bandages that were brought in and something to help keep her wound clean. “He wouldn’t be saying that if he knew who you were.”

Jurian frowned though, as he got closer. “Did you break a tooth?”

The Commander cursed. “Fuck, no I don’t think so.” She started feeling around, checking her teeth, but nothing was broken. Her finger came out red though. Blood.

Jurian grabbed her jaw and inspected her mouth. “That’s not good. I’ll go grab someone from Tamlin’s camp and see why that’s happening.”

“What is happening?”

“Well, usually blood in the mouth can indicate a few things. You could be fine, but you could be internally bleeding.”

“Spruce.”

“What?” he asked, pausing before the exit of the tent.

“Grab a healer named Spruce. He was the one that was healing me before. He might have answers.”

Jurian muttered a few strings of curses under his breath before running back into camp for the male she called Spruce. When he came back though, he had the familiar male in tow.

He gave her a reassuring smile. “Hey there. Let’s see what the problem is.”

She gave the barest indication of a smile. Jurian frowned, though.

Spruce looked her over thoroughly while Jurian sat on his cot, watching the process unfold. He checked the stitching across her stomach and found them all still intact. But the bleeding from her mouth was concerning. “I need you to stay on bed rest for the next few days. I don’t want you getting anything infected or causing pneumonia. It is most likely from the trauma to your chest and stomach. If it gets worse though, let me know.”

He gave her another shot of the blissful pain medication and waved them goodbye. Jurian was watching her. “I guess no more adventures to High Lord meetings.”

The Commander flipped him off before settling as best as she could into her cot. 

“Sirius?”

The name grated against her nerves. “What?”

“Do you want to be part of Vassa’s Court?”

The Commander watched the ceiling of the tent, thinking carefully. “It could be good. But she’s due to go back to her master at some point.”

“I know,” Jurian said. There was a hint of disgust in his voice. “But…it could be good for us.”

Us? “What do you mean us ?” she asked, sitting up slightly. 

Jurian shrugged, tossing his pillow onto the other side before laying down. “We don’t have anyone else. Maybe it’s just what we need to heal from Hybern. Somewhere new. Somewhere fresh.”

“I…” she started. But he was right. Maybe it is what she needed. She didn’t want to live in Rhysand’s shadow, coddled and told what to do by everyone around her. She didn’t need a slot in his Court, picked out by Rhysand that would protect her the most so he wouldn’t ever lose her again. Somewhere that was her own. Somewhere she could finally be who she wanted. As much as she loved her family, she needed time to figure out exactly how to approach them about the whole thing. Needed time to figure out who she was after all this time. Needed time to figure out how to heal from Hybern after it destroyed her from the inside out.

“I think you’re right,” she finally said, throat constricted. “I think it is what we need.”

Notes:

I need to catch up on ACOFAS, ACOSF and potentially CC2 (if it makes sense)... so I'm very sorry if I don't update on time next week. Gotta plan out my next moves hehehehe. I love you all, thank you for sticking around this long!! The next chapter will be Part 2 of the story >;D

Chapter 27: The Human Lands

Part II: The Sonnet of Shadows

 

Her body lurched backward and off the cliff again. Except, it wasn’t her. It was someone else. It was as if she was watching her bloody mangled self being thrown off. The rocks were caked in her blood as she saw the King lift her by her throat, struggling beneath his grasp. Her blood was dripping everywhere. 

But she wasn’t seeing it through her eyes—someone else, like a third person looking beyond. And his hands reached for her like he was stuck in molasses. His tan hands were scar-flecked and freckled. She knew those hands fondly. 

The King loosened his grip on her, on the Commander, and then she fell limply to the cliffs below like she had accepted her fate long before it happened. As if it was foretold in the stars long before her birth and death.

She heard someone scream, the eyes she was looking through, reach for her as she fell, but it was too late. She was already lost in the murky depths below. Already falling.

And then someone else screamed, blood-curdling and full of agony. The eyes whirled to her, the male's eyes she was looking through, and then she saw Feyre Archeron holding a body. But not anyone. Her mate. She was holding Rhysand in her arms, just screaming and screaming.

She could feel the male's shock reverberate in her bones. And then her own slowly set in. 

Rhysand was dead. 

It almost looked like he was asleep, but she could spy the unearthly paleness about him, spy the blue tinge to his cheeks and lips. Saw that his chest had stopped echoing breath. 

He was dead, and Feyre was screaming.

The Commander lurched forward in the bed. The sweat on her back felt like sticky hot blood as her breathing came as if she had just won a battle. She couldn’t seem to catch enough air, but she did slow it down with a hand pressed to her chest. 

Memories flooded her, but she let them. Let them wash over her. Let them seize control before she grasped the reigns again. 

All of those months she was the Commander. All those days she killed and tortured. Everything. It took everything not to crumble beneath it all. 

And yet—she wasn’t sure why the dream haunted her still. Even after she caught her breath.

A quiet knock sounded on the door, almost reluctant. She knew who it was.

“Jurian?” she responded, putting her head against the wall next to her bed. It was a small room, but it was large enough for her. She didn’t have much anyway. Only the clothes on her back and a trunk half burnt from Hybern’s camp.

The door creaked open enough that she saw his disheveled brown hair and eyes. “Sirius.”

That name, she hated that name.

“Are you okay?”

She didn’t know how his human ears could pick up her nightly attacks. 

The Commander ran a hand through her hair. “I’m fine.”

He opened the door wider, leaning against the door frame. He had a tunic on, white and stained from Mother knows what, along with loose-fitting pants. There was a look about Jurian that spoke as though he had just woken up. But the Commander knew as well as any that he had been awake for hours now. 

“Your mask is still on,” he said, pointing at her with a half-smile.

Her hand reached up and touched her face, feeling the cool touch of the mask. “Shit.” She pulled it off, feeling rather naked without it, but regardless set it down on the nightstand next to her. 

Jurian pushed himself off the doorframe and took a seat next to her on the bed. “Do you want me to stay with you tonight?” Concern was laced in every word.

She nodded, rubbing the sweat off her face. “Please.” She opened the covers for him and laid back down. She faced him, her wings draped over the two of them for extra heat in the early autumn. Jurian’s back was to her. 

They had grown into enough ease with one another that she slipped an arm under his head and the other loosely around his waist. 

“We should just put all of our shit in one room at this rate,” he grumbled. But he wasn’t complaining. It happened often enough that they might as well.

She huffed a laugh. “How did you hear me?” the Commander asked him quietly. It would take them both some time to fall back asleep.

“I didn’t. Your shadows were in my room pooling on the floor. I thought I heard voices coming from the shadows…”

She closed her eyes, trying to wipe away the cringe from her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He patted her hand. “Don’t worry about it, Princess.”

“I mean it, Jurian.”

“I know you do… What did you dream about?”

She kept her eyes closed, reliving it. “I saw myself falling but…it was like I was in someone else's eyes. And I saw Feyre with, Mother it felt so real… Jurian. I saw Rhysand die.”

He stiffened in her arms—something she didn’t expect at all. “Did someone tell you?”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he muttered. His eyes were closing already, heavy with sleep. The dark circles under his eyes were as bad as hers, if not worse.

She leaned up on an elbow, staring down at him. He glanced up at her, seeing how her frown only deepened as she saw him side-eye her. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Look, it’s nothing to be concerned about. It was resolved months ago.”

“But you hid something from me?”

He tried to come up with words but sputtered for a moment before saying, “You were healing, and I didn’t want to add to the stress.” She smacked his arm. “Okay, Mother above, can you stop so I can explain?”

The Commander paused her attack, lowering her arm. “Did Rhys die?”

“Yes,” he replied, reluctant. His voice was quiet. “I’m sorry. I… I didn’t know how to tell you. The High Lords put together their powers and revived him, so, problem solved.”

Her eyes were burning, but she lowered herself back into the bed. So what she saw in her dream was real. Somehow, it was real. 

“Sirius?” Jurian asked, trying to look at her. “Sirius I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“Sirius…”

“Just shut up.”

To Jurian’s credit, he did stop talking. The Commander tried to erase the image of Rhysand lying dead on the ground, but it was behind her very eyelids

Jurian cleared his throat. “I wanted to wait to tell you. That was all.”

She had nearly lost the last part of her family. “When would you have?” His silence was deafening. “That’s what I thought.”

“I don’t even know how you knew about it.”

“It was in my dream,” she whispered. “It was from Tamlin’s eyes.”

Jurian took her hand again but didn’t let go. He may be the only person she would allow to do that. “Get some sleep, Princess. I’m right here.”

No nightmares roused her from sleep again that night.

 

***

 

“Ring around the rosies,” she sang. The words were as if they were from an ancient hymn. A prayer. 

“ A pocket full of posies.” She could almost feel the words flowing through her. Felt the power of some long-dead God was coursing through her veins. A God made of death. A God made of fear. 

That’s what made her sing. The fear , so ripe and sweet and delicious. She couldn’t stop it. It was intoxicating, better than any liquor or sex or drugs. 

“ Ashes! Ashes! ” She continued. The Illyrian in front of her was cowering. Trying to take cover from the shadows that enveloped him. He could hear his worst fears. He could feel them closing around him. He couldn’t escape. There was no light here. He could have been in the void for all he knew.

The Commander crouched in front of him, slipping off the mask, letting him see her bare and naked. “ We all fall down, ” she whispered. She let him see her smile. Let him see she wanted to kill him for what he had done. 

She let him cry as she killed him.

One quick swipe across the throat. That was all it took. She thought about being more cruel, he deserved it, but it was better this way. It was cleaner. It wouldn’t label her a monster, just a killer in the night.

He deserved worse, though. The Commander would imagine all the ways she could have killed him later though. She could have given him a death that made the name Black Death ring true. 

But mercy. She was practicing mercy for today. 

The blood slid off her knife like it wanted to be free of his ilk. The Illyrian, Agron Thymus, was one of the many war-camp leaders that was giving Rhysand some trouble since the War with Hybern. He disrespected Rhysand in many ways, going behind his back and continuing outlawed practices, continuing to work against the Inner Circle. Their old ways had no room in this new world.

Of course, he didn’t know that she was the one killing them. He hadn’t reached out to her since the meeting between the human leaders and the High Lords. She at first assumed he was busy rebuilding the Night Court. Velaris was ambushed, there were buildings that were in rubble, some in disrepair and abandoned. But months passed. The Commander healed. And she had still received no word.

So, she took matters into her own hands. If he wasn’t going to do anything about the Illyrian’s grumbling of an open rebellion, she would take care of it. It was easy enough to blend in, considering she was an Illyrian herself. Without the mask, she could become anyone. No one knew of her existence. She had become a ghost.

But with the mask…she was the former Commander of  Hybern; Black Death; and all the other names that they had given her. Bitch. Traitor. Kin-Killer. She was all of them.

The Commander of Hybern looked around Argon’s small hut. There wasn’t much. Weapons of all kinds, either picked up from the war or forged by one of his blacksmiths. A few chips of gold lay in the corner of the hut in a small bag.

 The Commander picked it up. Dead males didn’t need gold.

He didn’t have anything worthwhile. She already had her own blades, forged by the King of Hybern. It was good metal. She wouldn’t dare waste it, despite who it came from. The mask, too, stayed. It was useful. It blocked her scent and kept her hidden in the shadows. There was no need to get rid of it now. It was a part of her.

She sighed, kicking the foot of the Argon, watching his lifeless body give out its final twitches. “You really were a piece of shit. Thank the Mother you never married.”

He didn’t reply. Only looked at her with lifeless eyes, his face still a portrait of fear. 

She frowned. “It’s a shame. You were kind of handsome. I would have liked you, perhaps in another life.”

He almost seemed to say, his mouth still open in a silent scream, You could have had anything you wanted. You could have been the High Lady if you so pleased. You could have done anything. But now you’re just a killer. You waste your potential here, Hellcat.

“I know,” she murmured. She took one more look around the hut before leaving his body alone in his cooling hut. And she simply winnowed away, leaving no trace she ever existed.

The winnow back to the human lands took the edge off, and it tipped her back into sanity as her magic strained. It was a welcome relief. It was like taking a sip off the top of a nearly spilling well. That power, that great and terrible power, felt like it was only growing some days. She was only finding more and more uses for it. Creating new things. Trying new ideas. Some were better than others.

The human lands were starting to become cold, but the sun was warm. The colors were changing all around her. The ground was scattered with discarded brown leaves, like shaking off a jacket. The manor that she lived in, discarded from the war and no longer used, was starting to become home. She, Jurian, and Vassa lived there. Lucien visited on occasion, but he had his own room.

She walked past the wards they put in place when they first moved in and into the manor. They still haven’t come up with a name for it, other than the manor . Although, they did have a name for all of them.

The Band of Exiles. 

The war had left them all damaged in some way. Some more than others. But it didn’t matter. They were together, and that’s the way they wanted it. They didn’t need anyone but each other. 

The Commander still hadn’t worked up the courage to see Tamlin. She scoured for excuses not to visit, but she knew it was only a matter of time. The excuse of “healing” wasn’t going to last for much longer. She still had a limp, but only when she exerted herself too much in one day. But it ached constantly. Like a knot, she couldn’t quite get it out.

The scar across her face and stomach was healed. She didn’t realize how bad it truly was until it scared her. Rarely did fae ever scar, but she did. Across her face. Down her stomach. There were a few on her wings from where the King snapped them. Even the ones the Drakagor made were there, like a necklace, across her collarbones and upper shoulder.

The Commander took her sword off of her belt and walked upstairs to her room. She dropped off almost everything. Her sword. Daggers. The heaviest parts of her armor. Finally, she was left bare with nothing but her black tunic and pants with a dagger tucked into her boots. 

Her room was small but clean. Jurian left no trace that he was there last night. The only reason she knew he was real and that he wasn’t a dream as well was his scent in her sheets. 

The Commander walked back downstairs and into the small living area they had. No one was here, which wasn’t entirely uncommon. Usually, everyone was doing something. And Vassa was never here during the day, but patrolling the skies in her firebird form. On some days, the Commander would join her. 

Stalking into the kitchen, she grabbed the half-eaten loaf of bread on the counter and tore off a piece for herself. She tore chunks off and pulled her mask back just enough to eat. Gods she was starving. She forgot to eat breakfast this morning.

The front door opened and closed, soft and light footsteps padding through the living room. It wasn’t Jurian. His footsteps were heavy, and the Commander could hear him before he even stepped in the house, let alone feel his mind. 

Lucien rounded the corner to the kitchen. He would have been startled, should have been, but he’d been around her quite a bit at this point. At the very least, he’d grown familiar with her presence.

“I thought you wouldn’t be coming home until later,” Lucien said. “You’ve been out a lot lately.”

She gave the barest of nods. “I finished business early.”

“Same,” he said. His nose crinkled lightly as he searched around the kitchen for something to eat as well. “You smell like blood.”

The Commander dusted her hands off. “I’ll take a bath later then.”

“It’s very strong.”

She deadpanned to him. “I’ll take one soon.”

He pulled out leftovers from the day before and grabbed a fork to eat it. “Tamlin has been asking about how you’re doing. It’s the only thing he’s asked.”

Guilt hit her in the gut like a physical blow. “You visited him today?”

Lucien nodded. “I did. He’s…not doing well. His Court is falling into disrepair fast. Many undesirable creatures are running about.” He sighed. “I’m not sure what to do. And I know Rhysand will be asking about it soon.”

“Do you think visiting him will make it better?”

He weighed the options in his head, bobbing his head slightly. “It could. But nothing is for certain. You’re welcome to come with me tomorrow if you’d like. I leave at sunrise.”

The Commander leaned against the counter and looked at Lucien. She would certainly think about his offer. “What has Rhysand been asking of you?”

He shrugged. “I’m supposed to be his emissary. But he hasn’t given me much to do. Just to keep an eye on the Spring Court. Let him know what Tamlin is doing. As well as how Vassa has been doing. The Human Lands. All of that.”

“He was supposed to give me orders at some point. I’m starting to get a bit restless down here.”

“I’ll bring it up to him, see if he has some odd job for you to do.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

“It’s not a problem,” Lucien replied. “I can’t imagine it’s much fun staying around here. Although—” He gave her a firm look. “—I don’t think that’s what you’re doing.”

She shrugged. “I’ve got to keep myself busy somehow.”

His eyes narrowed, the golden one giving off a slight whirling noise. “I would be careful, whatever you’re doing. You don’t want to fuck with Rhysand. He’s been a bit uptight the last few weeks. I wouldn’t want to piss him off.”

“That makes most of us,” she grumbled. “I have a hard time sitting idly by while the Night Court struggles.”

“Many Courts are struggling, why not offer your help to them?”

“Because half of them want to hang me for what I did in the War, the other half want to dissect me to figure out exactly what I am. But they all agree I’m some sort of abomination .” She took a deep breath, calming herself. “The fact is, the Night Court is my home. I would like to go home and help my people. The other High Lords aren’t going to want me or accept me.”

“They won’t accept you as long as you wear that mask,” he said, pointing at it. “If you can’t show that you trust them, then they won’t trust you. It’s the game that they play.”

“I can’t take it off.”

“Why?”

She was silent for a long time. “I…It’s a long story.”

Lucien stared at her silently as he took the opposite side of her, trying to see her face through the mask. “Try me. We’re allies, friends maybe. We live together. I’ve seen you chained beneath Rosehall Manor. You can trust me, just take off the mask.”

“I do trust you, Lucien. But if a Daemati were to look in your mind... If they know—”

“Who’s they?”

“ Rhysand ,” she sighed. “If he knows who I am, Gods know what will happen. I’m terrified to know.”

Lucien’s frown deepened. “Take off the mask, Sirius.”

She stiffened at the sound of her name, hands digging into the countertop painfully. He must have heard Jurian use it before. By how much he called her Princess , she was surprised he picked up on it. He picked up on a lot of things, many things that perhaps he shouldn’t know but does.

The Commander shook her head. “Whatever you do, don’t tell Rhysand that name.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Promise me.” Desperate. Perhaps too desperate.

His eyes trailed over her, taking in her stance, probably hearing her heartbeat spike. His eyes softened. “I promise.”

 

***

 

The Commander of Hybern didn’t have much time to react as the ward in her tent went off. She had barely enough time to grab the dagger from underneath her pillow and launch her magic around the room.

Her assailant, a soldier of hers, threw up his hands as shadows covered the room in an unmistakable darkness, so thick he could barely breathe. It was almost like a poisonous fog. He couldn’t see, couldn’t feel, anything.

“ Fuck ,” he whispered. He gathered as much sense as he could, pulling his dagger up to his chest. He thought it would have been simple. Sneak into the Commander’s tent, slit her throat, and take her head to the King of Hybern. Maybe he would reward him with a new position. Maybe even the Commander’s position.

“Do you know what I saw in the darkness,” the Commander whispered. It felt like her voice was coming from every direction. He spun around, trying to catch a glimpse of her, but it was like stumbling through a forest blind. “I saw a dark sea and a swift tide. I was a girl when I entered that darkness.” 

The soldier was shaking now. “Please let me go, I’m sorry. This was a mistake.”

The Commander let out a cruel, low laugh. He didn’t even register the pain until he was howling with it. Until he was crumpled on the floor, clutching his guts and trying to force them back into his body. 

Another laugh.

“I’m not a child anymore.”

The darkness dissipated enough for the soldier to see the Commander of Hybern standing over him, her beautiful face stained with blood and anger. Fierce, righteous anger. She didn’t need the mask to be the Commander of Hybern. She simply was the Commander.

She knelt down beside him. “Death will be much more cruel to you. But me…I want you to know fear as I have.” She stroked the side of his face softly. He whimpered under her touch, almost like she was burning him. It felt like it. Her violet eyes twinkled in madness. “I want you to know what Black Death is like.”

The King said that the Commander could deal with her soldiers at her discretion. That if they disobeyed her, she could manage the punishment. She thought for a moment before making up her mind. 

The Commander of Hybern stood, slowly putting on her mask, gloves, and clothes. Covering every inch of her.

“Let me show you,” she said quietly. 

The soldier's whimpering was the only indication he heard her.

She grabbed his guts and dragged him out of her tent. Even in the dead of night, soldiers were awake and watching. And they most certainly watched as the soldier started screaming.

She strung him up outside of her tent, leaving him retching and dying as she played with him. More of her soldiers came to gather around and watch as she slowly took him apart, piece by piece until he was no longer breathing. Until he was dead, and she was still disassembling him. Still picking at him like a crow.

Some of the soldiers watching covered their eyes or ears, trying to block out the noise of it. Others relished in it, their mouths dripping in saliva, as if hungry to devour. When she was done, covered in blood and gore, she turned back to the crowd. In the corner of her eye, past the mask, she could see Jurian in the corner with his arms crossed.

“If you think for one moment you can kill me, that you can steal my place, that you can murder me like a coward, I want you to remember this.” She pointed at the soldier she murdered. She screamed at them, “I WANT YOU TO REMEMBER HIS SCREAMING. AND I WANT YOU TO REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU TRY AND CROSS BLACK DEATH. BECAUSE I WILL NOT SHOW YOU MERCY .” She took a deep breath. Her nerves wouldn’t calm though. The only sound she could hear was the thundering in her chest, the pure rage in her every breath. 

“If you are loyal, if you obey me, consider yourself family. I respect you. I cherish you. But I will not harbor cowards and assassins who try and slaughter my family in the night. You are dismissed!”

The crowd was silent as they began walking away back to their own tents. The Commander of Hybern glanced up at the body. In the haze of her rage, she didn’t quite realize what she was doing. She gave into the voice in her head, that bloodlust.

Jurian walked up to her, not quite sure if he was her enemy or ally yet in the war. “That was quite the spectacle.” He glanced up at the body, a mix of horror and pride flashing on his face.

“He deserved it,” was all she muttered.

“That he did. Good job. Here’s your first lesson, Commander, about leading an army, since the King wanted me to teach you. If you’re going to lead by fear, you need to keep them under your thumb. If you show any weakness, they will tear you apart like you did to him.” Jurian glanced around them, looking at some of the other soldiers. Some looked in awe, and maybe a bit of pride. Others did look at her in fear as to what she could do to them if they ever stepped out of line. “Some respect you, either out of fear from you or the King. Which is good. But I suggest making some more friends than enemies.”

“They are not my friends.”

“Then make some,” he said dramatically. “They won’t follow you just because you’re adequate. They will follow you because they believe in you, because they trust you and respect you. Play into their goals and see how they become your loyal hounds.” He lowered his voice, for only her to hear. “What do you think I did, Commander .”

Jurian left, leaving her to think and contemplate. 

This would be a long war.

Notes:

Sorry for the long wait. I decided to take a small break so I can come back to this with a fresh mind. I hope everyone likes the change in the flashbacks. I thought it would be interesting to make it scenes from the War/memories that Sirius blocked out. Some of these scenes will be something I mentioned in the fic earlier but just cut out, and others will be something new. It will kinda expand on how the Commander got so feared and her rise into power, but I might add some other backstory stuff. I'm excited to take on some new direction. It should be fun :D Hope you all enjoy it! I know it's been a while. Let me know what you think in the comments! Love you guys.

Chapter 28: A Piece of Honesty

The Commander almost had forgotten how beautiful the sunrise was. She had spent so long in the dark, the nights spent tired and endless, that it was a welcome reprieve. It reminded her that the night was over, and she could face the sun again.

Out in the cold, she waited, the leaves beginning to fall in the early autumn. The manor stood behind her as she stood by the front door. The Firebird was already up in the sky, somehow disappearing down the stairs so that the Commander couldn’t hear her. She could feel her mind though. Not that it mattered. The Commander was there to protect the human Queen. As part of her Court, it was her duty.

Not that they ever really enforced ranks among them. 

“You’re coming?” Lucien asked, closing the manor door behind him. He looked mildly surprised, his eyebrows raising and golden eye making a small whirling noise.

The Commander shrugged. “You offered, and I have nothing better to do.”

It was a farce. She could think of much better things to do, like help rebuild the Night Court, help out at the Illyrian camps, spend her day in bed fighting her thoughts, or maybe even try her hand at cards. But alas, the guilt was eating at her.

Tamlin had asked specifically about her, and she had been intentionally ignoring him. Maybe he deserved it, for what he did to Feyre, for betraying Prythian. But she was no better at this point.

Just to see how he was doing, that’s what she kept telling herself. Nothing more.

Lucien stood, watching her, as if he might be able to read her thoughts when truly it was the other way around. 

“You don’t have to,” Lucien said, a bit more quietly. Gently. She was anything but gentle. 

Her wings were restless, fidgeting behind her. She straightened herself. “I want to,” she replied. 

He glanced at her wings. As if he could see through her. “Do you want to winnow us there or do you want me to? I won’t be able to get us there in one winnow.”

“If you’d like me to I can, I should probably take some of the strain off my magic anyway. But be warned, it’s…different, or at least so I’ve been told.”

“It can’t be that different.” Lucien carefully took hold of her arm.

“Brace yourself,” was the only warning the Commander gave before she sent them whirling into the void. 

For a second, it felt like the world stopped turning. The air sucked out of her lungs, but at this point it was familiar. She had done it so much that it was welcoming. Warm, but cold, like that ocean across Death’s shores. 

And then they were blasted with the full heat of the Spring Court, such a jarring change in temperature compared to Human Lands. It was much more colorful here too, no longer bland, but bright and green. The sun was just beginning to rise, sending glorious rays across the once well-manicured lawn.

The Commander almost gaped at the change. It was… well, different. 

Lucien gasped beside her, like the first breath he had ever taken, doubled over with his hands on his knees. “You weren’t lying, Mother above…”

The Commander would have smirked behind the mask if she weren’t looking at the Manor in front of her. The glass doors were shattered, some off their hinges on the ground, discarded. Ivy was beginning to climb up the sides, enveloping it. Consuming it.

 And the lawn, what was once lush and green, was overgrown and wild. Claw marks mawed the ground in places. The rose bushes she once used to hide behind jutted out at awkward angles.

She stepped around Lucien, taking in the courtyard. She remembered this place. She was once here when she was dead. Watching, listening, to the crowd gather around Tamlin right before his wedding. She remembered the altar, once lush and white, something that should have been happy, was turned sour. 

The Commander remembered being angry, but she didn’t have space for anger in death. She had so many other concerns. The only thought running through her head was, It should have been me . She was glad he was happy though.

Now, where the altar once stood, where the wedding was supposed to be, a path of hyacinths bloomed. Small and fragile. Like they might break.

An offering. A beg for forgiveness.

The Commander tore her eyes away and back to Lucien, who managed to regain some composure. 

“Tamlin is usually inside,” Lucien stated.

“He is.” She could feel his mind inside. He was the only one here for miles and miles, until the forest, where she could feel other creatures and Fae roaming around. “He’s upstairs watching from the window.”

Lucien’s eyes darted up to the windows on the second floor. A flash of blond hair disappeared from view. 

The Commander stepped in front of Lucien, not waiting for him to step inside the manor. The glass on the front steps crunched under her heavy boots. Lucien followed behind her, curiously. As if he was wondering how she knew the layout so well.

She’d never really been inside. With Tamlin having several brothers, a grueling father, and a subservient mother, she never really dared. Only to his room on occasion. More likely at the end of a date or long night they would end up in the bushes or at the pool of starlight she made for him. 

The pool of starlight he showed Feyre. 

She pushed away the jealousy, the anger. Bitter and vile in her throat.

Not at her, but at him. For showing her such an important place, a place that meant a lot to her . And what she thought was important to him as well. Something for the two of them.

The Commander crossed her arms as she looked around, frowning. The interior was destroyed as well, and paintings and vases were scattered and destroyed across the floors. What was once probably beautiful was just another scar from this war.

“Tamlin… I wasn’t sure you’d be here.” Lucien crossed the distance to the staircase where Tamlin was walking down. He waited for him at the bottom of the staircase, looking up at him. “I figured you’d have gone to the woods already.”

But Tamlin wasn’t looking at Lucien. He was looking at the Commander, who was surveying the walls with wide gouge marks. A painting of flowers lay tattered on the floor in ribbons. It was probably worth the size of a large cottage, ruined by Tamlin’s claws. Something he could have given to the people, used for trade. Useless…

The Commander slowly turned her head to look at him, meeting his eyes, arms still crossed. “Tamlin…”

Mother and Cauldron, he looked terrible. Like he hadn’t eaten anything substantial in days. His face was dirty, clothes were wrinkled and well-worn. He hadn’t shaved in a long time either.

“Sirius…” he breathed. His eyes flashed; something in them guttering. Like he was seeing a ghost. He cleared his throat. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

She turned, walking towards the bottom of the steps. She tried her best to cover the limp in her step, but like always, he saw everything. It seemed like he always saw right through her. “I came to see how you were doing.”

His eyes darkened. “With the mask on…”

“What would you prefer?” She could already feel her anger rising again. Shadows gathered around her fingertips. 

“I would prefer to see you. I know the King left you scarred but…”

“But nothing,” she snapped.

He paused, looking at her. “Still the Commander of Hybern, I see.”

Lucien looked between the two of them, warily. As if he could see the tensions rise as a physical live wire. “It seems you may want to catch up for a bit. Do you want me to leave you two alone?”

“No,” they both said, simultaneously. Both were still staring at one another as if they were opposing warriors.

“Right…” Lucien looked away awkwardly. “Lovely…Well, Commander would you care to help me prepare something to eat? It seems as though breakfast is in order.”

She would follow Lucien into what she assumed to be the kitchen, Tamlin tailing behind from a distance. She could almost feel Tamlin’s eyes on her, more specifically her leg as she tried not to limp.

He could tell it was hurting her, most likely. For some reason, she woke up that morning, and it was already sore. She must have strained herself too much yesterday.

There was nothing in the dining room. The main table was cracked in the middle, and plates and napkins were scattered about the once beautiful room. The Commander eyed the painting she had once escaped the Manor’s dungeon from, still somehow hanging, despite the rest of the Manor.

She followed Lucien further, back into the kitchens. Lucien had clearly used it before, with some pots and pans set out and a few fresh herbs and vegetables on the counter. There was a deer on the opposite counter, half butchered, skinned completely. 

“What do you wish for me to do?” the Commander asked absently, staring at the deer. It reminded her of something, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it… Something from the War.

Lucien pulled out a knife from his thigh and took out a cutting board from one of the cupboards. “Cut up enough for us to eat. I’ll work on some of the potatoes. Seems like we have enough for a stew… perhaps.”

The Commander turned towards the deer, looking it over thoughtfully, as she pulled off her gloves. And then, she willed the shadows to turn solid, into a sharp, quick blade.

It was an effort to keep the shadows materialized, but it was something she was trying to practice. So in a pinch, she wasn’t completely defenseless. It was about the size of her hand, pure black, with wisps of shadow clinging to the edge of the blade.

As if Lucien could sense the wrongness of it, he turned to look. “What is that?” he asked, eyeing it.

“Something I’ve been working on…” She twisted the knife in her hands, the black absorbing any light around it. Like it was summoned from the void itself, from death. 

She peeled back the ribs of the deer, looking as to where to make the first cut. The hindquarters, perhaps… Maybe the backstrap, the most tender cut of meat on a deer, but it seemed like that was already cut away and used.

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” Lucien murmured. “You can’t make something from nothing.”

“It isn’t from nothing,” the Commander said plainly. “It’s shadow.”

She cut into the deer, scraping the good meat from between the ribs. The blade not faltering at all, cutting away in simple, clean cuts. Sharper than any blade she’d ever had, even the one the King gave her needed to be sharpened every once and a while. But not this blade.

Lucien said nothing as he continued chopping up various ingredients for the stew. Potatoes, leeks, onion, celery. Tossed abruptly into a pot over a fireplace that lit to life, courtesy of his Autumn Court lineage.

From the other room, the Commander could hear Tamlin scraping something against the floor, shuffling around in the dining room. She didn’t dare ask, not as she maneuvered her blade expertly against the deer, cutting away at the meat. It was easy to lose herself in it, as she just cut and cut away.

 

***

 

The King of Hybern stood beside her, looking over her masterful work. The Commander of Hybern never trained for torture, considering that was Azriel’s job when she was a child. What was still his job, as far as she knew.

But she knew well enough where to cut a male to make them bleed, to make them scream. It was enough that the male who used to be in the middle of the King’s tent was unrecognizable, the Cauldron in the center of the room humming slightly.

She hated that damn pot. 

It kept taunting her, calling her to it. Like calls to like, after all.

The King of Hybern put a hand on her shoulder, smiling. “Good, very good, I must say. You’ve been paying attention.”

“I have, my Liege.”

He patted her, kneeling over his body. “What all did he tell you?”

She shrugged. “Nothing much. The same as what the others said. Prythian was hiding in the mountain pass, a few still stationed in the Summer Court. Autumn Court is still deciding whether or not they will fight. If Beron thinks that things will go badly, I’m sure he would be quick to bend the knee, my Liege.”

“I’ll take care of Beron. I’ve sent a few messengers to his border. I am waiting to hear their reply. Within the next week, at least.”

“What of the other Courts?”

He scoffed. “Winter and Night will never. Spring is already in control, and we now have access to the Human Lands with it. Autumn, is debatable. And considering the close ties between Dawn and Day…I doubt it. We may have some luck with the other continent though. But I doubt we will need to call for their aid.”

That’s right. She almost forgot about the continent to the East. Vallahan, and the other Faerie Realms. 

The King stood again, gesturing for her to follow her away from the mangled mess of what once used to be a person. His bones jutted out awkwardly, stark white against his deep red meat.

He took a seat at a small table and pointed at the one across from him. “You’re free to take off the mask,” he said casually.

The Commander of Hybern would oblige, pulling it off of her face. A few whisps of raven hair fell into her eyes, but she pushed them aside as she set her black, intricate mask on the table.

“Care to have a drink with me?” he would ask, pulling out a bottle of amber liquid.

“It would be my pleasure.”

He would pour the two of them drinks. The smell of cinnamon and apples hit her nose in a quick, pungent strike. It reminded her vaguely of the whiskey her father used to drink. Less fruity, and more smooth.

The King of Hybern would hand her the drink, smelling it. His brown hair was tucked behind his pointed ears, that golden wicked crown resting on his head. His cheekbones too sharp. But he looked so plain.

So…ordinary. Even for a Fae.

The Commander of Hybern would slowly take a drink, letting the flavors slowly melt on her tongue. This was so much better than what she stole from the Army’s Reserves. Truly, fit for a king.

He would smile. “I see you enjoy it.”

“It’s delicious, my Liege.”

He snorted slightly, glancing away. “Jurian despises it. But, in his words, “It does the trick.” The King of Hybern would raise the drink to her. “To you, Commander. My Right Hand. I don’t know where I would be without you. You have been this war's greatest asset, my Commander.”

The Commander would smile, her violet eyes darting, but she would raise her glass with him. 

After taking a drink with him, the Commander would breathe out a small, “Thank you, my Liege.” She cleared her throat. “It’s been my pleasure.”

The King looked at her, a look of fondness, almost. “You were born on the wrong side of the Earth, girl.”

She would like to think that she wasn’t. That she was meant to be from Prythian. That she was meant to be raised in the Night Court. 

But she was vicious. She was terrible. Maybe she deserved to be born in Hybern, to be this bastard of darkness. Maybe it would have been better than being the High Lord’s daughter. It was better than being Sirius Nyx, always living in the shadows of others who came before her.

The Commander of Hybern had a job to do. And she would protect those she loved. It was why she was here in the first place. There were times when she would forget that…

“I have a feeling you’re right,” she replied with a chuckle. “But I’m here now. Can’t complain about that.”

He took a sip of his drink. “I’ll give you a piece of honesty, Sirius. When you first started working for me, I didn’t think you’d do well. I thought you would fight me, tooth and nail, against this war. But you’ve been utterly excellent against fighting Prythian. Do you hate your home so much? Or rather, hate your brother, more accurately.”

The Commander set down her drink. “I do not hate him, rather the system he upholds.” 

Truth and lies. Lies and truth. She had learned from the best, her father. And here, another man like him stood before her.

She continued, “I see what you wish to see…A free world. Rhysand is just a chess piece in the way of that goal. A rather annoying , chess piece. It’s all business, to complete our goal, at this point whether he lives or dies does not bother me. I was a naive girl at the start of this war.” She smiled sweetly. The same smile she would give those courtiers in the Court of Nightmares. “I’d like to think I’m something more now. Something…better. Our people deserve to be free.”

Satisfied with her answer, the King of Hybern took another drink. “And I can trust that you won’t betray me, that I can trust you , to fulfill this goal. This… dream .”

Almost a mock of the Night Court, of Rhysand. His Court of Dreams.

She bowed her head, feeling the bargain tug at her deep within her core. Everything she had ever promised him. 

Every betrayal threatened to spill through her lips, every secret whisper, every plot with Jurian. It coiled deep within her. But she looked the King in the eyes, and said, “I’ve obeyed your every order. You can trust me to see it through.”

And even though the bargain sat inside her, dissatisfied, she made it through the question. She wasn’t lying to him. Not truly. She did follow his every order, and she would see them through. And she would see her own choices through until the end, even if it brought her back to Death again.

An emotion passed in the King’s face, one she never dreamed of achieving. Trust. And…gratitude. Like she was the only one who had ever listened to him. Familial and familiar.

She pictured her father sitting across from her when she returned his look.

Her father never treated her as kindly as the King had. 

Both, cunning and cruel and deadly beyond reason. But the King of Hybern…no, she shouldn’t even consider it. He slaughtered thousands. He imprisoned her. He forced her to do those killings, with the threat of killing her brother and family dangling over her head. 

He…he was kind to her. For some Gods-forsaken reason. It made this betrayal so much worse. It made going to Prythian’s War-Camps, healing their wounded, and sending them information, so much worse.

But she couldn’t forget what was at stake. 

She couldn’t forget them so easily, could she?

 

***

Breakfast was utterly quiet, awkwardly so. But the stew was delicious. The Commander could never make something like this if she dreamed it, which was why she helped in the kitchen with Lucien and never actually cooked. She could maybe make flatbread, perhaps some eggs for breakfast, but nothing so complicated.

She didn’t remember Tamlin being so quiet, but to be fair, the last interactions she had with Tamlin were not so pleasant.

Not only did she directly disobey him and run off to the meetings with the humans, generals, and High Lords, but she also didn’t let him visit while she was healing. Or rather, Jurian told him not to. 

And then the time before, he helped Elain Archeron escape the Hybern camp. The one last favor she called from him. The last time they worked together, which ended up being successful, but disastrous for her. All the trust she earned from the King…gone.

And the time she slapped him…

She didn’t want to think about it. It shamed her, to say the least, and then rubbed salt in the wound by asking about his stone heart.

When she looked at the broken male before her, she saw a reflection of herself. The part of herself she hated. The part of herself she was trying to erase.

But somehow, she always wound up going back to him, like fate had designed it. 

Fate was cruel, the Commander decided. 

It was Lucien who broke the silence. “Anything new?”

“About what,” Tamlin asked, voice low as he stared at his bowl.

“About…anything?”

The Commander glanced at Tamlin, his golden hair hanging over his face, its glow faded. He shoveled another spoonful into his mouth. He had picked up the dining room enough for three chairs, a wooden slab that acted as a table. It was stable enough. At least enough to rest their dishes on.

“I heard there are creatures here that are starting to run wild...Unwelcome ones,” the Commander stated. Tamlin was either stupid or an idiot to think no one had noticed he wasn’t enforcing his borders. That there were dangerous creatures on the prowl, some the Commander was concerned about. Especially if they slipped into the human lands.

“What’s it to you?” Tamlin snapped back. But there were no claws. No hints of anger besides his grated tone. Like he had given up on trying to muster the emotion.

“What if those creatures slip into the Human Lands? Or into the other Courts?”

“Then it’s not my business anymore.”

“It should be.” 

Lucien looked at her with a slight shake of his head. They had likely had the discussion already, and it didn’t end well. Who’s to say the Commander couldn’t make him see reason?

“If you’re so concerned about my borders, why don’t you take it over, Commander ? It seems as though you have nothing better to do with your time than bark orders at me.”

“I came to see how you were doing,” she said, a little softer this time.

“And you have. So either you can leave or you can stop acting like you know what’s best for my Court.”

“Tamlin…” Lucien drawled. A subtle warning.

His eyes darted to him. Almost like a caged animal. That’s what he was in this ruined manor. A pained, caged animal. “What?”

The Commander leaned forward in her seat, setting down the bowl. “I can empathize with your situation, I truly can, but that is no reason to leave this Court in ruins. You have a responsibility, Tamlin. And if no one else will tell you that, then I will. Sooner or later, someone will realize that you aren’t protecting the borders, and someone will use that to their advantage.”

He must have been a fucking idiot when Tamlin snapped back, “I lost everything, Sirius. Everything. Feyre destroyed what little chance I had for rebuilding this Court. The people don’t trust me, the Courts barely tolerate me, and the female I loved ran back into your fucking brother’s arms .”

Lucien wholly stilled at that. As if he was anticipating a fight, but also because of his words. 

Brother .

The shadows in the room were palpable. That darkness, sickly and fluid, almost became a physical being inside her. The magic overwhelmed her.

But she forced herself to take a deep breath, then another. And another.

And then she struck him where she knew it would hurt, like the hellcat she was. “It’s amazing to think I ever loved someone like you.”

Something in Tamlin’s face shuttered, and she knew she hit her mark. But it didn’t feel satisfying, or good, to do.

Tamlin’s voice rumbled, and cracked, “Get out.”

The Commander stood, leaving her bowl on the table. She threw Lucien an apologetic look but forgot he couldn’t see beyond the mask. 

She lingered by Tamlin’s side for a moment. “I care about you Tamlin. But don’t ever say something like that about Rhysand again, or I’ll tear your fucking throat out. Shared history or not.”

He only repeated, softly, “Get out.”

“I’ll be back another time,” she murmured. She walked away, half limping a few steps. 

She tapped on Lucien’s mind as she walked away, and let him open up to him. I’ll meet you back at home, unless you need someone to winnow you back.

Home, because that’s where she belonged now. Not Velaris. Not the Illyrian mountains. Her brother effortlessly abandoned her. In the Human Lands with her…friends. That’s what they were, weren’t they? Friends?

He replied I wouldn’t come back if I were you…we’ll talk about it once I’m back. I can get back just fine.

Sorry, I didn’t mean to lose my temper.

His mind was silent for a moment. I didn’t know Rhysand was your brother. 

Well, Rhysand forgets he once had a sister.

She left his mind. And left the Spring Court entirely. The air was sucked out of her lungs as Autumn hit her in the Human Lands once again. High in the sky, she heard a screech. A firebird. Vassa. Who the Commander figured now was her Queen, considering she was in her Court.

 It was amazing she hadn’t burned down the whole forest around them, though she supposed she had at least a little control over the magic.

The Commander rolled her shoulders, trying to lose the tension within them. It just wouldn’t give though.

Well, there was no better time than today to start flying again. Even as Jurian perched on a rock, his eyes curiously looking her over. As if he could sense the conversation that just happened. She hated that Jurian knew her well enough to know when she was in a sour mood.

“She’s been asking that you fly with her for weeks now,” was his only comment.

“Fuck it,” the Commander muttered and launched into the skies. It wasn’t the Illyrian mountains, but it would do. She needed the chance to stretch her wings.

Chapter 29: Ashes and War

Hours of flying had left both the Commander and Vassa hungry. Jurian had cooked them up something while they flew, high above their manor. It had been a long time since she’d flown with someone. The last time she could think of was with her mother or brother. 

Although she never enforced such titles, Vassa, or rather her Queen, was fun to fly with. The Commander learned very fast not to get too close so she didn’t get burned. Although, it was nice to fly next to someone…so warm.

She would duck and whirl around the firebird, and she would do the same to her. They fell into an easy rhythm of chasing each other through the clouds, falling and cascading. 

Jurian, Vassa, and the Commander gathered around the kitchen table soon after sunset, gulping down some roasted deer and potatoes that Jurian cooked. The Commander just pushed her mask aside enough to eat, never taking it off, even after the look Jurian gave her.

 “So, I take it you both want to kick my ass in cards after last night's disaster,” Jurian said to no one.

Vassa looked up from her meal with a devilish grin, pushing back her molten copper hair. “You know it. My Commander here needs a rematch after the beating you gave her last time.”

The Commander huffed a laugh. “You know how badly I take defeat,” she said, voice monotone. She just pushed the food around on her plate, her thoughts far away from a card game. She should probably train tonight and get rid of all that pent-up energy still left from today. The encounter with Tamlin still left her aching for a fight.

Jurian eyed her. “Well, you know I’m always welcome to have my ass handed to me.”

Vassa giggled. “If I win, you have to listen to me for five minutes.” Before Jurian could retort, she held up a hand. “I’m serious. I have an idea on how to help our people here, and before you say anything about the execution, just listen.”

“Fine,” Jurian huffed, rolling his eyes. “But I’ll only listen. It doesn’t mean I’ll agree with you.”

“I just think that if we start rebuilding a court, a real court , we might have a chance—”

Jurian interrupted her. “Considering you have Fae in your Court, her of all people, I don’t think it would be wise to introduce them to humans yet—”

“I’m right here, you know,” the Commander scoffed. “And while I think you may be right, that’s still hurtful.”

“Excuse me , Commander , I didn’t think you cared about what I said.”

“Fuck you. You know I care.”

Jurian raised his eyebrows like he didn’t believe her, but there was a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. Like he was wanting to get her riled up. Like fuel to fire.

The Commander blew out another long, deep breath, and said again, “Fuck you, Jurian.”

He winked at her as he stood from the table, aiming for the skin. “You only have to ask, Princess,” he teased.

Vassa’s eyes darted between the two of them. 

“You’re disgusting,” the Commander said with a sneer. 

Jurian shrugged. “Suit yourself, Princess. I’m not the one with a stick up my ass half the week. Unlike you, I actually enjoy being alive and being free.”

“I enjoy being free too,” she retorted.

“I think you’ve been following orders for so long you don’t know what the meaning of free is.” He washed his dish, continuing to talk while the Commander finished whatever was left on her plate. She needed to gain some weight back. She tended to skip meals or eat little these days. She was still eating better than when she was with Hybern, though. “I’m sure Vassa could agree with me.”

“Don’t put me into this conversation,” Vassa barked. “You’re talking to the one with temporary freedom.”

“Which is something we are working on,” the Commander corrected. “I’m going to the Day Court to see what I can find next week with Lucien. We’ll see if we can find anything that might break that spell with Kosechi. There has to be a way.”

“I’ve seen what happens when people have tried tampering with that so-called Death-Lord ,” Vassa said, grimacing. “While I understand the urgency, I would not want you or Lucien to put yourselves at risk.”

“You’re our Queen,” the Commander combated. “We’ll do what it takes.”

Jurian leaned against the counter, watching the two of them. “Princess, be careful.”

The Commander didn’t take her eyes away from Vassa as she flung Jurian a middle finger for the remark.

But Jurian had a look on his face that she knew well. The Commander went from following one person to another. From the King of Hybern, directly to Vassa. But if it wasn’t Vassa, it would have been someone else. It would have been her brother. It could have been someone else. Someone worse.

“Sirius, fucking with a Death-Lord is not something I want to see you doing,” Jurian said softly. “As funny as it would be to watch, I would rather not see you killed.”

“I should be dead anyway.” The Commander shrugged. “Should have stayed dead.”

Jurian frowned more. “I hate it when you say shit like that.”

Vassa cleared her throat, pulling both Jurian and the Commander away from what would become a heated conversation. “You’re not going near Kosechi, Commander. Not right now. We still have time to deal with that, as well as the humans on Prythian. They are my main concern right now.”

The Commander only bowed her head slightly, respecting her orders.

“We’ll talk more about it later,” Vassa said finally. She turned away from them, going to the other room. The Commander heard her shuffle through some cupboards before returning with a deck of cards in her hand. 

Jurian tucked away his frown, returning to the table and clearing it, as Vassa laid out some cards for them to play. “Where’s Lucien?” she asked lightly. “Should we wait for him?”

“I have no idea,” the Commander said. “He’s visiting Tamlin. I pissed him off a bit.”

“You tend to do that,” Jurian said as he sat down across from her. “It’s like an art form with you.”

Vassa giggled slightly. “Now, now. No need to be an asshole.”

He gave her a sweet smile. “It’s just who I am.”

“Prick,” the Commander shot back, taking a look at her cards. 

“Bitch,” Jurian barked back.

“Quiet,” Vassa ordered them.

The front door swung open and closed with a slam. The Commander immediately tensed as Lucien walked in, heading directly for the kitchen where they were seated.

“Do you want to join us?” Vassa asked. “We just started.”

But Lucien wasn’t listening to Vassa. He took a seat next to the Commander, leaning towards her as if he was trying to see through the mask, and asked, “When the hell were you going to tell us you were Rhysand’s sister?”

Vassa’s eyes widened and she looked to the Commander. After a long, long pause, Vassa asked. “Is that true?”

The Commander’s eyes locked onto her cards as she made herself seem bored, trying not to let the shadows around the room gather around her. She simply laid down one of her cards and drew another. “Since when was that a point of concern? Do I need to tell you all my secrets?”

“Since I work for him as his emissary , Commander, or would you rather I call you Sirius? That’s why. Does he even know?”

“Considering I’m here, in the Human Lands, and not in the Night Court, I’m pretty sure that’s a clear fucking indicator,” the Commander snapped back. She willed herself to take a deep breath. These people are not her enemies. “Sorry, no. I haven’t told him. And I would prefer you keep it that way until I can figure some things out.”

Jurian leaned back in his seat and watched. Trying to hide a smile that the Commander could only imagine said, “I told you so.”

She wished she could punch him.

Lucien scoffed. “It definitely would have been nice to know considering I’m giving him reports twice a week of what’s happening down here. And since you haven’t told him, he would have my head if he found out. He already dislikes me.”

“That’s why I thought it was safer not to tell you. So you wouldn’t be complacent in my choices.”

“By the fucking Mother,” Lucien murmured. “No wonder the King of Hybern wanted you so badly in his armies.”

Jurian stiffened at that, watching the Commander closely.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The Commander cooly asked. 

“How far does your magic go? If Rhysand is the most powerful High Lord, what does that make you?”

The Commander shrugged. Pure fae arrogance and ease as she answered, as if it was nothing, “I’d imagine since my dip in the Cauldron, I’d have more.” Everyone at the table seemed to look at her, slightly shocked. “But that’s pure speculation.”

Vassa is the one who said, “We’re a Court. We’re friends . We aren’t going to turn our back on you. It would have been nice to know so we can face challenges head-on without surprises.”

The Commander paused at that. She was right. They were all friends here. The Commander was never good at being friends , but…it may be worth a shot.

The trust she had in Vassa though, and Lucien, was still thin.

It would take a long time to fully trust them…but she could try to trust them with this. At least for now.

She pulled the mask off her face, the first Vassa had ever seen her. Even after some time away from Hybern, her face was still paler than it should have been. Cheekbones too sharp. Her nose chipped and scarred from the King of Hybern.

But her heritage was clear. Her pale violet eyes were recognized by anyone who met Rhysand. Enough to know it was evident they were family somehow.

“You look just like him,” Vassa murmured.

The Commander bowed her head slightly. “Albeit, a bit more scarred than him.” The joke fell flat though.

“See, not so bad,” Jurian said. “You need to stop wearing the mask, Sirius.”

The Commander stiffened in her seat. Hated that name. Hated how it grated against her mind. If he could see her discomfort he didn’t let on.

All she said was,  “I like the mask.” The Commander stood up, pushing her chair in, and took her mask back. “Take my cards, Lucien. I’m going to train outside.”

 

***

 

Another restless night. The Commander tossed and turned in her bed, eyeing the mask on her nightstand. The one she forced herself to take off so she could go to bed. She missed the weight of it. The feel of it. 

She knew that if she fell asleep only nightmares would greet her, despite training for three hours so she could forget the conversation at the dinner table. So she could forget about the whole day. So she could forget about Tamlin.

Now that the War didn’t occupy her mind, there were other, more pressing, personal matters. She tried her best to push them away, to just focus on Vassa and what she needed. But the more she tried, the more she retreated into herself. The less she felt like a person.

Maybe Jurian was right. When was she ever free? 

The Commander put a pillow over her head. Could someone smother themselves? Surely, it was possible with enough effort.

When was the Commander ever free? First, it was her tyrannical Father, training her to be the best courtisan. Training her magic. Training her how to rule the Court of Nightmares when Rhysand was ever absent. She followed his every order, like how his favorite daughter should have, like a soldier. 

And then the King of Hybern, his lackey. His Right Hand. His Commander.

And now Vassa. 

When had she ever served herself?

It was what kept her up. When had she ever done anything for herself? When had she ever done something that wasn’t for the betterment of a Court or a King?

The Commander sat up, rubbing her eyes. They drooped, evidence of her exhaustion, but her body couldn’t let go of the tension. She made herself get up and walked to Jurian’s room. Surprisingly he hadn’t sought her out that night. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t sleep, becoming so used to the extra body in her bed that she missed his warmth. His grounding touch.

She opened the door, her eyes already adjusted to the dark. Jurian faced away from the door, shaking in his sleep, jolting occasionally. The Commander silently closed the door and slipped under the covers with him, wrapping her arms around him.

Almost immediately, his shaking stopped. Still mercifully asleep. His arms almost reflexively clung onto hers, and the Commander couldn’t help but feel guilty. She slipped into his mind with ease, his human mind not capable of fortifying strong mental shields.

 

Ash and dust. It was all she could see and smell. Piles of bodies went miles and miles, fae and human alike. In his barely stable hand, hung a sword. Blood dripped from it, some of it black, others red, some gold. 

He was panting, looking for allies, friends. Someone.

Anyone.

From a distance, he could hear screaming, the groans of the wounded, the last death croaks of others.

“Sirius…” he whispered under his breath.

He was scanning the skies, looking around the ground. He stumbled a few steps before falling to his knees. He pushed over an Illyrian’s body, and a sigh of relief left his lungs.

It wasn’t her.

It wasn’t Miriam either.

“Sirius!” he screamed. He turned around and around in circles. “MIRIAM!”

He kept stumbling, the pain in his side becoming nearly unbearable. Of course, he had made it through the war, only to lose the only people he knew. He could trust. 

It seemed like fate always twisted that way. It always twisted and turned and left people in the dust. In the ashes of the war. It’s all his life had ever been. 

Ashes and war.

Is that what his life had come to? Ripped away from everything and everyone he ever knew, forced to live in a ring for five hundred years, just to once again lose everything again.

“Sirius please,” he whispers to himself. He keeps looking, flipping over bodies, both relieved and worried each time. Each time, becoming more and more frantic. Each time, moving to the next body. The next Illyrian. The next fae that was cloaked in black and grey.

She could hear, reverberating in his head, that he had to find her. He had to find her. He had to find her before someone else did. Before someone finished the job. Before someone even tried it.

He would protect her until his dying breath. That’s all he was made for. A protector of the chained.

First with the human rebellion. Now, with Hybern, working with Prythian. He would protect those who could not protect themselves.

He would find her in his last breaths. At the edge of the sky. Even if it took a lifetime.

It couldn’t be the end. Not yet.

The Commander took a step back from his dream, wiping it from his mind. Changing the scenery to a beautiful garden, one that she had visited long ago in the Autumn Court. Back when her father used to drag her to have annual drinks and meetings with the High Lord there.

 The tension in Jurian’s body faded almost immediately, sucked out of the nightmare and to something much more pleasant.

He could rest. Peacefully. At least for tonight.

The Commander pressed her head into his neck, trying to take in his comforting scent. That she wasn’t in Hybern’s camp. She was here, with Jurian, in the Human Lands. They were in the manor the four of them owned. They were safe. 

They were safe.

The Commander closed her eyes and slowed down her breathing. She could sleep. She knew she could. She had to try.

Jurian’s soft breaths lulled her to sleep until dawn came through the open window.

Chapter 30: Mirrors

The Commander slowly refined her glamours, shifting her eyes and face, what she looked like, all the way down to her clothes and body. It became useful, especially as she blended herself into a crowd of Illyrians, a bundle of clothes in hand, and blankets and mending kits, for clothes and tents, in her pack.

She knew they were too proud to ask for help. Especially the females who barely had anything, who relied on their husbands for everything they needed but didn’t provide. 

She weaved through the crowds, keeping her head low and posture meek. Like a little lamb running back home to her field. Her dirt brown hair was tied back at the base of her neck, a few stray hairs clinging to her neck and cheeks. Dirt buried itself underneath her fingernails, on her clothes, and a few swipes on her face. Her limp was not faked though.

This wasn’t an Illyrian camp that had known the warmth of fire all winter. And with the snow coming soon, the Commander knew it would result in many freezing to death. They were settled between the foothills of the mountains and a brisk thirty-minute walk from the nearest river. 

She pushed herself into the back of the camp, where many of the tents were. Some had holes in them. Babes clinging to their mothers, crying. A few females chatted with one another over an open fire. A few yelps and laughs. Just people doing their best to live, to survive, to someday thrive.

If they were ever given the chance.

On the females’ wings, ugly scars marred the tops. Some were barely supported, the skin barely clinging to the muscles and bones of their backs. And even though she knew the practice was outlawed, it still happened. No justice ever occurred. No repercussions. 

She could feel her magic boil.

The Commander rapped at the door of a tent, waiting patiently outside. She knew there was someone inside the small tent, fit for only one person. A widow, from the war.

The tent door opened, and out peered a suspicious young female, no older than eighteen with a young babe on her hip. She bounced him while she spoke. “How can I help you?”

The Commander put a waver in her voice, an uncertainty. “I’m sorry to bother you. I have these clothes my husband no longer needs. I was wondering if you would like some. It’s nothing special. Just a few coats.”

The female looked her up and down. She could only pray she bought her lie. She had bought these clothes fresh from a few camps over. They were warm and well-insulated. Perfect for the oncoming winter.

After a long moment, she asked. “May I take a look?”

“Yes, of course.” The Commander laid out a few clothes. Two coats, three shirts. All much bigger than the petite female, but it would keep her warm.

“I don’t know…” she said. She looked at the Commander uncertainly. She didn’t know her. Everyone in the camp knows each other. Maybe she should have chosen a form of someone in town.

“Please, you would be doing me a great favor. I can’t go back to my camp with these, and I would rather them be used by someone rather than a replacement for firewood.”

Very careful. She had to be very careful with her wording. To insinuate that she was in need would push her away further. It would be an insult to her and her family.

“Maybe your husband can use them?” The Commander offered up, knowing fully well she didn’t have one.

The female flinched, and physically recoiled. “I don’t have one…The war took him from me. Like many others here.”

The Commander gave her a solemn smile. “Mine too…”

There was a look of understanding, of empathy, passed between the two. “Let me see the shirts. I know a few females here who could use a few too. The children are growing up so fast, you know. It won’t be long before they fit into these.”

The Commander dipped her head, grateful. “They do. I swear, my little one was just to my hips last winter. Now he’s almost to my shoulders.”

The female laughed, bouncing the one on her hip. “Come inside, tell me your name.”

The Commander tucked her wings, coming into the tent with her. The tent sheltered them from the biting wind. She set a few of the clothes down in a small pile next to the firepit in the center. 

She used the first name that came to mind. “My name is Mor, a pleasure to meet you,” the Commander said quietly. “And what is your name?”

“Alana, and this little one is Marcus. Named after my husband.” She set the child down, his tiny arms already reaching for her. His wings spread out. 

The Commander’s soft smile grew as she looked at Marcus, his deep brown hair brushed back, already growing in full and curly. “Why, hello little Marcus,” she cooed to him.

Alana took out a few things from the pile of clothes, setting them off to the side of her bedroll. “Is it okay if I take a few more? A few people I know could use some of it.”

“Of course,” the Commander said. “As much as you need. I have a few blankets with me if you’d like some too. A few sewing kits. Some books too. Whatever you need.”

She bowed her head slightly, in shame. “You’re too generous. Besides, we don’t need books.”

The Commander cocked her head. “Why’s that?”

“Well…many of us don’t know how to read. If anything, they’ll provide good fuel for the campfire,” she joked. But even then, she could see the longing in her eyes. 

The Commander’s wings flared slightly. They didn’t know how to read ?

How long have they been cut off from the world, from books, from the very essence of culture outside of their own isolated war-camps? Did they have any comforts? Any passageways to knowledge? Any means to truly progress?

“Still. Take whatever you need,” the Commander choked out.

“I don’t know how to repay you.”

“You don’t need to. You’re repaying me by taking it. I can’t use it, and I can’t bear to look at it anymore.” The Commander pulls out her pack and lays out a few blankets.

Alana brushed back her hair with a hand and took one of the blankets. “Thank you.”

The Commander dipped her head. “I should be the one thanking you.”

A few other widows came by, some with small children like Alana, taking some small things out of the pile.

 And it wasn’t long before the Commander moved to the next camp, and the next one, and the next one. Offering condolences, spinning new stories of loss to relate to the next female, and gaining information with each passing female. Who to look out for. Who’s husband mistreated them. Who’s camp leader was spreading lies about the War. Who spread around the most discontent.

She made sure to visit each one that night.

 

***

 

The Commander of Hybern was drunk. Drunk with power. Drunk with whiskey. 

She sat at her desk, pouring over documents for the war, plotting her next moves. There were a couple of things she could do, but the one she was most eager for was the next battle. To feel her hands slick with blood again. To do something other than wait in this fucking camp.

It had been a few days since the King gave her something to do. It left her itching for more and more, and the King kept giving her more. It always seemed like he knew that it did. Like he knew the Commander of Hybern wanted more. Like she was one of them.

And in a way, she was one of them. She spilled Prythian blood just like the rest of them. Just because a dog cries when it bites someone doesn’t mean it didn’t bite them. 

She was no better, and she didn’t dare act like she was.

She wanted to bang her head against the table. 

Sleep wouldn’t come for her tonight. It wouldn’t come for her for a long time. She didn’t need to slip on her mask, already on her face, as she wrapped a cloak around her shoulder and put her boots on. 

The Commander of Hybern stumbled until she got used to the world swaying. She made her rounds around the camp, checking in on the campfires, and her sleeping soldiers. 

The center of the camp buzzed with activity, a giant bonfire in the middle, while fae of all kinds danced around it. She took her seat next to the King’s throne, who went back to his tent to rest earlier that night. 

She kept her wings tucked close to her, as she peered up at the hanging bodies of humans. At least, that’s what she thought they were. They had long since lost any distinguishable features besides hunks of flesh, rotting, smelling up the whole camp.

Her eyes flicked behind the black mask, watching her soldiers dance. 

And then to the person beside her. A flask buried into Jurian’s hand. “You’re up late,” he murmured to her.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

He grunted, his eyes flitting back to the bonfire. “Same.”

The Commander of Hybern nodded and rested her elbows on her knees. From the corner of her eye, she could spot the blonde-eyed priestess in her blue robes, flitting about, flirting. She had her hands trailing on a soldier's armor, while she captured another with her intense gaze.

Ianthe’s destroyed hand hid carefully behind her blue robes, the circulet on her head a mockery of religion. 

The Commander’s fists clenched. She could almost hear the shrill scream in her ears as she imagined wrapping her hands around Ianthe’s throat.

“Relax,” Jurian warned. “As entertaining as it would be, I don’t think you want to cause a scene.”
“I don’t care what the fuck Tamlin thinks. He doesn’t have an opinion anymore considering he’s—”

“ Shut the fuck up ,” Jurian hissed. He glanced around. None of the fae were looking, none paying attention, but they were listening.

To her credit, the Commander stopped talking.

Jurian took a swig from his glass, watching Ianthe with her. A hint of disgust was evident in his eyes as Ianthe led a soldier back to his tent.

And despite her better judgment, or perhaps because she was drunk, she scanned the camp for Tamlin’s mind. His words from earlier that day rang in her mind. Their spat. Part of her wished she could take it back, but she knew if she did that, she wouldn’t actually mean it.

And now with the Wall gone, separating the Human and Fae lands, the War was getting serious. She didn’t have time to think about the past. Didn’t have time for a lot, anymore. She was constantly being sent out, staying up most of the night, either to stay away from nightmares or insomnia. She could only bear to sleep three or four hours before getting up to train. She knew it was only a matter of time before her body forced her to slow down.

“Let it go? She was my everything. I gave my life and freedom for her just to fuck it all away and run off with Rhysand. How was any of this my fault?”

The Commander hated how much his words stung.

She gave up her life too for him, gave up her freedom for her family, and he bitches about it. Like she didn’t know what loss was. Like she didn’t know how it felt to have the love of her life ripped from her, taken, thrown away. 

The very same male who spoke those words, speaking of another female, like what the two of them had was nothing.

Jurian put a hand on her; it was as if he could feel her terrible power tremble deep beneath the earth. A warning in his eyes. 

All the Commander said was, “I gave him so much.”

“Who?”

“Tamlin.”

He nodded, thinking about it. Thinking about the right thing to say. “You don’t have to give up every part of yourself. Not for anyone.”

“I do. I have. I gave it all to this.” Her gaze pointed at the camp around them, to her role. The Commander of Hybern. Everything.

“Remember who you’re fighting for, Princess. You’re getting attached.”

The Commander of Hybern scoffed. “ Attached ,” she mumbled to herself.

“You are,” he murmured. “I see you. Every day you’re out here, talking with them, helping them. It takes its toll, I know.”

All the Commander could smell behind the mask was the whiskey on her breath. 

“I’m not. I know who I am, Jurian. I know who I’m protecting.”

Jurian grumbled back, “I sure hope you do.”

 

***

 

Jurian sipped from his morning coffee on the couch, bitter and nutty to the taste, as the Commander walked in. He glanced up at her, his gaze narrowing.

The infamous question left his lips. “Where were you last night?”

The Commander sat down next to him on the couch, dropping her weapons on the floor and her chest plate. “Out.”

Jurian scoffed. “Right…Of course, you were.”

The Commander took the cup out of his hands, tipping her mask up and gulping down the rest of the coffee. It burned down her throat and tasted disgusting. But she kept her gag down. She used to go to cafes in the Night Court who would have been appalled at the taste of that.

He watched her with a look of disgust. “I just made that, asshole.”

“I’ll make you a new one,” she chokes out, getting back to her feet and heading to the kitchen.

Jurian followed her, arms crossed, watching as she made him another cup of coffee.

The Commander tried not to notice the eyes burning into the back of her skull. He was pissed at her. She didn’t need to read his mind to know.

“Azriel is coming by for a report later today.”

A cold shiver ran up her spine. She forced her limbs to move, handing Jurian back his cup. “When were you going to tell me this?”

Jurian shrugged. “When are you going to tell me where you were last night? Take off the mask, Sirius, I want to talk about this.”

The Commander repressed her scoff and took off the mask for Jurian. “Better?”

He took a sip of coffee. “You tell me, Princess. Do you like taking off the mask?”

“No,” she said, rummaging around the kitchen, trying to find something to eat. 

Jurian frowns, sitting in a chair at the table. “Look, I know you don’t want to involve your family. I understand that. But you don’t have to wear it around here. You’re safe here.”

She wanted to retort, say that she wasn’t safe anywhere, but kept her mouth shut. An apple sat on the counter. An apple could be considered breakfast, couldn’t it?

“Where’s Lucien?” 

Jurian knew she was trying to change the subject. Let her. “He’s out.”

“He’s with Tamlin?”

“That is not, at all, what I just said.”

“Then tell it to me plainly, Jurian.” She took a bite out of the apple, finally eating something. She had a long night under her belt.

“He’s in the Night Court.”

The Commander kept eating, keeping her face carefully blank. Just eating. That’s all that she was doing. That’s what she kept reminding herself. Not to let the mention of the Night Court shatter her. 

Her home. Her home . And she wasn’t allowed to go back. 

She tried not to hold it against Rhysand, or hold it against herself, but it was hard to let go. After everything she did, yet again, tossed to the side. By her brother this time.

“So…” The Commander sat next to him at the head of the table. “Azriel is coming?”

“He is.”

“Do we know why?”

Jurian raises an eyebrow. “No, we don’t. Lucien made it sound like a routine thing so Rhysand gets a report on Vassa and the Human Lands. If I had to wager a guess, he’s probably coming here for you, too.”

The Commander stared him down. “What makes you say that?”

“Whatever it is you’re doing, stop. Fucking with Rhysand should be low on your priority list.”

She frowns. “I’m not fucking with him. I’m not doing anything wrong.”

He pointed an accusatory finger at her. “But you do admit you’re doing something .” He sighs. “You’re going to get yourself killed, Sirius.”

The Commander snarled at him. “You don’t know what the fuck I’m even doing. I’m not going to get myself killed. I’m doing everything within my rights, Jurian.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, Princess , you’re no longer heir to the Night Court. You’re not anything. You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten,” she snapped. “I was supposed to stay dead too, but here we are. And now there’s nothing anyone can do about it because no one let me stay dead after Hybern. I should have died on that field. I should have died !”

Jurian gave her a puzzled look, tinged with heartbreak. “You wanted to die?”

“Forget it,” the Commander scoffs, getting to her feet.

“No, we aren’t just going to drop this. What the fuck did you mean by that?”

Even as the Commander picked up her weapons, and retreated to her room, Jurian followed her. She threw everything on the bed, leaving to deal with it later. 

He hung around the doorway, peering into her darkened room. “Hey!” he shouted. “Talk to me, Sirius!”

“Fuck you,” she snapped back. 

“Sirius!”

She snapped back on the mask, materializing in her hand. “That’s not who I am anymore. You’d do well to remember that, Jurian.”

Before he could make a reply, she winnowed away. 

She didn’t know where she was going. Didn’t have an image in her head as she hurtled through the darkness. But she knew wherever she landed, she needed to be there. Knew she needed escape.

The fresh smell of flowers in the air is what hit her first, and then the soft grass on her knees as she doubled over. 

The Commander slowly stumbled to her feet, taking in her surroundings. 

Her anger began to fade, nearly disappearing into the back of her mind, as she took a deep breath in and out. A new place. Away from everything back in the Human Lands. Away from her life, if only for a few hours, so she can cool down before attempting to talk to Jurian again.

It was definitely the Spring Court. But she didn’t recognize where she was, somewhere nestled in the trees and a field full of wildflowers. She was nowhere near the manor.

The Commander took a step, hissing as pain shot up her leg, and she stumbled into the nearest tree.

The crack of a giant branch echoes somewhere deep in the forest. It sets the Commander on edge immediately, summoning her black blade to her hand, materializing from the shadows.

A deep rumble echoed in her chest as large footsteps pounded toward her.

 She felt it now, felt his mind as well, as Tamlin in his beast form halted right in front of her. Dirt sprayed as his claws dug into the earth. He nearly ran into her.

The sword dissipated from her hands as she took only a single step back. 

“Stone-heart,” she purred. “Good to see you again so soon.”

The beast growled, reverberating through the ground and up her feet. Anger flitted through his eyes; specks of amber in his green eyes lit up like fire. He stared her down, huffing.

The Commander took a look around them, inspecting the trees. She could feel something else out there but wasn’t certain exactly what manner of creature it was. It felt as though she was talking to herself when she spoke, “Out hunting I see.”

Tamlin said nothing, his curled horns narrowing down at her. His eyes were slits.

“I’m not here for you,” she said in a low voice. She looked around, still unsure why her magic took her here, of all places. She let a bit of honesty slip. “I’m not sure why I’m here, actually.”

Truth and lies—lies and truth.

His hoarse, guttural voice said back, “That’s bullshit coming from you, Sirius.”

She scoffed. “For fucks sake, Tamlin. I’m not lying to you.”

He let out a long breath, retreated a few steps, and peered into the forest. The Commander followed his eyes, and spotted, somewhere in the brush, bright orange eyes staring back at them. Its wide curious eyes behold them somewhere between wonder and fear. She wasn’t even sure if it spoke the same language as them.

Tamlin growled at it, and immediately those orange eyes disappeared.

“You don’t have to be so mean…I think it was friendly.”

He said nothing as he started walking away, into the field of wildflowers. The Commander followed him, hissing at the pressure on her leg. She limped behind him. He didn’t slow down his pace for her, didn’t even look back to see if she was following. She wasn’t even sure why she was following him in the first place. Somewhere between habit and curiosity.

“I thought I told you to stay out of the Spring Court,” Tamlin rumbled. He still didn’t turn to look at her.

“You told me to “ Get out, ” not stay out of the Spring Court .”

“What’s the difference?”

She shrugged. “You should have been more specific. I thought us Fae were supposed to be more clever than that.”

His heavy paws thudded on the ground. “You’re not Fae. I don’t know what the fuck you are anymore.”

She smiled sweetly at his back. “I’m everything you’ve ever feared.”

He grunted, more of a growl, in acknowledgment; it was the best she would get out of him today.

But somehow, she knew he wasn’t wrong. The Commander didn’t know exactly where she fit. It was clear her dip in the Cauldron changed her in fundamental ways. Ways she wasn’t quite sure. The only clear indication was her magic.

She wasn’t just a Daemati anymore, or a wielder of shadows. It was something more, something she pushed so far down into herself it became coiled and waiting. Ready to strike once the opportunity came. It ate at her slowly. It was all-consuming. Pushed her farther and farther away from sanity at any given chance, wrapping around her anger like a tight fist. Around her fears. Around her.

She stumbled over a rock, nearly landing face-first in the field. Tamlin paused mid-step, listening. 

“Your leg, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she grumbled as she regained her footing.

Tamlin turned to look at her, his eyes flitting over her. He didn’t believe her. That much was clear. But he didn’t press it anymore as he continued walking. She was nearly tempted to strangle him.

Why was she here? Why did she care? And most importantly, why did her magic winnow her here?

She glared at him behind the mask, like it could somehow answer the question. Like it could change where she was and who they were.

Killer and victim.

Lovers.

That was a lifetime ago. She almost forgot what it was like to hold him again. He wasn’t hers to hold anymore. All they would do is destroy each other. They would hold on with claws and teeth and talons and rip each other apart until they were nothing but two broken souls.

Never again would she be that scared little girl. She killed that girl in the War.

And so she walked behind him, trying to remember who she was, again. Who he was. 

He loved Feyre more than he ever loved her.

She should just leave. She wasn’t doing anything productive here. She should just go back to doing what she was good at—killing.

Tamlin shifted back into his Fae form, his long hair tangled. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, just a bandolier of daggers. Thankfully, he had pants on.

The Commander paused behind him. “What the hell are you doing?”

He would hold up a hand, listening. 

Before she even had time to blink, he twisted and threw a dagger at her. The Commander dropped to the ground.

Gurgles and blood sprayed the back of her neck as she turned to see a grotesque-looking Fae. Its bones were awkwardly jutting out at odd places, its skin leathery and grey. Orange dead eyes stared at her.

She stared at Tamlin, dumbfounded. 

He smirked at her, the closest he had gotten to a smile in days, weeks, as he walked back over towards her. He knelt in front of her.

“What? No sly retort?” he asked. He looked down at her, waiting.

Her hands balled up in the grass. She took a chunk and threw it at his face, the dirt smearing on his cheek.

He took his hand and slowly wiped his cheek, only making it worse, trailing down his neck now. The claws under his knuckles threatened to pop out. He wiped the dirt on his hands down his pant leg. She didn’t dare look anywhere but his eyes.

“That was not so kind, Sirius,” he growled.

“I never promised to be kind, Tamlin .”

He paused, watching her. “You used to be.”

“You killed her, remember?”

His eyes flickered, hitting something deep inside him. Something he had buried. “That wasn’t my fault.”

“Right…” 

They stared at each other for a long time. The tension was a visible thread between them, between each heartbeat and each breath. 

“I hate you,” he muttered.

“Likewise.”

The Commander got to her feet and brushed herself off. She looked down at the dead Fae. The Fae that was about to sneak up behind her, was likely to drag her off for a fitting meal. She didn’t see what looked so delicious about her. She barely packed on any weight.

Tamlin inspected it. “Not so friendly after all.”

The Commander pursed her lips together. The only evidence of her irritation was the flutter of her wings. “No…not so after all.”

“You should get out of here before more of them come,” he said. “There will be more.”

“Why?”

“Because your leg will slow you down, and you’ll be no use to me.”

She grimaced and looked down at her leg. As if she could see the scar beneath her pants. “I am useful.”

“To the King of Hybern, maybe. Not to me.”

She crossed her arms. “Finally taking my advice and protecting your borders.”

His claws did slide out then. Finally. A challenge. She could take on the High Lord any day.

“Go,” he gritted out. “If you want to taunt someone, go take notes from Rhysand, or bicker with Jurian. Don’t come here.”

“I didn’t come to bicker or taunt you.”

“Then why?”

Because you are a reflection of me. The worst parts of me. The broken parts of me. You used to mean everything to me. You saved me when I was almost dead, and yet you’re the person who killed me a lifetime ago. It kills me seeing you; it’s worse than torture. You kill me every day. 

“Because I was bored,” she replied cooly.

His eyes flicked to hers, his eyebrows furrowed together. “You’re full of shit.”

A returning growl bubbled up in the back of her throat. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Go.”

And so she did.

Chapter 31: Come Back

When the Commander returned, the last of the sun escaped the sky. In her Firebird form, Vassa landed on the ground near the estate. The grass around her was scorched to the soil. The Commander waited nearby as the sun dipped below the sky, clothes materializing in her hands, as Vassa shifted back. Naked as the day she was born.

“Thank you,” Vassa chirped, a grin spreading across her face. Vassa watched her as she put on the dress, cream-colored with orange floral patterns, that came to her shins. “We’re both women here, you don’t need to be so coy.”

“Right…” The Commander trails off. She looked at Vassa, keeping her eyes only on Vassa’s eyes. “I just figured you wanted privacy.”

She smirked at the Commander. “Privacy,” she spat. “When have we ever gotten a day’s privacy.”

“I bet Lucien enjoys the lack of privacy,” the Commander teased.

“He has a mate,” Vassa laments. 

The Commander chuckled. “Then Jurian?”

“Oh, please. I doubt it. He’s only looked at one woman since he’s been here.” She gives the Commander a devilish smile, a knowing look in her eyes. The Commander couldn’t help but roll her eyes. 

“It’s not like that at all.”

“Right…” She pulled the hair from her dress. “The way you two talk implies something different.”

She could feel herself pull away. “A certain Shadowsinger is supposed to be here soon.” Quickly changing the subject. The Commander started walking away, casting a look at Vassa. “It would be best if we were both inside for that.”

“So, did you know the Shadowsinger?” Vassa asked, catching up to the Commander. “Since you’re Rhysand’s sister.”

How could she forget? It was ingrained into every part of her, even in her eyes, like a living shadow of the High Lord himself. She was always Rhysand’s sister and nothing more. Not until now. 

“Yes, I knew Azriel,” she replied. “He was like an older brother to me.”

“Why do you suppose he’s coming around now? It’s been months since the war ended.”

“Hell if I know,” the Commander said. “I was hoping Lucien could explain. But he isn’t even here.”

She had already thoroughly wrung her mind through these lands. Not even a whisper of his mind was here. Not even Azriel was here yet. Which left Jurian inside.

“That’s weird,” Vassa commented. She opened the door for the two of them. Jurian, who was in the kitchen, came out to see them. “Why do you suppose that is?”

“He can’t winnow large distances; he likely stopped somewhere.”

Vassa nodded and took a seat on the couch. 

Jurian only looked at the Commander. “I cleaned your blades. You need to take better care of them or they’re going to rust.”

“Thanks. I meant to do that yesterday.” The Commander took a seat across from Vassa. The guilt she had been running from was finally catching up to her. “I appreciate it,” she offered, sympathetic.

Jurian didn’t look convinced but still sat down close to the Commander. She didn’t have to look into his mind to know they would talk about her outburst from earlier.

“Ew,” Vassa said, picking at her nails. “When the hell did you become nice, Jurian?”

He scoffed. “Excuse me?”

The Commander actually laughed. “Oh, Mother.”

He turned to her next. “What the fuck? I’m nice .”

“You’re a dick on a good day,” the Commander replied. Vassa giggled, sticking her feet on the coffee table. 

“I think dick is too kind of a word.” Vassa thought for a moment. “How about…a cunt?”

Jurian looked unamused. “That’s all you got?”

“I can keep going.” And Vassa did, progressively getting worse and worse that even the Commander gaped. 

Jurian looked mortified. If only Lucien was here to hear this, he would be rolling on the floor laughing, the Commander thought. She might have some competition of who can say the most ludicrous insults. 

“You’ve got a foul mouth,” Jurian muttered. He got back on his feet, stalking back to the kitchen. “And an even fouler temper than Princess over here.”

The Commander threw up her hands. “What the fuck?”

He looked at her. “Point. Made.”

She couldn’t help but think of her family all the way in the Night Court. The banter. The good times. It felt… good. Being with people who cared about her. Felt good being around Jurian and Vassa and Lucien. The most at home she’s felt since the War. Despite the nightmares and the flashbacks and fights she picked.

It was good to be home.

But she missed the Night Court. Missed her brothers. Missed Rhysand most of all.

Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was longing, but it was as if she could hear the lyrics to a song bubble in her throat. A chorus. A rhyme. Something she hadn’t done since her imprisonment at Rosehall Manor.

A song . That’s what it was.

The Commander shut it down as quickly as it rose. Stuck—latched—to the back of her throat. 

A swift knock on the front door startled her out of her thoughts. Vassa glanced at her, her smile vanishing, replaced by something much more serious. She got up from her seat and opened the door to the manor.

The Commander double-checked her mask was in place when Azriel, the famous Spymaster, and Shadowsinger of the Night Court, stepped inside the manor.

Vassa, chipper as always, welcomed him. “It’s great to see you! Come inside, please.”

The Commander had her back turned to Azriel, but she could still smell him—night-chilled mist and cedar. Old and comforting. She remembered that smell when he used to sneak into her room in the House of Wind after her father yelled at her, despite the warnings they received. When he gave her small, endearing presents on Solstice. When he comforted her while she cried, because of either her father or Rhysand. When they flew together, high in the night, coasting on the wind.

He was always the one there when Rhysand wasn’t. And if it wasn’t Azriel's quiet comfort, it was Cassian’s loud laughter.

The fire in the hearth crackled.

She turned to look at the male, who was giving her a cold, assessing glance. His wings were tucked, shoulders back, with a warm black coat on. His hazel eyes were dark in the firelight, not helping with the shadows that lingered on his shoulders. Coiled and ready, eagerly whispering in his ear. Truth-Teller, as always, on his hip.

Jurian leaned against the doorway to the kitchen as Vassa shut the door behind Azriel. They shared a solitary nod. “Come on, I cleared off the kitchen table if you’d like to speak there.”

Azriel nodded, following Jurian into the kitchen. The Commander slowly got to her feet, stumbling a step from her stiff leg, and followed after Vassa. It was all she could do not to hiss in pain as she took a seat beside Jurian, Vassa seated at the head of the table.

Jurian flashed her a concerned look. She slipped into his mind, You good there Princess? He asked.

It’s just my leg. It’s been bothering me.

Does it always?

Everyday. It never healed right.

Jurian looked at her with a tinged look of guilt. The Commander didn’t have to look further to know he contributed somewhat. That he partly blamed himself for the pain it caused her.

Azriel’s eyes flicked between the two of them. Like he knew there was a conversation happening behind closed minds. “Care to start?”

Vassa cleared her throat and smiled. A kick under the table, hitting Jurian in the shin. He could only suck in a breath. “Sure.”

Jurian cleared his throat, casting a glance at Vassa. “There hasn’t been much trouble here, but the humans are worried about the lack of a Wall. Even with assurances that there will be no harm brought to them. They’ve lived in fear of that Wall all their lives. Without it, they feel unsafe. We need better treaties down here. Something set in stone.”

“Along with that,” Vassa chimed in. “It’s been hard uniting this continent. There is little structure besides a few Lords and Governors. My kingdom in Scythia is across the sea. I have little power here. I can’t enforce treaties on this continent.”

“And you won’t be here for long,” Azriel sighed. “I take it there hasn’t been any progress on your curse yet?”

She shakes her head. “Not yet. Lucien and the Commander are going to the Day Court next week. They’re going to work with Helion to comb through his libraries.”

Azriel gave a quick glance at her. His jaw tightened. “What of the Spring Court?”

“Lucien would have a better gauge on that,” the Commander said bluntly. “But he’s not here. Pray tell, do you know where the little fox is?”

She could almost smell his discomfort. The shadows wrapped themselves around his ear. And they kept well away from the Commander. “He’s in the Night Court. At his apartment.”

The Commander crossed her arms, leaning back in her seat. “The Spring Court is in disrepair. Tamlin has been…” She picked her words carefully. “He doesn’t have the power to maintain it well. It’s crumbling, slowly but surely.”

“You’ve been there?”

The Commander nodded. “To escort Lucien.”

There was a beat of silence at the table before Vassa spoke again. “Has there been any news on whether the Commander can return to the Night Court? Any judgment passed?”
Azriel flicked his eyes back to Vassa. “She’s under your allegiance. We can’t pass judgment because…” He looked at her. “While she is a citizen of the Night Court, she is under your jurisdiction. As for visiting, I’ll ask. But there’s been a lot of rebuilding and restructuring, so it hasn’t been on the forefront.”

The Commander did her best not to let her heart sink. Her head dipped, the only indication of her disappointment. “Do you have a time frame?” the Commander asked, her voice low and cold.

Azriel pursed his lips. “No.”

She wanted to forgo this meeting and go up to her room. Fade into the shadows. Do something other than sit there. 

Jurian gave her a sympathetic look. “Well, better than a death sentence.”

“Shut up, Jurian,” she bit out. That spark of anger. It would turn into a roaring fire if he wasn’t careful. 

But he looked content at her remark. Better than that damning, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Better than nothing at all.

Azriel raised an eyebrow at the two of them, but Vassa turned his attention back to her. “Let us know what we can do. Anything to make it quicker.”

“Vassa you don’t have to—” All it took was a look from Vassa that had the Commander shutting her mouth.

“With Rhys’ approval,” Azriel offered, tentatively. “I’ll see what work I can find for you, Commander. There are some problems in Illyria, currently, that we’re working out first.”

She felt her blood rise in challenge. “Oh really?” she feigned.

But his eyes narrowed. “Illyrians are going missing or found dead. Unrest stirs, from both the War and the continued killings.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“It is,” he said. “Especially if it spurs a civil war .”

“Who do you think would do something like that?” the Commander stated, rather than asked. She could feel Jurian’s eyes on her. Furious.

Azriel slipped a small, sly smile. “I’m not entirely sure, we’re still working on it.” Liar. “But whoever it is better stop before it garners more attention from the High Lord.”

“Let’s hope they do,” the Commander replied. A game. They were playing a game with each other.

She felt a smile rise.

Light danced in Azriel’s eyes, a spark of humor. Dark, dreadful humor. The Commander knew he hated the Illyrians the most out of the whole Inner Circle, but still had to babysit for poor Rhysand's sake. 

Jurian frowned. 

Oh yes, Azriel hated the Illyrians for what happened to him. For how they treated him and his mother. He would stop the Blood Rite if he could, but millennia of tradition kept it rooted in place. Whether a few Illyrians lived or died…she could see in his eyes he cared less. He only wanted to stop a rising war.

The Spymaster had enough to worry about.

Why he came all this way to tell her, she didn’t know.

“Will you do me a favor, Commander?” he asked her. 

She shrugged. “Go for it.”

He pulled out a piece of paper from inside his coat and slid it to her. “I want a written report on these things. Consider it a test, by myself and Rhysand, to see if you’re worth your salt.”

“The War wasn’t proof enough?” she questioned but still took the paper. Her hands were not gloved, and Azriel didn’t neglect that fact, noting all the scars. Memorizing them.

He didn’t smile. “The War proved you capable of surviving. Barely. He thinks you can apprentice under me if all goes well.”

“You don’t want an apprentice,” she stated.

His cold eyes gave nothing away. “I never said that.” But his equally scarred hands twitched. “Do it. I want to see what you’re capable of.”

Not Rhysand. He wanted to see if she was capable. Challenge excepted. She thought for half a second that Rhysand may not even know about this little challenge . That this was a test on his part to see if she was worth bringing up mention of her to Rhysand. Even worth trying to convince Rhysand to let her back in the Night Court.

And being raised partially in the Court of Nightmares, she knew how to play this game. Played it most of her life.

Fine.

“When do you want this done?”

He thought about it. “Before Winter Solstice. I intend to enjoy my holiday.”

She nodded, tucking the paper in her pocket to read later. He didn’t fail to note a single movement she made, lethal grace lined in both of their features. “Consider it done.”

They talked more, droning on for the better part of an hour. So long that even the Commander started slouching in her seat, yawning quietly. Things she already knew. Azriel didn’t give any more news about the Night Court, didn’t let anything slip, except for the dilemma in Illyria.

She wanted to know more. She wanted to look at that note in her pocket, weighing heavily in her heart and mind but refrained from looking yet. Not until she was upstairs. She wouldn’t give Azriel the satisfaction.

And the glance in her direction every now and then…he was hoping she would read it. She didn’t dare touch his mind. He was around Rhysand so much that he would know she was digging around in there.

Sitting this long was killing her. Killing her leg—more specifically. It ached and throbbed, more than it had when she walked with Tamlin. Maybe that’s what did her in. Maybe it’s the fact she hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours, and the strain from all her movement caught up to her.

Mother above, she needs to find something to help soothe it. Soon.

Maybe Tamlin would know something, she thought to herself. Some plant that may help. A common weed she can grow and make into a salve.

Azriel stood finally, smoothing over his clothes. Vassa and Jurian rose too, the Commander using the table to steady herself. 

She didn’t dare walk forward, shake his hand, or anything, lest she fall over. She could barely move her leg.

“It was good to see you all. I’ll be around to check in from time to time.” He dipped his head slightly at Vassa, and gave a soft smile to the other two before Vassa led him out the front door. 

As soon as he left, the Commander slumped onto the table, grimacing as she pressed a hand against her thigh, trying to rub it out. Jurian sat beside her, a frown on his face. His eyes flashed in concern.

“It’s that bad?” he asked softly.

The Commander grunted, nodding as she made herself push down again in that spot and push into it. Rubbing it. Trying to work out the knot. “It’s not your fault,” she muttered.

He said nothing at that, hanging his head.

“What’s wrong?” Vassa said, returning to the kitchen.

“It’s her leg,” Jurian replied for her. His eyes were only on her as he continued, “She keeps pushing herself too far, and it’s hurting her .”

In a moment, the Commander whipped off her mask and hurled it across the room, her fist balled up. Pain and anger were all she felt, red hot, giving her tunnel vision. 

And lashed out. “Push me some more Jurian! See where that fucking gets you!”

She seethed, breath coming in short bursts as she stared down Jurian. Her purple eyes ringed with exhaustion.

He stared right back at her. Unflinching. “I see you’ve come out to play… Finally.”

Her eyes flickered, going cold. Any light within them gone in an instant. She could almost feel the rumble of magic beneath her fingertips and yielded it before it could slip out. It ached, begged, to be set free. To kill something. To do something with it.

She quietly seethed, and Vassa knew well enough to stay away from the two of them.

He raised an eyebrow. “Nothing? What happened to the fight you had in you? What happened to the girl just now? You shut her out.”

“Fuck. Off. Stop pushing me.”

“Still wish you were dead?”

Something in her snapped. “ Say that again .”

Jurian’s eyes darkened, straightening himself. Like he was facing an opponent. A challenge. “If you’re so against being here, so adamant about how you should have died, then why don’t you?” 

The Commander’s eyes guttered. She felt his words like a physical blow, worse than anything the King of Hybern could have done.  And she could feel her eyes well up, but never let the tears fall. She would never let them fall. 

Out of everyone, she never expected to hear those words from him. The one person she confided in the most.

His eyes flickered into hers, taking in everything. “Do you know why I say it? Because I know you won’t. Because I think some part of you is holding onto the hope that this world is worth fighting for, that you are worth fighting for.”

“Just stop,” she whispered. Her chin wobbled. “Stop talking.”

“ You are worth fighting for,” he repeated again. As if he knew she didn’t believe him.

She shook her head. “I’m not.”

He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her in. She couldn’t help but lean into him as his arms tightened their embrace around her. “You are,” he whispered. “Anyone would be a damn fool to say otherwise.”

The Commander hid her face into Jurian’s neck. And she couldn’t help but let out a small sob.

“I’ve got you, Princess. You can fall apart tonight, I’ll keep you together.”

 

***

 

In her dreams, she couldn’t see anyone but herself and her brother. She could only see his face in the dark. In Death. But this wasn’t quite a dream. 

She fell and fell. Hitting every rock and stone. Breaking every bone.

“Rhys…” she whispered. He couldn’t be here. She did everything right. She gave them the time to stop the Cauldron, the time to fight off the armies, as useless as it was. She gave them the information to save them.

And for nothing. Rhys was dead.

She gave her life for nothing.

He stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time. Like when he first saw her as a babe in their Mother’s arms. “Little Siri…”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she wept. “You were supposed to stay alive.”

“I tried,” he whispered. “I saved everyone. We stopped Hybern. We stopped the Cauldron from shattering.”

“Death has a cost,” she said, closing the space between them. She could have reached out and touched him here. She could have hugged him. She could have punched him. She… didn’t do anything. “Death has a steep cost, and if you go back, you’ll lose something.”

His eyes were wide. And she knew he was thinking of his mate. His friends. His family. What did that make her then? 

“What’s the cost?” he whispered.
“You won’t know until it’s too late.” Another tear fell down her cheek. “You were supposed to live,” she repeated to herself.

Something in Rhysand’s eyes broke her. It was then he threw his arms around her, crushing her with a hug. It was everything she ever wanted. 

“Come with me,” he whispered. “Come back with me. Damn the cost.”

“My time is over, Rhys. It’s up to you now.”

“Come back,” he repeated. 

“You’ll be okay,” she muttered. “Take your friend and go. Or stay here with me. That’s your choice. There’s no other way.”

“Come with me.”

She pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. Their matching eyes. His was much lighter than hers. Clearer than hers, comparably to what she’s done. To what she did.

“Rhys… I can get you there. I can get you home. But I won’t join you.”

“I spent too long in this life without my sister. Don’t make me leave you again.”

She smiled as tears stained her cheeks. “Go home to your mate, Rhys. She needs you. She needs you .”

And that seemed to take him back. Like he remembered Feyre. He remembered his purpose in death. He remembered dying in his mate’s arms. The last ‘I love you’ hanging between them.

She never got that. 

But his arms never pulled away from her. “I love you,” he whispered like the wind might carry her away.

 “I love you too.”

“Will I see you again?”

She shrugged, a small smirk on her face, despite the tears. Despite fate. “If you’re lucky. Do me a favor, okay? Be kind.”

He only stared into her eyes. It would be so easy to fade into that dark sea again. To die again. But something was keeping her rooted here too. A pull from deep in her stomach, her core, as if whatever was on the other end of that line was desperately trying to keep her grounded to this earth.

“Be kind,” she said again. “Be better than me. Better than father. Better than all of us. Remember that, Rhys. Remember.”

“Sirius—”

And they both got pulled back. Despite what he said, he dragged her back with him. Dragged her back and back and back as she tumbled back into her own body. 

Ashes, ashes. 

Ashes, ashes.

She could see it, the ashes falling from the sky. Little soldiers. Little Siri, dying on the rocks.

Her brother’s voice rang in her head. Pulling her. Pulling her back into her own body. Pulling his friend back with him too, lost to the blackened sea. But not to him.

Ashes, ashes.

She could smell the dirt and blood. Smell the tinge of death. Smell the sea nearby.

Ashes, ashes.

Blood coated her like a blanket. Dirt and soot. All of her wounds came back to her. 

Ashes, ashes.

Sirius fell down.

Chapter 32: The Day Court

Notes:

Y'all... Thank you so much for the comments. It's so inspiring and it's such a joy to read and hear how much you guys are enjoying this story. Thank you so so much.

If any of you are curious, I listen to a lot of music while I write. So, if you have Spotify, there is a playlist called "Sirius Nyx" that has a lot of the music I use to inspire myself for a chapter. It will say it's for this fic in the description. Just a little sneak peek behind the scenes of writing this story. I have to warn you though, it's a lot of alternative music/rock, so keep that in mind haha. I add songs to it occasionally if I'm working on something in particular or think it fits Sirius.

Besides the point, thank you for all the support. It's a joy hearing from people in the comments, and all the kudos that are given. You give life to this story. Thank you <3

The Day Court was much brighter than the Commander remembered. The palace's white marble halls did not help as the sun beat down on them, nearly blinding her, along with their golden curtains and beautiful decor. She nearly forgot how bright colors could be, so used to the Human Lands. Everything seemed a bit muted there, with little to no magic fueling the lands surrounding it. Nothing like the Courts. 

But luckily, the Commander and Lucien weren’t subjected to staying above ground. Instead, they were led far below ground, past halls and floors dedicated just to books. It surrounded them. She thought it would be more dusty, the musk of old books hanging in the air, but it seemed the High Lord had many fae dedicated to taking care of all these texts. It even smelled fresh down here, like vanilla and lemons. 

The Commander couldn’t help but feel a little impressed. It was certainly bigger than the library in Velaris. And she knew this wasn’t the only library in the Day Court. There were many, all spanning through multiple-story buildings and stretched far underground. It was hard to believe that Amarantha pillaged this place so thoroughly when this was just one of the many. 

She should have come here when she was trying to work around the King’s bargain, but alas, her presence would have been immediately noticed.

Like it was now. Walking beside Lucien. But the librarians gave them a wide berth, casting her looks as they passed. She pretended not to notice, but she could see it in their eyes, feel it in their minds. The hate, the anger, but most of all, the fear.

Fear so ripe she could smell it before she ever sensed it.

And of course, a set of guards trailed far behind them, fully armored and with hands on their swords. A precaution , she was told. Like she couldn’t level the city if she wanted to, if she truly dared. A few guards wouldn’t stop her. Most of all, though, she did not want to harm anyone.

It’s almost like they forgot she was a person too. 

Did her job so well that everyone forgot. That she was nothing more than nightmares and the infamous Black Death. Like she couldn’t have a scrap of good in her.

She did her best to ignore them, focusing on the beauty of the library. So much knowledge at the tips of their fingers. 

Lucien led her down the twisting shelves and halls, having been here before a few times. He knew his way around well enough. “Have you ever been here?”

“No, I haven’t. One of the few Courts I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing in person.”

He glances at her, a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. “Do you have a favorite Court?”

“Hmm…” She thinks about it for a moment. “Other than the Night Court? I have to say, Spring Court used to be my favorite” She lingered on it for a moment. It certainly wasn’t the place she thought it was anymore. She continued with, “But the Summer Court I think is now. I could see myself lying on the beach and letting the waves crash over me. I bet it would feel good on my wings.”

“I bet it would,” he replied. 

Her lips curled into a smile behind her mask. Not that he could see that. “I could always take you for a ride, Lucien. If you ever want to fly with Vassa and I.”

His face pales slightly. Like he was remembering something awful. “No, I’m quite alright, thank you.” 

The Commander stifled a chuckle. “Right…”

It was too easy these days. 

He led her down another shelf of books, much much taller than her. Ladders that slid were bolted to the shelves so those who needed the one on the higher shelves could reach them. Fae lights hovered carefully in the air, emitting a soft warm glow. 

The clinking of the guard's armor trailed behind them from a distance. Still.

The Commander tried not to take it too personally.

Lucien stopped at an empty wooden table, a few chairs scattered around it. None that could fit her wings. 

She sighed. Fine. She would make do. 

The Commander picked out a chair that didn’t have arms, and flipped it backwards, taking a seat. She kept her wings carefully tucked so she didn’t knock into anything. Lucien took one beside her, setting down his things. Ink and parchment, to take notes on.

“There’s a list of books I have here somewhere…” He flipped through various pages. Notes scrawled in elegant writing. “Ah…here. If you can find this half, I’ll track down the others. Sound fair?”

The Commander nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

She took a mental note of all the books he listed. Trying to find their way around a Death-Lord was complex. The list of books, from the title, sounded like it was trying to work around her bargain or outright break it.

Considering he was a Death-Lord , for fucks sake, she doubted anything would turn up. But anything was worth a shot. 

The Commander left her heavy coat on the chair, black with deep purple threading, and started scanning through the shelves, looking for the books Lucien pointed out. There were four in particular that she hunted for. All by authors long forgotten beside the words stuck between the aged pages. All their research, their life’s work.

Her gloved hands scanned the shelves for the proper titles, returning them to the desk before Lucien. She took a seat, folding her gloves carefully at the edge of the desk, and flipped one book open. Divine Retrospect by Ellisum Trydiant.

The book was as thick as her hand, at least. And there were three others to go. How Lucien expected her to get through all of them was beyond her. Perhaps they’d put some cots down here for the two of them so they could sleep and study.

He returned with an armful of books and slapped them on the desk. “Starting without me?”

She wished she could throw this mask off. It was hot enough in here without this thing suffocating her. But she’s dealt with worse at this point. “We only have so much time in a day, and so much time to free Vassa.”

He sat down, taking one of the books from the stack. “We have time.”

“There’s never enough time,” she murmured, her eyes skimming the text. “At least, it never seems like it.”

 

***

 

The Commander of Hybern set down her mask along the side of her desk, the hum of the camp drowning out around her as she studied her texts. The words muddied together at some point, and she didn’t understand or comprehend a single word on the page. After reading the same paragraph for ten minutes, she pushed the book off to the side and rubbed her eyes.

How much more of this could she take?

How can she get out of this bargain without killing herself? That was the better question. 

Whether he knew that she stole books from his library, and other libraries, she didn’t know. Let him interrogate her. Let him find out. She wasn’t explicitly breaking the bargain, just researching into it. And if it came to it, she could say she was just making sure she wasn’t trying to break it.

But the King of Hybern didn’t seem to care what she did in her free time. He left her to her own devices as long as she did what she was told. Let her train the soldiers, talk to them how she pleased, discipline them, and praise them. 

Of course, he cared somewhat. It seemed like the longer she was with them, the more interest he took in her. Let her under his wing. Consoled her like her father would.

The Commander leaned back in her chair, resting her head and closing her eyes. She needed rest. She couldn’t remember the last time she slept at least more than four hours. 

Which is why the knock on her tent startled her. A quick scan of her mind left her at ease again.

“Come in, Tamlin,” she called out, closing her eyes again.

She could never be too careful these days. Everything left her on edge.

He strolled in with the casual grace of a High Lord, the casual arrogance that she usually imitated when the mask was on. When she was the Commander of Hybern. She always remained the Commander of Hybern, an easy, brutal, extension of herself.

Tamlin’s blond hair was tied back into a simple bun, a few strings of hair lingering in his face, and a green cloak embroidered with gold covered him. He pulled something from within and set down a few more books on her desk. “I see you’ve been busy.”

She grunted something, the only acknowledgment he would get on the matter. 

He sat on her cot, ruffling her unused sheets and blankets. “You look exhausted.”

“So what you’re saying is: I look like shit.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Well, that’s a harsh way of saying it.”

“But I’m not wrong,” she drawled, cracking an eye at him. Her deep purple eyes glittered in slight amusement. His own green eyes met hers, looking so serious. She didn’t remember the last time he smiled at her. But to be fair, she didn’t smile at him, either. “Was your visit just to drop off books?”

Tamlin frowned, wrinkling his near-perfect face. He still looked so young to have so much burden on his shoulders. The burdens aged him. “Well, I don’t have to stay. I can leave.”

Stay , she wanted to whisper. Stay and never leave. Stay and face the dark with me.

“If you so wish,” she replied. She pursed her lips, closing her eyes once again. Even closing her eyes seemed to ease the strain in her head. Maybe some whiskey will dull the ache a little more. Get drunk again. Like she did nearly every night. She liked to say it eased the nightmares, but it didn’t. It was just a way to drown herself a little more.

Tamlin raised an eyebrow. “What do you actually want, Sirius?”

As if he could read her very thoughts.

“I want to rest,” she said quietly. “A nice place to lie down and die.”

“Sirius…”

She frowned more. The hatred of her name on his lips. She never used to hate how he said her name, but the Mother-damned pity in his voice. She hated it. Hated the way it sounded. Hated herself the most, probably, if Tamlin didn’t hate her more.

And her Gods-damned temper rose with it. “Oh please,” she snapped. She cracked her eyes and looked at him. Just as he slid on his own cool mask. The Commander couldn’t read any emotion on his face, but his eyes were swimming with it. She could look into his mind…but no. She had some standards of morality, at least when it came to her allies. “You’re really going to talk to me like that?”

She gave him a hard stare, but he didn’t balk from it. Didn’t back down. Didn’t give anything away either.

He was the one who broke the stare. Something in his gaze shuttered. Like he was hoping she would say something different. Something to break the silence and walls between them. But she didn’t need that. 

He needed to do that. For the both of them.

“If you’re so inclined to dance with your misery, I’ll leave you to it then.”

Tamlin stood, brushing off some invisible fleck of dust and straightening his cloak, and started towards the tent door.

And the Commander had enough pride not to stop him. She could only stare as he left. 

The room felt colder without him. It’s like he brought spring with him wherever he went. And now, the dead of winter bit her. Left her shuddering and scarcely breathing. 

The Commander didn’t think the cold was what left her shuddering though. 

 

***

 

“I think if I read one more word,” the Commander started. “My eyes are going to fall out of my head, Lucien.”

He snickered quietly, flipping another page of his book. He managed to get through more than half of his stack, taking quick notes, and continuing. She didn’t know how he did it. She had her notes, reading through the theories of other worlds, rifts, passages to realms, but none of it stuck. None of it made sense in context to Koschei or Vassa’s bargain. 

“Take a break then,” he murmured. “Go take a walk and come back.”

“I’m hungry,” she grumbled.

He dead-panned to her. A smile in his eyes. “Go then.”

“I think the guards will stake me if I leave without you,” she murmured so only he could hear it. “They don’t trust me here. Besides…I’m sure I’ll get lost.”

Lucien rolled his eyes slightly, brushing aside his fiery hair. “That’s a shame. It’s a wonder you made it as Black Death considering you don’t know your way around a library .”

She frowned behind the mask, but she could feel a slight amusement bubble inside her. “Really?”

His lips twitched. “The guards aren’t going to hurt you. In fact, why don’t you ask them where you can find some food? Perhaps that will ease your temper and constant sighing.”

She stood from her seat, cracking her back and stretching her wings wide. Her back barked in protest. Her leg ached as she stumbled a few steps backward. Sitting too long did that. Standing too long did that. Walking too much did that. Her life was damned.

“Do you want any food then?” she asked Lucien. “Or are you content feeding on books?”

“I don’t need anything, thanks,” he mumbled back, eyes glued to the page, and marking something on a piece of paper. 

She huffed, walking to where she knew the guards were stationed at the end of the hall. They seemed as bored as her. But once they saw her stalking towards them, they came to attention. Hands once more on their swords. Eyes wary.

“Males…” she purred. Her faux confidence and mask, so often what she wore in the Court of Nightmares, slid into place. It was so easy to become another person. Masks were her trade, and she traded them well. “Care to show me where I can get some decent food around here?”

The guards looked between each other, their golden armor glittering in the fae light. One spoke up, the one on the right, with deep black hair and russet skin. “We’re sorry, commander, but you’re not allowed permission into the city. Our High Lord Helion only allowed you access to the libraries and with guardianship of Lucien.”

She tucked her hands behind her back to hide her bawled-up fists. “Then how about this, you—” She pointed at the guard. “—get me some food and bring it back here. Your favorite food from the Day Court for Lucien and I. Here…” She reached into her pockets and pulled out some gold pieces. More than enough. “Keep whatever change there is. My treat to you, eh?”

He furrowed his brows, like he wasn’t expecting her to comply at all, or for what little kindness she showed. His confusion only increased as he looked to the other guard, who just shrugged. “Alright…I’ll bring back something for the two of you then. So long as you sit back down over there.” He looked to his companion. “You okay staying here while I leave?”

The other guard only nodded in return. Giving him a reassuring look. If they hadn’t done anything damning yet, it would be fine if he left for a moment.

The Commander gave the one guard a quick bow, nothing too deep, but a show of respect. “I appreciate it greatly. You have my thanks.”

She turned heel and returned to Lucien. 

“I told you the guards wouldn’t let me,” she said to him.

“It seems you figured something out,” he mused. He rubbed his brow, pulling his eyes away from the page. “Care to find me another book? There was mention of it in this book. It should be called… The Genesis of Magic and Fae .”

“Alright I’ll look for it,” she started to turn and walk away, but she paused. “I asked for them to bring you food too. The guard should be back…I don’t know. Whenever he gets back.”

That made Lucien pause, still completely. “What do I owe you? What’s the cost?”

She cocked her head. Confused. “You don’t owe me anything, Lucien.”

His eyes flicked to hers. And she could see something genuine. Appreciation. And something deeper. Something she didn’t quite understand. “I… thank you, Sirius.” He looked away, debating something, before saying it anyway, “You’re different than your brother…”

She went wholly silent. Her head roared. How many times had the two of them been compared? 

“You’re part of Vassa’s court, and dare I say a good friend to me,” the Commander said. “There is no cost between the two of us. There is nothing owed between friends; it’s just what we do.”

He nodded, looking at her differently. A new appreciation. “It’s just what we do,” he breathed, repeating back like he couldn’t quite believe the words. 

What so-called friends made him believe there was a price to everything? To mere kindness. To merely exist.

She didn’t let herself stop to think about it, pacing between the shelves, and looked for the book Lucien asked for. It had to be somewhere around here.

Her mind wandered as she walked. The guard followed her at a distance, but she knew he wouldn’t approach. 

Azriel’s request. His note to her. It sat, unopened, on her nightstand. Her mind burned with curiosity, but she didn’t have the guts to open it. Didn’t know if she wanted to, even though her heart ached and told her she should. A chance to regain the trust of her family, to be close to them, without them having the heartache of her return. A way to introduce herself without sending them over the edge. 

She should open the note, read its contents, and deliver whatever it was that Azriel wanted. 

But would she have to leave behind this life? Leave behind the Band of Exiles?

She wasn’t sure if she could leave behind her newfound friends. If that was the cost, she didn’t want it. She would gladly leave Azriel’s note on her desk if it meant staying a part of Vassa’s Circle. If it meant she remained Jurian, Vassa, and Lucien’s friend. 

Did she truly have to prove herself to be beside Azriel? Even if she enjoyed the challenge, was it worth it?

Her eyes caught on a book in particular as she browsed. The Old Gods.

She frowned, sliding it off the shelf and flipping through the pages. But ultimately put it back. Perhaps a read for another time.

And there, at the top of the shelf, as if fate called to her, she spotted the book Lucien was asking for. She grabbed a ladder and climbed up, hissing at the pressure on her leg, but managed to snag it before she experienced any more pain. She set aside the ladder and tucked the book under her arm.

The Dread Trove , the title of a book, stuck out to her. But she blinked, glancing away for only a second, and… she couldn’t find the title anymore.

She cocked her head in confusion. The Commander scanned the shelves for the book but to no avail. It was as if it never existed.

“Weird…” she mumbled under her breath.

 The Commander returned to Lucien and handed him the book silently, sitting beside him once more.

“Took you long enough,” he teased, a smile glinting in his eyes. 

She scoffed, teasingly as well. “It would have been easier if you directed me, asshole, but I have to make do.”

He smirked slightly. “You’re a strong, capable female.” 

“Oh yes… so capable…” she grumbled under her breath. “Where is our food? I’m starved.”

“It’s only been fifteen minutes. I’m sure you can manage.”

“Not for much longer. I knew I should have eaten breakfast.” She crossed her arms, kicking her feet up on the table. She made sure there were no books in the way first, of course. She wouldn’t dare disrespect them.

“Oh really? With how much Jurian coddles you, I’m surprised he didn’t make you some.”

She scoffed. “Your attitude tires me.”

“Many females have told me that, yet they always stick around.” His eye glittered in the fae light. The mechanical one gave a little whirl.

The clink of armor had the Commander straightening, removing her legs from the table. And the smell of food wafted over to them…

“Thank the Mother,” she mumbled, standing and taking the boxes of food from the guard. She gave him another small bow. “Thank you.”

He gave a nod back and returned to his post. 

The Commander handed a box to Lucien and sat back in her seat as she flipped open the lid. The smell was divine. Dates wrapped in bacon; spiced honey sausage; and baked ham and salami on fresh bread.

She tilted her mask back just enough to eat. It tasted as good as it smelled.

“Oh Mother ,” she groaned. Lucien shot her a look, chuckling. “This is the best thing I’ve had in ages , Lucien.”

He took a bite of his own, the same thing as hers. He nodded as he ate. “I have to admit, this is delicious.”

“Jurian needs to step up his cooking. Otherwise, I’m going to start sneaking to every Court and sampling their delicacies.”

“I’ll join you,” Lucien admitted. 

The Commander laughed. Actually laughed. “You’ll be the first person I invite.”

Chapter 33: A Way Home

Notes:

I changed some things. I didn't like where the story was headed so... haha. oopsies

“ Don’t do anything my ass ,” the Commander grumbled, trudging through the Illyrian camp. She kept her head down, shoulders bunched together, wings low. Her face was glamoured. She held another bundle of clothes in her hand, making the rounds and giving them out for winter. Winter was coming, and soon. The frost had already made its way into the grass, and the deep chill sat heavy in the air. Most places didn’t have enough food. Or could hardly afford it. 

She muttered under her breath, passing the faces of those Illyrian warriors. Warriors she helped cut down. Warriors she scarred. Warriors who were kept up with the same night terrors she had. 

She stopped by the many tents of the females, dropping off clothes and sneaking in some extra food for them in her pack.

 It was the least she could do.

She stopped by another tent and couldn’t help but eavesdrop. There was a group of them around the fire. A group of females folding laundry beside an open fire. 

“ And what do we do? Training isn’t meant for us. There are so many hours in the day, and with Solstice approaching, we can’t train and do everything. My husband won’t let me out of his sight most days. ”

“ Mine either. He needs more help than ever. Without a leg, it’s left him more restless, and he isn’t able to practice with the others. He can hardly sleep with how much pain it's left him in. ”

“ Rhysand and his little band of bastards. He can hardly keep the Court of Nightmares in line. And now with us… Mother… He’s clinging for control. ”

“ He put us on the front lines. Of course, he’s clinging for control. What better way to whittle down numbers than to kill them in war. ”

“ Or injure them enough not to try. You remember what he did to those camps that sided with Amarantha the Bitch-Queen. ”

There was a murmur of agreement between them.

The Commander wanted to argue. Say that Rhysand was just doing what he thought was best. The Illyrians were their best shot at winning the war. If it wasn’t for them, they would have all been slaughtered. They would have been left defenseless against Hybern. 

But she didn’t have an answer. Her voice stuck in her throat. 

They weren’t entirely wrong. Her stomach sank with dread.

“ You don’t think he would do that… do you? Have us murdered just because he can’t control the War-Bands. We haven’t done anything to deserve that. ”

“ At this point, don’t put it past him. When was the last time he came here, hm? To decree that wing clippings were no longer legal? Just last winter we had a whole batch of females clipped. Did he raise a finger about it? ”

“ But he wouldn’t murder us would he? ”

“ He sent our husbands, brothers, and sons to war. And left them bleeding or dead on the ground. Was he out there helping them? Did he help heal them? That bastard may have been on the front lines with them, but he isn’t one of us. He’s made that clear .”

The Commander stepped away, handing out what she could. There were a few males who gave her dirty looks, but she just kept her head down and stayed away from them. She wasn’t here to start anything. If she wasn’t allowed to help rebuild Velaris, then she would be here to help rebuild Illyria.

A strong hand grabbed her shoulder and dragged her into a tent before she had the chance to react. 

The Commander swung her fist, dropping the clothes and blankets she carried, but the male easily forced her to the ground.

“Stop it,” he hissed. He laid on top of her—covering her, she realized. Not to hurt her.

She whispered back, “What the fuck are you doing?”

Heavy footfalls passed the tent, away from the two of them. After that, the male on top of her loosened up, releasing a heavy breath. He slowly climbed off of her, sitting on his knees in front of her. He offered her a hand up, which she rejected, and kept a safe distance between the two of them.

She had to admit, he was handsome. With short black hair and freckled brown skin. His wings were massive, taking up the majority of the tent. The Illyrian leathers hugged his body. He was twice her size, easily, and much, much , stronger.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, his voice smooth.

The Commander took a deep breath, trying to still her thundering heart. She could kill him. But… “Why did you do that?”

“The Camp leader was looking for you. He must have spotted you handing out the food and clothes. That was him, he was trying to get you.”

The Commander gave him a look. “Why would he do that?”

“He’s too proud to accept gifts. He thinks what you’re doing is a direct insult to his leadership. That he can’t even care for his people.” A little smile danced on his face. “My name is Vaughn.”

“Mor,” she replied, extending a hand. He shook it with a knowing look. “I suppose thanks are in order then. For covering me back there. Why… did you?”

“I heard of you. I heard whispers of a lone Illyrian female visiting other camps around here, handing out food, clothes, and necessities. What you’re doing is good for our people, even if they don’t ask for it.”

“It’s the least I could do,” she mutters back.

“Look, I don’t know who you are or why you do it. I won’t pretend to. But… may I suggest something?”

“I—yes?” It’s not like she was in a position to deny him. He saved her, after all. The least she could do was hear him out.

“It may be best to lie low for a while. Let the whispers die down.”

“But winter will be here soon.”

“And there will be fires to tend to that will keep people warm. We will be okay.”

“What about the people who won’t be?” the Commander challenged. “Do you think they will be okay?”

Vaughn bit his tongue, glancing away with a small sigh. She wasn’t wrong but it was certainly uncommon for a female to speak back like this. Here , of all places.

“Be careful, is all I’m saying. You spread hope. Some camp leaders don’t appreciate that.”

With those words, he fled the tent, leaving the Commander alone with her thoughts. 

Hope. What a dangerous idea. What a wonderful idea. It was the double-edged sword that everyone fell to. To hope was to dare—to dream . 

Perhaps Illyria needed more dreamers.

 

***

 

The Commander laid down in her bed, glancing at the mask on her nightstand, before grabbing the papers underneath it. The papers Azriel gave her, but she neglected. 

Until now.

She couldn’t help but feel her heart skip a beat. Would this be her way? Her way back to her family?

Azriel’s test was simple enough. Investigate the things written on this paper, and send a report back to him.

She peeled back the wax seal, the famous insignia of the Night Court on it. Ramial and the three stars.

His familiar handwriting was on it.

 

What is the name of the occupant residing at 645 Tiberius Square?

 

Tiberius Square… she vaguely remembered that place. It was in the Night Court. It was in Velaris . But why would he want her to go there? She had express orders not to—

A knock had her set down the note and sit up.

“Come in,” she said with a sigh. Gesturing with her hand, even if no one was there to see it.

Jurian stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He looked as tired as her. 

“It’s late,” she said plainly.

He gave her a tired smile. “I’m assuming I can’t ask what you were up to today.”

“Nope,” she said. But she still moved the covers of the bed back, letting him slip into bed with her. Routine. “But I can assure you, I wasn’t up to any trouble.”

“That’s what you said last time. And then we got a visit from the Spymaster himself, warning you.”

“I guess I’ll just have to get better at sneaking around,” she mumbled. 

He laid down next to her, hands behind his head. She sat next to him, fumbling with her hands. He carefully pulled one of her hands away, keeping her from picking at her fingers. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t…I don’t know if I want Rhysand to know. Anyone to know, actually, that I’m alive.”

He blinked. “Why?”

“I just…I don’t know if I want to work for him, or rather Azriel. Not if it means leaving here.”

He remained quiet for a moment. “Do what makes you happy, Princess. Stay here…go back to the Night Court. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does , though. I can’t have both lives.”

“Yes, you can.” He gave her an easy smile, but she didn’t have to slip into his mind to feel his sadness. “Sirius, even if you go back to the Night Court, you will always have a home here. It’s not one or the other. It’s both . It’s whatever you want your life to be. Rhysand doesn’t dictate it. Vassa doesn’t dictate it. I don’t dictate it. It’s your life for a reason.”

She sighed, looking down at her lap.

Jurian continued, “Sirius, you and I got something most of us never get to have. A second chance. Don’t waste it being afraid of what could or what might happen. If you want to take this job for Azriel, slowly integrate yourself again, then do that. If you just show up on their doorstep with a bottle of wine, I’m sure they’d accept you. No matter what.”

She chuckled, squeezing his hand. “I know.”

“But that’s my point. It doesn’t matter. You decide what’s best for you.”

“When did you get so wise?”

“Five hundred years in a ring will do that,” he mumbled. “I only had time to think.”

The Commander twisted and rested her head on his chest, her wings draped around them. The space was small, there was never nearly enough room, but it was comforting, oddly. It was like a blanket wrapped around them, holding them close, suspended in time. 

Her friends here were all she had. All she cared about. She knew Rhysand would be perfectly fine without her, had been. And he was much happier with his mate. His life was perfect. All their lives were perfect and fine. Healthy, even. Relaxed. 

They had forgotten her. Rhysand didn’t even recognize her. None of them did.

Jurian rubbed a hand through her hair. “It’s not a choice to be made in one night, Princess.”

She nodded, hearing his heartbeat, knowing he was alive. Alive . Alive and still breathing.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” she whispered

“About what?”

“About…the War. Sometimes I’ll be doing something and…and it’s like I’m taken back to that time. That place. Things I’ve forgotten. Things I’ve done. I can’t help it.”

He’s quiet for a moment, the words sinking in. “The same thing happens to me. It gets better..”

“Is it normal?”

“It is.”

They were silent for a while. She listened to his heartbeat. To his breath rise and fall. So human. So plainly human. There was a vast difference between the two of them, a ravine’s worth, but they still found peace enough to share the same breath. The same space. 

Despite their spats and harsh words to one another, they shared love. Not one a mate would have, not one that a sibling would have, but something that meant much more to her. Not one tied by fate or blood. Mother knows she always wished to have friends like this. Not the scheming courtiers of the Court of Nightmares her father surrounded her with, but people like Jurian, Vassa, and Lucien.

People who chose to be with her. That was what meant so much to her.

It was why Jurian had his hand in her hair, soothing her. And why she let him sneak into her bedroom late at night just to talk, sometimes to sleep, sometimes to make sure they didn’t have any more nightmares.

“Thank you, for the other day,” she said quietly, as if she feared what he might say. Even though he’d by far seen the worst of her. “I appreciate you…appreciate the talk. I was angry and-well I didn’t mean to talk to you that way. Especially in front of Vassa.”

“Don’t worry about it, I know you’re sorry. I have my bad days too.”

“I have more bad days than good days, anymore,” she chuckled.

Jurian sighed and looked at her. A knowing look on his face. “Eventually they will fade. It eases a millimeter a day, so small you don’t see it or feel it until the weight has been lifted. Bit by bit, so long as you keep trying.”

“It seems impossible.”

“It won’t be easy, but it’s doable.”

“I hate that you’re right,” she grumbled, shifting her wings slightly.

He laughed, eyes lighting up with a smile. “Oh, I know, Pretty Princess. Most people hate that I am a lot of the time.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes, but didn’t reprimand him. She just closed her eyes. “We should do that.”

“Do what?”

“Stay in the same room.”

“Hmph. We’ll see about that. Maybe I don’t want you stinking up the place.”

“I do not —”

“I’m joking , Sirius.”

And the name didn’t grate her nerves as much as it usually did. But it still left her uncomfortable. Uneasy. Sad, for the girl she used to be, before all this, before the War. It felt like she didn’t have the honor of using that name anymore. She didn’t deserve it.

“Either way, it was just an idea.”

Eventually, Jurian drifted off to sleep, his arm around her like dead weight. But she could still hear his heartbeat. His face was so serene that she might have thought he was dead if it wasn’t for that heartbeat, for his chest rising and falling.

Her mind drifted to Tiberius Square . She had no idea where to start, but the shadows in the corners of the room reminded her too much of the King of Hybern. Too much like outstretched hands waiting to grasp her, to torture her, the moment she closed her eyes.

The Commander did eventually sleep, though.

 

***

 

The Commander of Hybern woke gasping, clutching her chest. The face of that little girl was fresh on her mind. The face of the Drakagor as it sank its teeth into her hand, threatening to tear her apart bit by bit. Stealing her away, never to see the sun again, never to see her home again.

She scanned the tent, scanned every shadow to find its hideous face…but found nothing. Could see nothing. There wasn’t even a whisper of a tooth or claw.

The camp was a dull hum, still early morning. And the Commander was still drunk from all the whiskey the night before. It was a wonder she wasn’t an alcoholic at this rate. She told herself it was for the nightmares, but she knew it was a lie.

 It was a way to waste away until morning so she could face herself in the mirror again.

She couldn’t even do that.

The Commander of Hybern sat up in her cot, realizing she was in no immediate danger, and placed her face in her hands. She didn’t have the mask on but the weight was still there. It was always there. She forgot what it was like to smile. She forgot what it was like to dance until her feet were sore. She forgot what it was like to sing until her cheeks hurt. All she knew was the dull ache in her chest. All she knew was the barking of orders. All she knew was how to hurt people. To cause fear.

There was no one there to comfort her from the roaring silence. From that damning darkness. 

So she did what she knew best.

She slipped on her armor, slipped on her boots, and put on the mask.

And greeted her soldiers as the sun rose once again.

 

***

 

The Commander knew what Azriel was trying to do.

This mission was to see if she could slip undetected into the Night Court undetected. Into Velaris undetected. It was a safe bet, really. A controlled test with the whole Inner Circle on alert for her. 

She hadn’t been to Velaris in… well there was the one adventure to steal Rhysand’s wine, but she never ventured into the city. She never even went out his door. Never spied through his window. The Commander knew it would have been too much; it would have hurt too greatly. 

The only true problem with her plan was that Rhysand knew what her mind felt like. He would have been able to detect her the moment she stepped foot in the city. 

So, she waited. 

She listened to whispers in Illyria. Along campfires where the females gossiped. To the soldiers. Sometimes, in the camp leader’s head just to have a general scope. And then she finally got something.

Next month he planned on visiting his favorite war camp, the one where he and Mother used to live. Where she was assured it was as much her home as it was theirs. Regardless, she always had to have permission to be there from their father. At least the King of Hybern didn’t care where she spent her evenings. Her father was more ruthless than an old boar.

It was getting close to Solsitce though, to her deadline. Each passing day felt like a lifetime. There wasn’t enough to do.

Tamlin didn’t speak to her despite going twice with Lucien. He’d gone from quiet grumbling to remaining silent entirely. No amount of banter got him to open up. No longing looks. No amount of taps against his mind got him to utter a word. He was silent. She didn’t know what hurt more, hearing him speak or none at all, so she stopped going with Lucien to see him.

And then she was stuck in the Human Lands, doing jack-shit. She tried to research more of Vassa’s ailment but felt as though she were banging her head against a brick wall. Vassa’s curse was elusive. There was no clear way to break it. Not yet at least. Jurian watched her read with mild amusement, which led to cursing at each other, which led to the Commander’s impromptu training sessions until her leg screamed at her to stop. 

The only time she felt useful was when she was in Illyria. It was the only place where she saw actual promise in what she was doing. The only place where she saw an outcome to the effort she put in. People, the females especially, started to know who she was. They offered her warm smiles as she passed, making small talk and sharing stories.

Finally, though, her golden opportunity came. Rhysand had left Velaris.

 The sun had barely risen when she slipped away from Jurian’s arms. She spent the wee morning hour getting ready, donning her black armor and mask. She braided her hair into a crown around her head so it wouldn’t get in her way. It was easily down to the small of her back now. The Commander remained as pale as ever, only accentuating the scars she earned across her body. A vague thought of spending some time in the sun crossed her mind, but it was an issue better resolved later. When vanity was focused more heavily than survival. It didn’t matter, it’s not like anyone could see her face regardless. 

By the time she winnowed away, Jurian was still asleep soundly in his bed, and Vassa had begun crawling out of bed to turn into the Firebird outside. When she reappeared, she found herself in the darkened clove of Tiberius Square in Velaris, shadowed under the eave of a home.

She hung close to the shadows, letting them surround and hide her. The supposed address Azriel wanted her to investigate was across the street. 

The Square was small, the ground made of worn cobblestone. The sound of the Sidra was a nearby constant. What she knows is rushing water sounds merely like a dull roar here. She must be less than a quarter mile away from the river, an easy walk any other day. There were flower pots along many of the windows. Some looked as though they were actively being repaired, but her target’s address looked untouched. 

The building was two stories, made of dark brown oak, the trim an emerald green. The windows were drawn and shut, allowing no light inside. She could feel the mind of someone inside. They were asleep, mercifully. Many residents of the Night Court were more nocturnal than most, the city’s nightlife breathed under the stars. These early mornings were made for rest.

The Commander winnowed across the street, which felt more like stepping from one shadow to the next. One moment she was across the street and the next step she was standing beside the house, looking into the kitchen window. She tucked her wings close as she peered in.

She could only detect one mind in the building, the sleeping one. She didn’t feel many people awake yet, nor did she feel Cassian or Azriel lurking nearby. Good, she hasn’t been detected yet. 

Slipping inside the house proved no trouble, keeping to the shadows, and inside the kitchen through the window. It was cozy and small. There were drying herbs hanging in a line from the ceiling. Rosemary, lavender, roses, thyme. Nothing completely unusual.

Stepping around the house, she found nothing amiss. Nothing strange. A normal house…

Why would Azriel choose this unassuming house?

Something didn’t feel right, the Commander thought with a frown. There was a smell she couldn’t quite place, like copper and sulfur. Like blood. And it was coming from under the stairs to the second floor, where a small door lay. The Commander tested the doorknob only to find it locked. Her frown only increased.

The key must be around here somewhere. With a sigh, she looked at the staircase. It must be upstairs. She didn’t see a key anywhere down here. 

Regrettably, she slowly climbed the stairs without making a noise. She could hear the sounds of the occupant behind his cracked door, snoring. He was buried underneath three blankets and a comforter, at least. Only streaked white hair poked out at the top, grey and cracked hands holding the blankets around him. A High Fae, most likely from the Winter Court.

She felt his mind, ebbing herself slowly into his head. Asleep, the edges of his mind remained unprotected; no shields stopped her from entering. He didn’t dream of anything, his mind blank. She skimmed through his base thoughts. His name was Damien Sorrel. He had owned this house for fifty years. 

It was all she really needed. She could leave with the knowledge of nothing but his name.

That smell nagged at her. It was like it was curling around her feet in here, too. But she spotted no splatters of blood. No other minds in the building. No signs of struggle. It was almost too clean.

The Commander slipped into the room through the crack in the door and looked down at him, still holding a firm grasp along his mind. His nose was thin and his chin hooked. And along his neck was a key. The key to that gods-damned basement.

The Commander murmured a curse under her breath before carefully grasping it in her hands. She kept him forcefully asleep as she slipped it off his neck. His breathing didn’t even hitch. 

She thought about reading more into his mind, but would that be too much of an invasion of privacy? Would it be what Azriel wanted?

Maybe that was her true test. To see how far she would go, see how far she would investigate. 

She was here. She may as well be thorough.

She looked at the key in her hands, heavy and iron. One thing at a time.

Back down the stairs, in front of the door, she slipped the key into the door and turned it.

The smell increased tenfold, wafting into the Commander’s face. It nearly caused her to vomit as she turned away from the doorway to take a breath. A gag worked its way from the base of her throat, but she held it down. Only darkness peered at her from beyond the door and to a set of stairs leading down. The smell of death was a familiar one. It was one she would never forget, not until the day she died again. Rotten flesh and blood and a tinge of something sickeningly sweet. 

She stepped through the door, cautiously looking down the stairs. Darkness coiled and rolled along the floor… along with the faintest scattering of blood. At the far reaches of the staircase, she could spy drops of blood. And then drag marks, leading away.

Her heart was in her throat, beating wildly.

Damien, upstairs, was still asleep. No doubt, he had some involvement in this. She didn’t need to look in his head to know the cruelty of males.

She stepped down the stairs, observing the basement through her mask. The smell only grew worse. The faint hum of flies hung in the air. The curling of maggots. And a body, faint, with a blood-stained bedsheet wrapped around it, was in the corner of the basement. 

“Oh Mother,” she muttered. The Commander put a hand to her chest. 

The feet poked out of the sheets, curled and rotten. Rigor mortis had set in long ago. The skin had taken on a greenish hue, and the nails had fallen off, pitted and black. 

The Commander stared. Stared and stared. What was she to do…? Would she let a murderer walk free? Was Damien the murderer? Was the body even murdered ?

There was no way she was going to touch it. Who knew what disease lay festered inside? Instead, she turned around and climbed back up the stairs, closing and locking the door behind her. She turned back and wrapped the key back around Damien’s neck again. 

All she needed to do was report. It wasn’t for her to execute judgment so soon.

But the need was there. That brutal part of her, the same one that ripped apart the bastard, abusive Illyrians, needed her to. Craved for her to show Damien the skills she learned playing Black Death.

She could go through his head… but likely Azriel sent her here knowing very well what she would find. Did he want her to kill him? But then, wouldn’t that send her further into blame? Wouldn’t it set back any trust they placed in her?

Report. She would have to write the report. Let Azriel know exactly what she found. Everything she knew about Damien. Let the Inner Circle cast their own judgments.

With a heavy heart, she winnowed back to the Human Lands. Back to the manor. Jurian was just waking.

It was her way back home. Not her only way, but the only way she accepted for herself. She had to prove to herself that she was more than just Rhysand’s sister. She was useful and powerful and didn’t need to be coddled. Not by him.

Never again.

Chapter 34: Azriel's Report

“Where is it?” the Commander of Hybern growled, holding the Fae by his chin. She had him dragged up and pinned against the wall. “ Tell me !”

His head slammed into the brick wall, a splatter of blood emanating from it. It blended in with the orange brick of the wall. The Fae let out a high-pitched groan from the hit, going limp in her grip beside the death grip on her arm. It would have hurt had it not been for the padding she had reinforced on the outside of her arm. 

With a whimper, the Fae stuttered out, “I-I don’t…I don’t know! I don’t know! Please. Please!”

“That’s not good enough for the King of Hybern, and you know it isn’t,” she hissed. “Try. Again.”

“Please!” he whimpered. “I don’t know where it is. I don’t know.”

“Then you’re no use to me.”

“No! NO—!”

His cries were quickly silenced against the brick wall behind him, skull crushed, dripping brain matter behind him. She let his body hit the floor, limp like a doll. 

Shadows curled around the Commander of Hybern as she wiped the blood off of her with a disgusted sigh. Another dead Fae. It wouldn’t be long before she was sent out again by the Kind of Hybern. More dirty work. More murder. More screams to look forward to.

And Mother, did she ever look forward to the screams. It seemed like the only time when she could fade into the background and let her body do the work for her. It felt almost natural. It felt primal. 

And the fear . It was the most delicious thing. She could taste it on her tongue. Lap it down like well-deserved liquor after a hard day's work. It was all she needed. She could feed on it, make it last through the days. Perhaps that’s the only thing that’s keeping her going. Fear .

The Commander of Hybern rolled her shoulders and took a deep breath. 

Where to next, she wondered.

Where to next…

“Ring around the rosies…” She softly sang to herself. The first song in ages. Engraved into her at the beginning of time.

“Pocket full of posies.”

“Ashes. Ashes.”

She picked up his coin purse, tucking it away. Dead males didn’t need gold anyway. And he didn’t give her what she wanted. Didn’t think in the bloodlust to check his mind for more information.

The Commander of Hybern stared down at his crumpled body, slouched, eyes still open, but no light left within them.

“We all fall down…” she whispered.

 

***

 

The Commander trailed behind Lucien once more, not quite sure why she was here to begin with. He already knew how she felt about Tamlin, and equally, how Tamlin felt about her.

“Just… don’t say anything rude this time,” Lucien said. “He’s already…”

“Depressed?”

He sighed, “Well, I guess that’s one way to say it.”

“Homicidal?”

“Now you’re just talking about yourself.”

The Commander barked a laugh. “I should have expected that.”

“Just don’t be an asshole, is all I’m saying.”

“I know, I know. You don’t need to remind me.”

They walked through the brambles and the twisted trees of the Spring Court, following the monstrous tracks of Tamlin. She could have just winnowed the both of them there, could feel his mind vaguely North of them. She could always vaguely know where he was, like a weird sixth sense, but only for Tamlin. Lucien, of course, had refused, claiming he didn’t want to lose his breakfast.

And so they tracked him through the forest like a hunter after their prey. Except, the prey required mandatory therapy visits from his “friends,” and they were actually the ones being hunted because Tamlin had threatened to gut them both the next time they stepped foot here. 

Semantics, the Commander thought. It doesn’t matter anyway.

She knew Tamlin was too much of a coward to actually do it. Not when they were the only interaction he’d get for weeks.

Besides, she didn’t want Tamlin to actually lose his sanity. Who else would she pick on?

“I can practically smell the ire dripping off of you,” Lucien remarked.

“I’m trying to keep the ire to a minimum.”

Lucien held back a branch for her as he stepped through the grove. That didn’t stop him from almost letting it snap back in her face.

“With our luck, Tamlin will smell you first and decide you’re the better meal.”

“Oh, I bet he’d just love a bite out of me. Wouldn’t be the first time,” she remarked.

And the look on Lucien’s face was priceless. His mouth opened to make a snarky reply, closed it, opened it again, and then promptly closed it as he realized the designed innuendo. His face slightly flushed, metallic eye whirling.

The Commander chuckled. “No comeback?”

“I think it’s best I keep my nose out of that one.”

“Hah! That’s a first.”

A deep rumble in the forest made them both pause. Echoes of stomping footsteps made all the birds stop chirping, and the noises still.

“I think we’re getting close,” the Commander noted sarcastically.

Lucien shot her a look, continuing ahead.

“Tamlin?” he shouted, keeping an eye out.

“You couldn’t have made this a little easier and moped in the manor,” the Commander grumbled in Tamlin’s general direction, earning a glare from Lucien. 

And then, the beast arrived, the familiar green eyes and curled horns pacing through the trees. Not towards them, but he did shoot them a glance. 

Lucien paused, waiting for Tamlin to do something.

But he didn’t, just continued walking.

“Are we not even good enough to spare a word?” the Commander yelled at him.

“ Commander !” Lucien snapped at her.

“What? He just looked at us, and kept walking?? ”

She stormed ahead, perhaps a little frustrated, and followed after him. “Hey! We came all the way out here just for you, and you don’t even give us the time of day. Why is that?”

Tamlin growled, paws digging into the ground as he powered on ahead. Lucien was shortly behind the two, quiet.

“Stone-heart! Hey! Will you quit walking and talk to us? You haven’t said a word in two weeks.”

And yet, he continued. 

The Commander had enough of this. She winnowed in front of him.

“Will you stop ?” she yelled right into his face.

It was only then that Tamlin looked her in the eyes. Or rather, the mask. Stared into her. Bored into her. His nostrils flared, a deep rumble in his chest.

And the Commander stared back, squared her shoulders, and didn’t back down. Not a single inch.

“Tamlin…” she said a little quieter, and after another breath, a little calmer. “Will you talk to us? Come out of that form, we have some food for you.”

His lip curled back, long, sharp teeth visible. His voice like gravel. “I don’t owe you… anything.”

“Like the Hells you don’t.”

“I don’t owe you a conversation.”

“Then don’t. Just come out of there and fucking eat something.”

“Everything’s a battle with you.”

“Likewise,” she growled. “Now shift out and be a decent person for once in your fucking life.”

He was silent for a moment, eyes shifting. An internal debate in his head. The High Lord of the Spring Court being bossed around by a dead female, this was surely a first.

“Move,” he growled again.

“No.”

“Tamlin,” Lucien said, his voice a plea. “Please.”

And that was the only thing that got his head to turn. Despite everything, he turned for his friend. Or at least what used to be his friend.

Tamlin shifted out of his form, completely naked. Lucien didn’t balk at all, just went through his bag for a moment and tossed him some pants, like this was routine. So familiar with the other that it was second nature.

The Commander deftly turned her eyes away, but not before staring, shocked, at his ass. 

Lucien noted it with a small smirk, hiding a well-contained laugh at her reaction. The Commander, however, was not so good at hiding it. Thank the Gods for the mask. She could feel the heat on her cheeks. 

With some comfort, she knew that some things never changed. And somehow, one of those things was Tamlin’s ass.

“Are you hungry?” Lucien asked Tamlin, who merely gave a nod. He went through his bag again and tossed him a small package. The Commander already knew what was inside. She made it herself. 

Tamlin put on the pants before he opened the package. Sliced apples, some Gouda cheese, and roasted pork with rosemary.

He sat down and started eating. 

The Commander sighed, the fight leaving her body, as she sat across from him beside Lucien. Neither of them had eaten before coming. Thankfully, Lucien also packed them some food.

“Here,” Lucien said, handing her a similarly packaged brunch.

The Commander slipped the mask off silently and opened it, taking a bite of the apple.

It was at this moment that she realized Tamlin hadn’t seen her without her mask off. Not since that last battle. Not since she abandoned him in camp to go to the meeting arranged by her brother and his mate.

Tamlin hadn’t forgotten either. She felt his eyes on her before she even looked to confirm it.

What she didn’t expect was the sadness in his gaze. The way his eyes traced her scar, every place where she used to have a bruise, how deep her dark circle must have been.

Pity. He pitied her.

And she was sorely reminded why she always kept the mask on.

She should have been happy he spared her any sort of glance. Maybe a year ago, she would have been happy. But now…she just felt cold. Hollow. She felt stupid.

The Commander turned back to her meal, ignoring his obvious staring.

Wisely enough, Tamlin went back to his food too, taking careful, cautious bites. 

“Why are you here?” he asked them. His voice was unused after so long. There was an edge to it. “You don’t have to stay if I’m not at the manor.”

“Forgive me for feeling obligated,” the Commander grumbled. “After last time.”

Tamlin raised his brows at that. “You mean when you hit me with a clump of dirt?”

She deadpanned to him. “You deserved that one.”

“For saving your life?”

“For being an ass .”

A small smirk tugged at the edge of his lips, but once again retreated as he caught another look at that scar.

The mark of a traitor.

And just to add insult to injury, he added, “You look like shit.”

The Commander scoffed. “Says the one who looks like he hasn’t shaved in a week, mucked it in the mud, and smells like the last three things he killed. I’ll be lucky if I can smell again before the end of the night.”

Lucien let out a long exhale. “Can we just eat for once without insulting each other?”

“No,” they both replied at once, which had them snapping back to look at each other.

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Lucien grumbled.

Tamlin chewed carefully on his food as if it were some way to keep from biting remarks at either of them.

“What are you doing for Solstice?” the Commander asked Tamlin, trying to steer away the conversation. “Going to any fun parties?”

“You know I don’t get invited to parties,” he growled in response.

“Oops… my bad. I forgot.”

“Sirius,” Lucien said, exasperated. 

“What? It was just a question.”

Tamlin glowered at her, and damn her if it didn’t give her a little thrill. It was better than the pity. Anything was better than the pity in his eyes. Maybe she felt like she deserved a bit of that anger. It didn’t make her feel any better, but it didn’t make her feel worse.

It was better, she decided, for him to be at arm's length. Despite the obvious pull to the other, it was better to make snide remarks than develop something real again. 

He’s already hurt her enough.

It already hurt her enough to see him. 

Why did it always have to be so painful?

The Commander swallowed hard, wrapping up what was left of her food, and slipped the mask back on before Tamlin could see the sorrow in her eyes. If he saw it, he made no effort to show it. If he even cared at all.

“Did you have any plans?” He bit out. Trying to be social.

“Why? Did you want me to come harass you until you threaten me again?”

“We’re going to the Night Court,” Lucien said. Both of their heads looked to Lucien. “What? I got invited. I’m not staying for long.”

“ We ?” the Commander reiterated.

“I need someone to winnow me,” he said quietly. “You can be my plus one .”

“Like that will go over well,” she grumbled.

“Does Rhysand know?” Tamlin asked, making the Commander pause.

“No,” she said carefully.

He looked confused. “Why not?”

“Because. I’m… just not ready yet.”

He furrowed his brow. “I thought it was your dream to get back to him.”

“Maybe it once was, a long time ago.”

His voice went an octave deeper. Protective, almost. “What did he say to you?”

“Nothing that you need to know,” she snapped back. 

Tamlin hardly looked like he was going to back down, but Lucien mercifully intervened. He must have had a lot of experience with domestic hostile environments. “Commander, didn’t you say you needed to write a report?”

Shit. The report. Right. She needed to hand it in to Azriel. The sooner the better.

“Yes, I do.” She stood up and dusted herself off. “I’m assuming you can make it back on your own?”

Lucien nodded, glancing at Tamlin. It’s like he was worried about being alone with him. 

“I’ll see you back at home then,” Commander said distantly. She looked to Tamlin and gave him her best purr, “Be seeing you, Stoneheart.”

And the shadows eased around her as she winnowed away.

 

***

 

Her leg was starting to bother her from standing so long, with the occasional pacing. She was just beginning to believe that Azriel had somehow cloaked himself from her, watching the show, when he appeared.

“Commander,” he said as a way of greeting.

“Spymaster,” she said in return. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

“You have it done?”

“I do.” She handed him back the slip of paper. “Is that all?”

He did a quick scan over it, his features revealing nothing, but there could have been a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. She could have been imagining it, though.

They were in the middle of a secluded forest, not far from the Weaver’s cottage. It was a place no one would come looking for them. The Commander merely left a note on his desk, remembering which one was his, and asked him to meet her here. In the hurried hours when she drafted her report, she was anxious that he would even get it. Winnowing paper sometimes came with mishaps. Maybe the wrong person got it. Maybe she got the desk or the room wrong. Maybe he saw it and didn’t care. That when she showed up, she would be a fool. 

She was glad to be wrong. At least this time.

“That’ll be all for now,” he said. 

And now that it was just the two of them, she really studied his familiar features. He didn’t really change. Not since she’d last seen him, back when he was a Spymaster for her father. His hair was a little longer then. She remembered his eyes being a little more open. Now they watched her warily, his hand within easy reach of Truth-Teller, the very dagger she gave him.

Not that he knew.

“Do you think I’ll apprentice under you then?” the Commander said, reaching for some kind of answer. To be hanging in suspense was another kind of agony. She didn’t want to wait days, weeks, or after the Solstice to know.

She wanted to go home. To her real home. And not under the guise of some glamour just so Rhysand didn’t throw her out.

“I’ll have to see what Rhysand says.”

“What do you say?”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed, studying her every movement. He didn’t fail to notice the way her wings ruffled. 

“It doesn’t matter what I say; the final decision is up to Rhysand.”

She had never wanted to hit something so badly. Her heart felt like it was going to pound out of her chest and tear itself apart in front of her.

“I will say, I’m glad you were able to get this done so quickly,” Azriel said, leafing through the pages and pages of information, detailing exactly what she saw. His eyes softened a fraction. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The Commander carefully inhaled. It was enough. It had to be. “Thank you.”

Azriel nodded, lingering for a few more seconds. As if to watch her. Study her. As if there was something familiar about her he couldn’t quite place. “Be seeing you,” he said, and then vanished once more into the shadows.

The Commander stared at the spot he once occupied. Staring and staring. Waiting. 

But nothing came. 

She was by herself. There were no birds, no noise, nothing. 

She didn’t fail, at least. 

But it wasn’t an answer. It wasn’t a promise. For all she knew, the next time she stepped foot in the Night Court, she would be executed. They could be leading her into a trap.

She hated that she thought of her own family like that, but it was clear they didn’t think of her as family. Didn’t see her . Didn’t see past the mask enough to recognize what was right in front of them. 

She wanted to scream from every rooftop. Every tree. Every sky.

She was so angry. So angry at everything. So filled with hate that she believed anything that set foot in her path, she would break it. That she would destroy. So filled with that all-consuming power that her anger gave way to.

But the only thing there, the only person to blame, was herself.

She started with that.

Chapter 35: Solstice

Notes:

You guys are eating tonight, hehehe. Lots of ups and downs. Enjoy your scrumptious meal, my friends.

The day had started normally, at least, as normally as it was for the Band of Exiles. 

Jurian and the Commander woke in the same bed once more, chasing away nightmares and darkness together. They woke to the cry of the firebird outside, to Vassa circling the skies of the manor. Jurian groaned, rolling back over.

“It’s morning,” the Commander grumbled, her wings draped over the two of them. The nights were far colder than they used to be. Thankfully, the fire from downstairs rose to their rooms. She knew Jurian liked the extra warmth.

“I know,” he replied. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t get five more minutes of sleep.”

As if Vassa could hear them, she let out another sharp cry. The flap of her wings echoed across the grounds.

“Jurian…”

“Princess…” He sighed, looking at her, and rubbed his eyes. “I’ve got so much paperwork to do, it’s ridiculous. And then I need to start getting shipments ready across the Human Lands for winter.”

“I’m surprised Vassa hasn’t named you King yet with all the work you’ve been doing.”

Jurian barked a laugh. “And do what? Sit on my ass like one? No, I’m good.”

The Commander snickered, retreating her wings away as one does throwing back a blanket. Which did nothing to help Jurian’s scowl.

“I’ll help you. With the paperwork.”

“You don’t have to do that, Princess,” he said, rolling out of bed, his shirt askew. “I’ve led armies, I can handle simple paperwork.”

The Commander draped herself across the bed, watching him. “I want to do something to help this Court. I feel useless just doing nothing.”

“Uh-huh. Except you haven’t been doing nothing. You’ve been sneaking off into the Night Court every week.”

“ Sneaking –”

He wagged his finger at her. “Yes, yes, you have been! But besides the point, you’re welcome to help me.”

The Commander smiled and pulled herself out of bed. “Thanks.”

He smirked at her. “No need to thank me, you’re only torturing yourself.”

“Whatever. Beats sitting around waiting to acquaint myself with danger.”

“You think someone would attack us here?”

The Commander shrugged. “You never know these days. The Humans hate the Fae, still. That still hasn’t changed. And we have two Fae here.”

“The war is over, Sirius.”

“Not for me.”

He gave her one of those looks. Sorrow, but an understanding. Perhaps a deeper understanding than anyone else in this house. 

Not pity, though. He’s never looked at her with pity. 

Maybe only once, when she had made a sandwich and knocked it off the counter, landing squarely on the floor. The miserable bastard could only watch. But when it came to the things that mattered, the serious things, the scars they both bore, from the War or everything else, he knew. He knew what it meant, how much it weighed on them both. It meant to push through each day like they were stuck in thick mud. But they still pushed.

“Day by day, Princess.”

“A millimeter a day, yeah, I remember,” she mumbled.

Jurian’s small smirk was the only indication he heard her. 

However, they both paused, the Commander with eerie stillness, as they heard a thump near the front door. Then another. And another.

“The fuck was that?” Jurian breathed, taking up a sword near the bed. 

“I have no idea,” the Commander said in return, materializing a shadow-like dagger in her hand, somehow solid, like it was second nature.

Jurian swung open the door, flying down the steps. The Commander was shortly behind him, her wings slightly spread to keep her from falling face-first into the steps from how quickly she ran.

Lucien had his eyebrow raised as he meandered out from the kitchen. “Did you hear that?” he asked.

“Yes,” Jurian and the Commander answered in kind. Both in their leisure clothes from the night before, hair tousled, no doubt smelling like the other. Without the mask, her natural scent, like citrus and wildflowers, was present in the air. 

Lucien’s eyes noticed everything, taking in the presence of both Jurian’s sword and the Commander’s dagger. He merely sighed at the two of them and opened the door.

Outside sat three trunks. Three familiar trunks, apparently, from the expression on Lucien’s face.

“What the fuck?” he snapped without thinking.

The Commander peered outside the door, narrowing her eyes at the trunks awaiting outside. Was this some sort of trap? Something rigged? Was it filled with ash?

Lucien, as if in some daze, took the steps and crossed the distance. He kneeled down in front of the trunks and flipped open the lid before the Commander could warn him otherwise.

But nothing horrible was inside. No severed heads or traps or that fatal ash all Fae feared. It was…clothes. Lucien ’ s clothes. From the Spring Court.

“What is that?” Jurian asked.

“My clothes. All my things from the Spring Court…” He said, a note of disbelief in his voice. He flipped open the other two just to be sure, with only the same result. “Why…why is this here?”

Jurian caught the Commander’s eyes behind Lucien’s back.

Fucker .

She felt her magic rise in response, that deep, dreadful power, coiled and ready. Dark and oily and waiting. Waiting and waiting and waiting.

There was only one person capable of this. One person who’d willingly consider this.

“Why would Tamlin do this?” the Commander asked, voice deadly smooth.

“I have no idea,” Lucien murmured, closing the trunks. He rubbed his forehead, sighing again, before turning back to the two of them. There was no note left with the trunks. No indications. No warning. Just silence, as it usually was with Tamlin.

That’s how it’s become. No screaming. No outbursts. No rotten words and fist fights. Just silence. Silent resentment. Silent seething. Silent grieving. A silent manor with a silent Court. 

Not even music broke that silence.

There was no fiddle for him to play anymore.

“Are we going to find out?” the Commander asked.

“No,” he sighed. “No…I’ll go myself. Cauldron knows you’ll just antagonize him more.”

He was right, of course, but she didn’t know whether to agree with him or whether she was hurt by the statement.

The frown on her face was another indication of that.

“Seriously,” Lucien repeated, looking at her. “I think you’re the last person Tamlin wants to see right now.”

“And you think he wants to see you? All your shit is on our doorstep.”

He made an exasperated noise. “I don’t know what to think, Sirius! He wouldn’t just randomly do this. He wanted me to come over on Solstice.”

“When was this a plan?”

“After you left.”

Fucker!

“He waited until after I left to invite you?”

He blinked at her. “Yes.”

Jurian snorted, rolling his eyes. “Sounds like him.” He pushed himself off the wall and stalked off to the kitchen.

The Commander couldn’t help but linger, though, looking at all of Lucien’s stuff on the front lawn. She took a deep breath, trying not to, but definitely took it personally.

“Did you want help moving everything in?”

Admittedly, Lucien did look a little guilty. “Yes, please.”

The Commander took one look at all the trunks. “Did you want them in your room?”

“Where else would they go?”

She didn’t even snap her fingers before the trunks before them winnowed into his room. Lucien blinked again. He most certainly forgot she could do that. “Oh.”

“There you go. Easy as killing,” she said with a much too delightful smile. “Let me know if you need help unpacking.”

He waved her off, and she made her way to the kitchen, trying not to think too hard about Lucien’s comment.

Antagonize him more . What had Tamlin told him about her? Did he tell him anything at all?

“You’re thinking about something,” Jurian observed, handing her a plate of eggs, toast, and bacon. The smell was delightful. “I can see it on your face.”

She grumbled something about her mask being off before replying, “Yeah. Tamlin.”

“ Oh . Him again.”

She glared at him, but there was no bite behind it. “ Please . Spare me the lecture.”

“Of course,” he said, but there was a glint of humor in his eyes. Some unknown, unspelled secret that he knew.

“I hate you,” she growled, taking a furious bite from her eggs.

“I didn’t say anything !”

“No, but I can see it in your eyes,” she hissed.

He grinned. “Why don’t you read my mind, Princess, and find out?”

The temptation was there. “I’d rather not know what you’re thinking, Jurian. It’s probably more disturbing than I want to know.”

Jurian merely sat down across from her with his own plate, happily eating with her like he had won some sort of mental battle against her. The infamous paperwork he claimed was there too, flipping through it absently as he ate.

After half her plate was gone, she merely grumbled, “Give me some of that.”

He slid her over a small stack of papers. The words made no sense in her mind despite her eyes scanning over the words. Gods, she was in for a long day. Maybe she shouldn’t have volunteered for this.

“Thanks for this, Sirius,” Jurian said. “It’s nice. To have you around. For all of us to be around.”

Nevermind. The paperwork was worth it. “Of course. I can say the same to you.”

“Did you want to move everything into one room today?”

It didn’t take much thought. She already knew the answer. “Sure. I’d like that.”

 

***

 

The night had come in full swing at the townhouse, and by now, everyone was drunk on wine and laughter. It had been a long time since they’d done this, with a few new editions to the Court. It had been a long year. They had deserved it after the War. 

The Court of Dreams sat around the couches, some lingering at the table for smaller conversations. Cassian was daring Azriel to chug the rest of the wine, who merely gave him a soft smile, and, as kindly as possible, told him to fuck off . Cassian only laughed more. 

Mor sprang up from her seat on the couch. “I’m getting another bottle. You boys will have to wait before you do anything outrageous.”

“ Another ?” Rhysand moaned from his spot, holding Feyre in his arms. “I want to still function tomorrow, thank you.”

“Function in what way?” Mor said with a teasing grin as she stumbled her way into the wine cellar. 

She walked to the far, far back, away from all the new wine poor Rhysand had to buy to keep up with their drinking habits. The older wine, the far more aged, potent stuff, not that she could really taste it anymore.

Mor perused the shelves, kneeling down to eye a few of them, when a note caught her eye. It was stuck between one of the shelves where they held the bottles. It must have fell off. 

The note was old, as far as she could tell, the ink scrawling with a somewhat familiar writing.

 

Rhys,

Sorry for stealing your wine again! Forgive me, you know how I am. It was absolutely necessary, I promise. I’ll replace it when I remember to.

Siri <3

 

Mor stared at the note for a long time, feeling her eyes well with tears. The wine did nothing to help the surge of emotions it brought up, despite the smile plastered on her face.

Siri.

Little Sirius. 

She missed her. Mother, now more than ever.

Mor took the note, along with a bottle of wine near it, and went back to the living room.

“Guys!” she called, trying to cover up the waver in her voice. But nothing slipped past Rhys, who raised his eyes to her with concern. “You’ll never guess what I found.”

The chatter slowed to a stop as they all turned to Mor and the note in her hand.

Cassian was the first to cross the space, followed by Rhysand, who slowly unwound himself from Feyre, and then Azriel.

As Cassian spied the note and the name upon it, he let out a soft, “Aww…”

And Rhysand, who came up to Mor’s other side, laid an arm across her shoulders. He pulled her close, swallowing hard. His eyes were much softer now, like the blue of the Sidra, full of tears. “Looks like she left us one last present, huh?”

“Yeah, she did.” Mor wiped her eyes, staring at the writing. 

“What is it?” Feyre asked, coming to Rhysand’s side.

He gave out a small chuckle, showing her. “It’s from my sister. Sirius. Somehow a note must have snuck its way into the townhouse. Probably on the back of some bottle.”

But it was Azriel who stared and stared and stared at it. His wings sank a little, eyes stricken by some unknown wound. Azriel’s breath caught as his eyes scanned the note, over and over again.

“May I see it?” he whispered. 

Mor gave him the note, and he held it in shaking hands.

 It wasn’t often they saw Azriel like this. They all knew how close the two of them were, often delivering updates to Rhysand and Cassian when Sirius was cooped up in the House with her father. When none of them could see her except for him. How he promised to protect her and keep an eye on her, even from the shadows.

They all knew the devastation. The cost. The guilt they all felt for not being there. Rhysand and Azriel are the most.

Cassian and Rhysand shared a look as Azriel took it in, a vulnerable look, a knowing look. The wine certainly didn’t help.

Mor didn’t seem to care. Instead, she opened the next bottle and poured them all another. “I propose a toast.” And even though Azriel still didn’t reply, didn’t make a sound except for the shallow breaths and tightened muscles, she continued. Cassian and Rhysand's eyes were on her, as well as the rest of the Court. “This is for Sirius, wherever she may be. Forever in starlight.”

Rhysand’s eyes were heavy as he, too, raised his glass for her. “For Siri.”

Azriel looked between all of them and quietly said, “Excuse me.”

He raced up the stairs. Nobody followed him as his shadows whispered in his ears. 

It’s her.

It’s her.

It’s her!

Starlight incarnate!

Fear incarnate!

Black Death.

He ignored it, searching for the one thing that would confirm it. The one thing that would solidify his belief. He had always wondered why she felt familiar. Why her story felt familiar.

He took off to the skies, to the House of Wind. It wasn’t a far flight. It was about time he went to bed anyway. He sure as hell didn’t want to fly back drunk. And despite the insistence of Rhysand tapping on his mind, he kept his mind closed off. He didn’t need to know this. Yet.

Azriel ran to his room and reached for the report that the previous Commander of Hybern gave him. 

The writing was the same.

 

***

 

It took plenty of maneuvering all afternoon and evening to move Jurian’s things into the Commander’s room since it was the biggest. They decided on putting in a bigger bed so the two of them could lie comfortably, as well as an armoire and a dresser for each of them. There was a chest full of weapons that they piled in there. The Commander’s sword lay against the wall next to it, the darkness of the blade catching all light and shadow.

And when the next day arrived, she found it with a heavy and rapid heart.

Solstice.

She remembered all the times she spent Solstice with her family. She and her mother used to wrap presents together. Rhys and she shared a bottle of wine, told stories, and made fun of Cas and Az and Mor, of course, only after their snowball fight. It was a very serious thing, after all. One that her mother loved, and her father despised, which was all the more reason they did it.

A small smile graced her face at the thought of it.

She wondered if they still kept the tradition up. Even when Rhysand was Under the Mountain, it seemed like Cassian and Azriel kept it up, claiming Rhysand won each time.

Every fifty of those years.

No doubt they would continue it now, too. 

They were probably out there now…

She swallowed down her sorrow and pushed herself out of bed. These past few weeks, she hadn’t thought much about Solstice. Hadn’t gotten any of them anything. It made her feel like a piss poor friend. The Commander had spent months with them, and yet she didn’t even think to get them a present, too preoccupied with her own selfish life and building up the Court, the Band of Exiles.

“I really am the worst,” she muttered to herself, pulling out some comfortable clothes and slipping on the mask again.

Training would help. Punching something would help. At least, that’s what she told herself as she went outside toward the treeline and leveled her fists.

Left, right, left, right. Jab, swing, jab, swing. Uppercut. Hook.

Over and over and over again until the roaring in her head quieted and the dark sea stopped churning inside of her.

Over and over.

Over and over.

The tree was starting to look sickly.

Over. And. Over.

“Ahem.”

The Commander whirled around, breathing heavy, sweat dripping down her brow and back, as she leveled a fist at Lucien’s face. Not quite a fist. A shadow of a dagger in her hands as she held it to his neck. The shadows, visible but invisible, solid but still fluid. He looked mildly impressed, staring at the tree behind her.

The Commander slowly lowered her hand, the dagger disappearing. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me.”

“I called your name several times.”

She took a few deep breaths, wiping her hands. “I didn’t hear you.”

Lucien shrugged. “It’s fine.”

She took another, looking at him. Even now, she hardly felt the weight of the mask, sliding back into that comfortable position. That comfortable persona. “What can I do for you? You must be here for a reason.”

“What? I can’t talk to my dear friend!” he said sarcastically. At the Commander’s pointed silence, he sighed. “Okay, admittedly, I was going to ask a favor.”

“There it is.”

“ Oh-Kay .” He rubbed his brow. “I was wondering if you could winnow me to Velaris.”

“The one place I’m not supposed to go?”

“Yep. That’s the one.”

“Why?”

“It takes me a long time to winnow all the way from here to the Night Court. And as much as I don’t like your winnowing, it’s too much of a distance without it completely exhausting me.”

“So you want me to drop you off.”

“I won’t be long. You can just… keep yourself hidden. Besides, I know you’ve been wanting to go back. Even for just a little.”

He made a good point.

“If anyone even knows I’m there–”

“Then Rhysand can bite my head off, not yours. I’m the one asking this of you.”

And what were friends for except covering the fallout?

The Commander sighed, debating it in her head. Lucien had done a lot for her, not that she was counting. And she wanted to do more for him, more for all of them. “Alright. I’ll take you.”

He smiled. Even though she could practically feel his dread at going to the Night Court. About going to see Feyre and his beloved mate.“Thank you, Sirius.”

“Of course.”

The Commander just thought of it as…spending extra time together. That could be a Solstice present, couldn’t it? Oh, Mother, who was she kidding? It wasn’t a gift, not when it was her .

“Did you want me to take you to Tamlin after?” she asked him.

“Maybe…I hadn’t planned on going until the evening. But maybe he’d like the company.”

“He seemed pretty adamant he didn’t want anyone around last time I was there.”

Lucien crossed his arms and, in a soft voice, said, “I don’t care. Despite everything…I don’t want him to be alone. I know how he feels. I know what he’s like. I’d like to think after all our years of friendship, he’d know I’d be there.”

The Commander nodded. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” She put a hand on Lucien’s shoulder, letting it linger. “Let me get changed and wash off. Then we can go.”

“Thank you,” he said again.

He followed her inside, waiting in the living room where the fireplace roared with warmth. No doubt thanks to his own fire, weaving the flames.

The Commander went upstairs and started the bath, not waiting long before jumping in and quickly washing off. In a show of good faith, she even wore the colors of the Night Court, black and deep purple. It was days like this, when the cold had worn her down to her bones, that she had Illyrian leathers.

When she returned downstairs, she found Lucien with a small stack of presents in his arms. 

Upon her gaze, or maybe a look in his general direction, he asked, “It is tradition, right? Presents?”

“It is,” she simply said. She held out her arm. “Ready?”

He let out a shaky breath. “As I’ll ever be.”

But it made the Commander pause. “Are you sure?”

“My mate and I can’t stand to be in the same room for more than a few moments. Feyre is…Feyre. And no offense to you, but I’m hoping not to catch Rhysand.”

She took it all into consideration. “You know, you don’t have to do this, right?”

“I should.”

“But if it causes you heartache–”

“I have to,” he said, cutting a look at the Commander. “For my own sake. I’m just nervous.”

The Commander nodded. “I understand. Okay, hold your breath.”

And in a split second, the shadows enveloped them once more, reaching and stretching them all the way to the Night Court. Into the heart of its territory, Velaris.

It was easy. It was nothing.

And as the shadows eased around them, they took in the clean, homely look of the townhouse, just near the Sidra and the Rainbow Quarter.

“Take your time,” she said to Lucien. “I’ll wait right here by the steps.”

He nodded to her, giving her a tight smile. “Thank you.”

As he knocked on the door, offering a “Happy Solstice” to Feyre as she opened the door, the Commander simply took a seat on the steps outside. The door shut as Lucien was welcomed in, with the obvious falter as Feyre noticed her.

Feyre’s voice rang out. “Did you want to come in?” 

The Commander turned her head, not expecting the offer. “My Lady,” she said, bowing her head. What was she supposed to say? “Uhm, that’s alright. I’m just here for Lucien. Thank you.”

That was that; the door shut. And the Commander couldn’t help but feel like kicking herself a little. She knew that Lucien deserved this privacy, though. Deserved to have this moment with his friend and with his mate.

A quick scan with her mind, she didn’t feel the presence of many inside the townhouse. She could feel a few servants, along with the presence of Morrigan and another, Elain. No Rhysand. No Cassian. No Azriel.

She huffed a laugh. 

So they had gone out for that snowball fight after all. Predictable. Utterly predictable.

She curled the shadows around herself, making sure most people didn’t spot her. At least not with ease. The Commander tucked her wings close, sheltering herself from the cold. 

Snowflakes fell softly from the sky, reminding her of the dead soldiers, the ash, that fell from the sky the day of the final battle between Hybern and Pyrthian. 

The Commander suppressed a shudder.

All those people. All those Illyrians. They were dead in an instant. 

She couldn’t stop it.

Every snowflake that fell was another Illyrian she killed. She couldn’t help but stare at every passing one.

Even the quiet murmur of people passing couldn’t pull her out of it. The soft roar of the Sidra. The brilliant colors of the artists' quarter, of the Rainbow, didn’t help it. 

How much she had craved to be home, to be here , and now… now she couldn’t even enjoy it. Couldn’t savor the memory of it. The feeling of it. Everything felt so dull now; she felt so numb.

This place. It never changed. 

She did.

She changed.

And she wanted to be back. To love this place as she once did. To see it clearly through her eyes without seeing the pangs and wounds of war.

The Commander swallowed hard, noting the slightly raised voices from inside. 

Nothing was the same, and yet everything was. Just as she dreamed it to be.

Had her dreams changed?

When had they changed?

The Commander waited without complaint as Lucien spoke with Feyre. That was until the door flew open and Lucien raced down the steps.

“We’re going,” he said, voice cold.

The Commander spared only a glance at the door, where Feyre stood, distracted and looking at the pile of presents. 

She didn’t even question it as she winnowed the two of them away, emerging from the shadows back at the manor. Vassa cried overhead, landing nearby. Curious. Wondering what they were doing back so soon.

The Commander held up a hand in greeting as Lucien stormed inside.

Knowing he wouldn’t want to be bothered, she approached Vassa, letting her flames welcome her in a warm embrace.

“Hello,” she crooned. “Care to fly together?”

Vassa shot to the skies, and the Commander prepared herself, quickly following after her.

***

 

There wasn’t a day that the Commander of Hybern didn’t mourn.

She stood along a row of bodies, surveying. Blood splattered the sheets, cast half-hazardously over the bodies of Prythian soldiers. Their feet stuck out. Sometimes the odd wing. They would need to be buried, sent back to their families, or burned. And she knew with a burning sense of guilt there was a pile, a line, just like this back in Hybern.

This wasn’t their fault. The machinations of a King sent all these Fae to their deaths. The King of Hybern had killed every single one of these soldiers. Even his own. All for the sake of enslavement disguised as freedom.

There must have been a thousand bodies here. 

The smell of death clung close in the air. Decay. Blood. A stench that couldn’t be washed out. It would linger here for years, decades.

The stains of war would continue to linger in their families, wherever they may be, if they had any left.

And she knew she contributed to this. To this death. To this slaughter .

Her glamour faltered. 

Would there be a home to go back to? Would they all be at the whims of the King?

Would she still be at the whims of the King even long after he passed? Would she be next in line for Hybern? Surely, he had relatives who would take the throne, who would fight after it after he died. If they even did manage to kill the King, who would fill that vacuum? Would they just start another war? Would they fight to get off that little rock in the West, or be content in their suffering isolation? Or would they become something different? Something admirable. Defy all odds and change .

Did she want to stay for that change? Would she even be alive to see it?

She doubted it.

There was no ending where the Commander of Hybern wouldn’t end up like these people here, laid out on the cold ground, a sheet simply laid on top of her.

Another number. Another casualty of the war. 

With a start, she realized people would celebrate when she died. All the fear she conjured would extinguish with her. People would be happy she was dead.

Except for maybe Jurian. Maybe Tamlin, if he forgave her. If she could ever forgive him.

One by one, she paced by the bodies, muttering prayers to what felt like forgotten gods. 

One by one, she witnessed death. Countless deaths.

Would there ever be enough time to repay them all?

 

***

 

Tamlin’s manor was still a wreck, with a butchered elk on the table, already skinned. He sat at the long, destroyed dining room table, mercifully at the manor this time. 

The Commander had already decided she’d keep her mouth shut and behave as much as she could. It was Solstice, and despite everything, she did her best not to be a monster on holidays.

His blond hair looked dulled in the dimming light of the sun. Ragged like he hadn’t brushed it in weeks. Unshaved still. All rough edges and no fine parts left.

Tamlin looked how she felt. 

He barely spared them a glance as they entered, both her and Lucien.

“What is she doing here?” he growled at Lucien. 

It was like he put a nail through her heart. Slit her throat again.

“I invited her along,” Lucien said softly. After this morning, it felt like the last thing he needed was another fight. The Commander didn’t ask, knowing he needed some space to figure things out without her questioning him. 

Tamlin shot her a look, noting the presence of her mask. The glare in his eyes was palpable. Tasteful, even.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be like I’m not even here,” she said, a hint of a laugh in her voice.

It raised no smile, no laugh from Tamlin.

The Commander awkwardly cleared her throat and walked away from the two of them. She strode out to the gardens, hoping to find some kind of solace. Unwanted even by Tamlin. Now that was a new low.

The sun was just beginning to set, towards the far distant beach she and Tamlin once walked. She didn’t have the energy to pace the overgrown garden. Merely took a seat on the steps again, watching the sun set. 

There was once upon a time she spent the evenings with her family on Solstice. Despite the formal dinners and occasional arguments with her father, she missed it. Missed the late-night talks with Rhysand. Missed flying with him and their mother.

She missed her youth. Missed what it felt like to be unburdened by war and torture and imprisonment.

She wished she had Jurian here. They could have made a fire. Recounted stories. Made her laugh. Vassa too. And Lucien. Maybe they can do that when they get back home. Have a drink of too expensive wine and sit around. Be friends .

The silence stretched for too long, only occasionally broken by crickets or a branch breaking off in the distance.

Would… anyone even care if she just disappeared?

The darkness slowly seeped into the sky, cascading purples and blues, and the glint of stars winking at her. 

The Commander took off her mask, staring at the stars, letting the moonlight wash over her face.

Lucien crept up behind her and sat down. So close she could feel his warmth. “You okay?”

The Commander took a deep breath, slowly nodding. “Not really. You?”

“Same.”

“That bad?”

“Yeah,” he said, painfully. “It’s been…yeah.”

She nodded in understanding. “Is he mad at me?”

“Not precisely at you. Moreso at Rhysand.”

“Which in turn means me.”

“Something like that,” he sighed. 

She tried not to let it sting. Tried not to let the words find their mark.

Her soft violet eyes met Lucien’s russet ones. For a long time, they just looked at each other. 

“I wish I had done more to help you,” he admitted. “When you were underneath the manor.”

“There was nothing you could have done,” she said softly. “Nothing that could have prevented this. Any of this. It was a fault of my own making.”

“Like the Cauldron it is.”

She shrugged, but it felt like she was carrying the weight of a thousand mountains. She was exhausted. “But it is what it is. I still have to make my peace with it. Lie in the bed I made. Even if I didn’t wholly make my bed.”

“No, only Jurian does that now.”

He got a snicker for that one, breaking the fragile tension. “Hah, hah. You know what I mean.”

“I do.”

Silence stretched again. “I’m tired, Lucien. Not…tired, but I’m… tired . Exhausted. Strung out. I want to lie down and go to sleep forever.”

Lucien’s eyes traced her face, a muscle twinging in her jaw. “I know. After…After Jesminda died, after my father had her killed, I felt the same way. For months, while I was here, I felt like I was chasing the ghost of myself. I felt like the pain would never end. In a way, it hasn’t. I thought, if anyone could have been my mate, it would have been her. Now I have to face the reality that it’s someone else, a female I hardly know, a female tied to me at the worst moment of her life, but a female who despises me.” He took a deep breath. “I struggle with it. I lay awake at night wondering if I’ll ever be good enough, if…if Jesminda would forgive me if she saw me today.”

Tears worked their way into the Commander's eyes. Without knowing what else to do, she took Lucien’s hand. Maybe because she just needed the contact. Maybe because she had no other way of expressing her sorrow for him.

The briefest smile graced his face. “My point is,” he said with a shuddering breath. With a strained voice. “Don’t let them have the satisfaction of seeing you crumble. The King of Hybern doesn’t deserve it. Rhysand doesn’t deserve it. You don’t deserve it. Even if you have to live for spite, live .”

The Commander nodded, laughing if only to break the tension, to shield the fact that tears stained her face. “Okay. Fine.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise,” she murmured, still smiling. “Even if it is just for spite.”

“Especially if it’s for spite.”

The Commander gave his hand one last squeeze before letting go.

Lucien got to his feet then, stretching. “I’m going home. Are you coming with me?”

“I think I’ll linger for a moment longer,” she said quietly. 

He nodded. “See you there.” The next time she blinked, he was gone.

The Commander looked back at the manor when she noticed Tamlin in the broken doorway. Her blink was the only surprise she let show on her face.

They both surveyed the other. His face was hard, eyes distant. It may have looked like he was a predator assessing prey. But no, all he did was kneel beside her instead.

She expected him to spit. Yell. Scream. Do anything.

Instead, he wiped the tears from her cheeks. His thumb rubbed along the scar across her face, all the way down to her chin.

The Commander grabbed his wrist. Not harshly, but enough to make him pause.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered. 

He looked away. Guilty. She let go of his wrist, and he let it hang at his side. She waited for him to say something. Anything. But he just looked at her. Even in the moonlight, she could see the golden flecks in his eyes. The green that sparkled like the leaves on the trees.

She swallowed the lump in her throat as she looked at him. “Let's… let’s get you cleaned up.”

“I don’t deserve it.” His voice was hoarse.

“I know.”

The Commander stood up and took his wrist again, leading him up the stairs, around the hall, to his bedroom. She felt like she was outside of her body, watching down. She didn’t know why she was doing this, just that she needed to. It felt right. It felt necessary. It felt like she was putting a bandage over an oozing wound.

“Sit,” she instructed, pointing at a chair that had miraculously remained unscathed. It wobbled on one side, but held his weight.

Tamlin, to his credit, did as he was told. Too tired to argue.

The Commander looked around for a brush and found one in an adjoining bathroom after rummaging around the debris on the floor. A few bristles were missing, but still in good condition. 

She came back to him with the brush in hand and began working through the knots in his hair. The Commander was gentle, slowly easing every knot and tangle out with her fingers before using the brush to smooth everything over. She could have been there for five minutes. She could have been there for five hours. She didn’t care. She delicately worked through his hair so it didn’t tug or pull on his scalp.

There were no words that passed through them. No words of gratitude. No words of hate. Just silence.

The Commander set the brush down as she ran her fingers through his hair. It didn’t snag at all, didn’t catch. She rubbed her fingers through it again for her own peace of mind. For the softness of his touch. For a lifetime. A small part of her never wanted this to end.

Without doubting herself, she went in search of clean clothes for him, too. She searched the room high and low, going through drawers and picking out any clothing that didn’t have tears in it. 

Eventually, she came to his nightstand, opening the drawer, and picking through the contents.

That was until she found a box.

A jewelry box.

And opening it revealed a ring.

It wasn’t just any ring. She knew that much. It wasn’t Feyre’s ring either. The gemstone in the middle was black, surrounded by gold, but it twinkled like the stars. No, this wasn’t just any ring. The Commander knew in her gut. 

It was supposed to be her ring.

For the longest time, she stared at it before looking back to the male who sat across the room.

“What is this?” she whispered.

She knew he could hear her.

She stepped closer, holding out the ring for him. “Tamlin. What is this?”

Tamlin gulped, looking up at her. “I think you know.”

The Commander searched his eyes, scanning. They revealed nothing but the wall he put up between them. “I want to hear it from your lips.”

Tamlin licked his cracked lips. Debating. Weighing. “It was the ring I was going to marry you with.”

Mother, he may as well tear her heart out now. She felt the tears rise again despite her wishes. Felt her throat bob with emotion as she tried to swallow it down.

Her voice cracked. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“I wanted to,” he said, his voice soft. No tears were evident in his eyes. “But you were already dead.”

“Why didn’t you tell me after ?”

“Would it have made a difference?”

No.

Yes.
“You gave it back to me. The ring I gave you. All those years ago. And now you tell me you had a ring for me, too? After everything,” she snarled.

A small bit of anger rose in his voice. “You know I didn’t want to. You know I wanted to run away with you. You know I didn’t want to give that back. If I could have, I would have had it sealed to my hand, never to part from it. But You. Never. Listened. You never listened to anyone but yourself.”

“Fuck you,” she scoffed, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Fuck. You.”

“If it’s any consolation, I do regret my part in your murder. There’s not a day that passes that I don’t remember. It’s like I told you in Hybern, there’s not a day that passes that I don’t regret what happened to you.” He looked her dead in the eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how many times I have to say it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

The Commander slowly placed the ring into his hands. “You’ve ruined everything.” You’ve ruined me. You’ve ruined anyone else for me.

“I know.” There’s nothing I can do now. “Go, Sirius. Go and hate me. Hate me forever if you must. I deserve it.”

“How dare you say that to me. After everything.”

“After what? Your little suicide attempt at Hybern? You parading around as the Commander? You slapping me? Berating me at every chance you get?”

Her hands shook, wanting to strangle the voice from his throat. “And what about you?” she snarled. “Nearly losing us the entire war over a female who didn’t want you. Who you know didn’t want you. Giving up your territory to the enemy just to prove nothing .”

She knew she hit a low blow with that one, at the indication of Feyre. “At least I didn’t give up my soul, too.”

“You may as well have.”

Tamlin quickly rose from his chair. Despite having some height on her, she did nothing to back down, even as the chair tumbled to the ground. “I can’t stand you. I can’t stand to be around you. I can’t stand to breathe the same air as you.”

“ Good . I hope you feel fucking guilty for all the things you did. I hope you look back at what you did to me and regret every mistake you’ve made.”

“I do. I regret every moment with you. I regret every kiss. Every date. Every flower.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” he said coldly. “Does that help you, Sirius? Does it get through your thick head? I hate you. You meant nothing to me. You were a past lover whom I fucked and moved on from. If I could do it over again, I would have never picked you again. Is it working?”

“You…” Her throat bobbed, her hands clenched. But her eyes. Her eyes told everything. Anguish. And he…he must have been delighting in it. He had to have been. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

A tear slipped past her cheek, falling to the ground. “Is that how you truly feel, then?”

“It is,” he said. Staring her down. There was nothing familiar in his green eyes.

How could she have been so foolish?

“Fine.” She pieced herself together bit by bit. Trying to remember how to walk again. How to function again. “If that’s how it’ll be. Fine.”

Her heart felt like it was being torn to pieces, torn by Tamlin’s claws.

Sirius stopped by the doorway, looking at the ring in Tamlin’s hand. She tried not to think of the future they could have had. The time Tamlin regretted. “For the record, I loved you. More than anything. And I don’t regret it.”

Sirius walked out of the manor, picked up her mask, and left.

Chapter 36: An Offer and Acceptance

Part III: Ode to Silence

 

Winter had come and gone through the Human Lands, casting the world into a white shadow of death. The nights were longer—darker—this time of year. Snow gleamed across the stretches of land, moonlight skittering on top of it like the sun dances across waves.

The Band of Exiles kept the manor running with a constant stream of heat from the fireplace and plenty of layered clothes. 

They were kept busy over the short days and long months. The humans, now more than ever, needed aid. Without the Wall, the more foul Fae crept across the land, spreading chaos amidst the already appalling views of the Fae. 

There were days when the entire Band hunted for them, keeping the smaller villages protected. Others were spent with late-night discussions and raised voices, mostly between Vassa and Jurian, on the governance of said land.

But they were busy. That’s all that mattered. Busy enough that the Commander didn’t have to think about the passing events or the words shared between her and Tamlin. She did her work for their court, spent the evening massaging her sore leg, cleaning her sword, and sleeping in the bed she and Jurian shared.

 In the winter, it was paradise. The extra body heat kept her from getting chilled to the absolute bone. 

But still, the thoughts persisted.

She hadn’t gone back to see Tamlin.

Lucien knew something bad had happened, knew from the look on his face after he visited him the first time afterward. If he knew any of their discussion, he said nothing about it. He merely gave her a tight-lipped smile and went to his room. 

Jurian was there, having caught her sneaking back into the manor early that morning, tears still fresh in her eyes, but she shook her head and collapsed in his arms. He had rubbed her back until sunlight had reached the windows, until she had exhausted all tears and memory of that day. 

One thing did change, though.

Azriel cast her a look, shadows coiled tightly around them both to keep from being spotted. What do you think ?

The Commander weighed it in her head. It’s certainly suspicious.

He narrowed his eyes, returning his gaze to the Illyrian male below them. Hm.

The Commander turned away from him, her hand on the pommel of her sword. She didn’t, exactly, know how she made the cut. She thought Azriel would have abhorred having someone with him while spying. Too much of a liability. But he must have convinced Rhysand somehow, or perhaps it was vice versa.

His eyes glanced at her again, as if sensing her uncertainty, but again said nothing. 

The Illyrian waited at the front of a tavern door, looking around, as if scanning the crowd for someone. Rhysand wanted them to check in on the growing dissent, who needed to be watched, and who spread rumors. A lingering Illyrian at a tavern was certainly a start.

And being so close to Azriel, close enough they’re almost touching shoulders, was as nerve-wracking as it was relieving.

We should wait before pulling him in , the Commander echoed across their minds. Unless you’d rather I get into his head .

A muscle in his jaw twinged. No, we need to hear the words come out of his mouth .

The Commander let out a long breath. Noticed, of course, by the Shadowsinger. The corner of his mouth slightly twitched.

Not a fan of waiting?

Not when I know he’s a piece of shit either way .

That makes two of us .

It was the Commander’s turn to smile, but of course, he didn’t see it past the mask. He likely felt it through the connection in their minds, however. The slight hitch in her breath at his comment.

Azriel kept his hand on Truth-Teller, easing forward a little more to watch the male's line of sight. There was another male across the muddy path who locked eyes with him, made some sort of hand signal, and immediately went into a tent.

Their target turned into the tavern.

The Commander swore under her breath. Are we going inside ?

No…let’s go to the House of Wind to lay out some notes. Perhaps there's a pattern. Have you seen that hand gesture before?

I haven’t. That’s new.

What about the females?

Nothing more than the usual gossip.

Let’s go .

The shadows enveloped them both, and then came the daring drop as it spat them out. Azriel and the Commander spread their wings out wide, aiming for the nearest balcony and away from the open air. 

Velaris was as brilliant as ever. Especially up here, with the wind singing to her, with the sky so open. Only the faintest creep of the Illyrian mountains could be seen. There was still snow along every peak. 

She missed the cabin her family had, where she and Rhysand would sneak off to. She missed watching the snowball fights with her brothers.

The Commander landed smoothly onto the balcony, taking a few steps to regain her balance as she shook her wings out and folded them neatly again. Azriel was a few paces in front of her, aiming for a long hallway she knew led back to his room.

Would it be the same as the one he occupied while serving her father?

“It’s just down this way,” he said quietly, not waiting to see if she followed. He likely knew her every movement. The shadows loved to tattle on her. She could feel them peering at her, lightly touching her boots or her wings before returning to Azriel. 

She didn’t doubt that he was still suspicious of her with the way he kept his hand on Truth-Teller. Of her intentions. She couldn’t entirely blame him, considering the show she put on in Hybern. 

Azriel opened the door for her as she entered his room. The very same room, as she suspected. His expansive bed sat in one corner of the room, a table laden with papers, books, and various notes from all his spies throughout the Continent and Pyrthian. Besides the unrest with the Illyrians, she deduced from a quick glance that there must be other issues arising from the Continent. She heard a comment about Morrigan being in some far-off court, a peace treaty in the making, but not much else about it. It must have something to do with that.

The Commander inhaled deeply, taking in his deeply familiar scent. Even after all this time, it never changed. Still the same cedar smell, like the late-night flights she took over the mountains. Night kissed. Delicate. Strong. But lovely all the same. 

She felt her body ease a little more at his smell, the tension falling from her shoulders as she took a seat at the table. 

The window next to it overlooked Velaris. The curve of the river, the residents mere specks of color from here. From this high up.

She must have been lost at the sight, lost in thought, as Azriel’s voice cut through the air. “Scotch?”

She wrinkled her nose. “No thanks.”

She heard a glass pour anyway, catching a whiff of smoke as Azriel took a sip. “I bought this on a whim. Still have no idea how I’m going to finish the whole thing.” He took the seat across from her, balancing the glass on his knee.

The Commander shrugged and looked back out the window. “Night out with friends?”

“They need a babysitter when they get drunk. I am the babysitter.”

She snorted, shaking her head lightly. “Do you not drink much?”

“Not really.”

“Same. Not anymore.”

“Oh?”

“In Hybern, I did. Just to…forget for a while, I guess.” She didn’t know why she was talking about it. She didn’t know if he even cared. But he studied her for a moment, so many questions lying in his eyes, but he voiced none of them. Shut them down. Shut them out.

It wasn’t the first time. They’d been doing this for a while now. Going out on small missions, coming back to talk about the information gathered. Sometimes, they talked about personal things. Usually, it had to be him offering something up before she’d offer something back. 

To think it was nearly spring. To think it would be summer again soon.

It nagged at her, though, how easy these missions were. She thought there would have been more to do, more action. She wasn’t negligent of what her father had him do in the Court of Nightmares. She certainly wasn’t negligent of what Rhysand had him do, too.

This was all too simple.

He didn’t trust her.

The Commander tried to tell herself it was fine, that it was just part of the work, earning that trust back, but it still sat heavily in her. The guilt. The shame. The damned traitorous scar across her face. The unmistakable limp she carried with her every day, every hour, and every moment.

Azriel’s eyes missed nothing as he set down the glass and flipped through a few pages. His hands, blue siphons on top of them, handed her a few. 

She barely bothered to look through them before she asked, “Devlon?”

“No. He wouldn’t be so obvious.”

“What’s the camp next to Windhaven… Oh, what is it?”

Azriel’s eyebrows raised. “Ironcrest?”

“That’s the one. Have we looked there?”

“No, not yet.” His eyes traced the words on the pages. “It would make sense. And it would explain why Windhaven is starting to get a bit more…”

“Shitty?”

“Mhm,” he grumbled. 

“Check for travelers, outsiders, see where they go home to,” she said. “See what camps are spewing it the most.”

He nodded, the vaguest approval in his eyes. “Alright.”

Silence stretched between them as Azriel took another sip of his drink, following her gaze. How she looked over Velaris. 

Silence seemed like a frequent companion between the two of them.

She let him stare at her a little longer. Probably debating if it would be better to kill her than share the secrets of the Night Court.

“Do you have a proper place to train?” Azriel asked.

The Commander was not expecting that. “Why’s that?”

He shrugged, as casual as ever. “I usually do in the mornings, mostly at night, here in the House, away from everyone.” Typical. “I didn’t know if you had a space like that.”

“Are you offering to train with you ?” she teased.

His eyes darted away from her. “I didn’t say that.”

“But it’s what you’re offering.” He was silent, waiting for her reply. The Commander sighed, the faintest laugh caught in her throat. “No, not really. I’ve got a makeshift punching bag, a tree, and enough spite to kill a fully grown horse.”

Again, his mouth tilted slightly. That was thrice today. It felt like an accomplishment. 

Her throat felt dry. “You said the mornings?”

He nodded again. There was a glint in his eyes, something like hope? Relief? Mischief, maybe?

“Every morning,” he said.

The Commander replied softly, “I’ll think about it.”

 

***

 

Azriel’s offer ate at the Commander. It whittled away her nerves until she was one step away from finding the nearest cliff and hurling herself off it. She thought about it. Several times that morning. Every time she thought she would step out of the manor, she retreated somewhere else, finding every excuse under the sun not to go.

She couldn’t do this.

She didn’t want to break whatever fragile trust there was.

He threw her a lifeline , for fuck’s sake.

The Commander knew Azriel didn’t make offers like that. Not to anyone. And he especially shouldn’t have been with her.

Things had been relatively professional up until that point. The wariness faded to a companionable silence. From there, small jokes and half-hearted smiles had formed. Whenever he looked at her, there was something she couldn’t quite place.

It was almost like pain whenever he saw her. 

Whatever he saw in her.

She didn’t go. She couldn’t go. She went back to her beat-up punching bag and went about her usual routine.

Jurian eventually crawled out of bed with a cup of coffee in his hands, merely watching.

“You need to widen your stance,” he commented occasionally. 

Keep your back foot in line with your front.

Elbow tucked, Princess.

Are you punching or caressing? Only one is good for a punching bag.

Are you nine? What was that?

I could do better in a ring .

Jurian and his infinite wisdom, as well as his infinite talent for pissing her off.

“Arms up,” he said again, for the third time.

“I know !” she snapped. “You can stop fucking talking!”

He smirked as if he reached some sort of mental goal. “Alright, alright, fine. Just trying to help.”

“I don’t need your god damn help. I need you to shut the fuck up.”

“Who replaced your liquor with piss?” he scoffed. 

“I’m just… anxious,” she bit out, throwing another punch. The mask was a steady weight on her face. Sweat practically dripped from every muscle. She was still out of shape. “With the Night Court. With Azriel.”

“Why?”

“He offered I train with him.”

“So you blew him off.”

“ Yeah ,” she squeaked and dropped her arms to fully look at him. “I feel like shit about it.”

Jurian’s eyes were saucers as he held her gaze. “Sirius!”
“Jurian!”

“Why didn’t you go?”

“I don’t know!” she shouted. “I got nervous!”

“ Sirius !” he repeated, accentuating her name even more incredulously.

She groaned. “I know !”

He rubbed a hand over his forehead, muttering a curse under his breath; he damn well knew she could hear it. “Why is that so bad? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I don’t know. I just…I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I just couldn’t, Jurian. He’s expecting so much of me, and I’m fucking terrified I’m going to let him down. That if he sees me like this, I’ll be as useless as I fear I am.”

“Sirius.” His voice softened a touch. “I’m sure he’ll understand that you just need time.”

“I have no idea when I’ll be ready, though.” She took a seat next to him and put her head in her hands. “I hate this. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Jurian raised a careful hand and began to rub the Commander’s back.

She stared down at the grass and let her wings sag despite how infantile it was. 

It was a weakness anywhere else. Here, in the Human Lands, with no one else around, no formalities, and only friendship, she let them sag. Let herself show that weakness. Let herself rest.

“Do you think he’s going to be mad?” she asked.

“I doubt that. It was only an offer.”

“But what if that was my one opportunity to connect with him. My one way.”

“There will be other ways. You’re overthinking this.”

The Commander groaned and threw her mask off. It landed with a dull thud, staring back at her from the ground. It practically mocked her as it sat there. 

Blank. Empty. Lifeless. 

Was that really her?

Jurian’s hand snapped her back to reality, giving her another calming stroke along her back, between her wings. He never touched them, as if he knew that was some kind of boundary with her. 

“What should I do?” she murmured, turning her head to look at Jurian.

He raised a brow. “Do you want my honest opinion?”

“Yes.”

“Go when you feel ready. Maybe it’ll be tomorrow. Maybe it’ll be next month. Who cares. When you wake up and decide you want to go, then you should do it.”

“On my terms,” she said, more so to herself.

He gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t stress about it, Princess. Now, how’s your leg doing? You keep shifting your weight off it.”

“Sore,” she admitted. “It seems like nothing I do helps it. Massaging it, stretching it, resting it. Nothing's worked.”

Jurian’s frown made her heart ache. “Have you tried any salves yet?”

“Not yet. I haven’t really heard or found anything that might work.”

There was a look on his face that told her he was already thinking of something. Already planning. Already scheming. 

“Jurian,” she warned.

“What?”

“You have that look on your face.”

“I have a face. Therefore, I have a look.”

She deadpanned to him. “You know what I mean.”

He shrugged and gave her one of those aggravatingly easy smiles. “Don’t worry about it.” He slung his arm around her shoulder. Her uneasiness, her anxieties, washed away, even when she wanted to punch the smile right off his face. “You need a bath, Sirius. Damn, you stink.”

She tipped her head back and laughed. “Shut up !”

 

***

 

Azriel walked through the basic movements with his sword, breathing steadily, and let his body do all the work. His mind wandered some mornings, other times quieting to nothing. Blissfully nothing.

Today, it wandered. Wandered to the former Commander of Hybern, to Sirius , and her absence. After all this time— all this time— right under their nose.

Maybe he came across too strong, offering for her to come over.

She didn’t show up that day.

Or the next. 

The week passed, and he didn’t hear a word from her. 

They were supposed to meet soon, in two days, for their next steps with the Illyrian war camps and to discuss what’s going on in the Human Lands. 

He assumed it would take time, but how much? This wasn’t the Sirius he knew. She was different. He could only assume why. Whatever scars she carried from Hybern, from…before. It was like he hardly knew her, only the wisp of some half-forgotten memory. 

It killed him. Utterly destroyed him.

He could only imagine how Rhys would feel when he found out. 

The sun had barely risen, glowing past the top of the mountains and whittling away the early frost. Azriel’s breath fogged in front of him as he stepped back into form, trying the next set of movements again.

The flap of wings was the only warning he got; he felt, more than heard, the presence of someone behind him. “Am I too late?”

His heart stuttered, a pain washing down the front of his chest, but his face revealed nothing as he cast a glance behind him. At Sirius. At that stupid fucking mask the King made her wear, which she still wore .

He should have seen through it. He should have seen through all of it. He should have known from the way she spoke, from the way she stood, from the way she hung onto every word they said as if it were the last. As if she were savoring their voices, as if she might never hear them again.

Azriel should have fucking known .

What happened that day in the snow? What happened to her?

“Not at all,” he said smoothly.

He dropped the stance, taking a deep breath as he turned to her fully. She wore all black, covered head to toe, still. Fitted black clothes fit for training, but not heavy enough to keep the chill from setting in. Only her hands, flecked with scars like stars, were visible. A long one, like a crescent moon, lingered along the top of her right hand.

And her hair, long and braided down to the small of her back, was visible too. Ebony like the night, like the shadows and the dark itself. 

They used to call her the Princess of Starlight.

Velaris’ most beloved star.

And now…

“What are you working on?” the Commander asked, walking towards the middle of the training ring. She surveyed the weapons on display, the various tools lingering about. She examined them all again, relearning the space. Not that she was ever allowed up here by her father.

“Mobility today.” Azriel’s voice carried across the ring. The wind wasn’t too bad today, didn’t whisk away his voice into oblivion. She felt his eyes linger on her every movement.

She looked at him over her shoulder. “Anything else?”

He shook his head. “Not today. Tomorrow is reserved for strength training.”

The Commander hummed to herself, again surveying the weapons. “So, is it just you up here?”

Azriel visibly swallowed. “Just me. Cassian complains too much when it’s early in the morning.”

She barked a laugh, shaking her head. Of course he did. Familiarity glimmered in her chest, and she caught a glimpse of it in Azriel’s eyes. 

“It’s been a while, so…you may have to walk me through some of it.”

He gave her the faintest smile. “I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure? I’m not going to be a nuisance to you?”

His eyes darkened slightly, guttered. “Why would you be?”

The Commander didn’t really have an answer for that. She nodded and wandered back to him, standing across from him. “Well, Azriel?”

Azriel released a breath. “Please, just call me Az.”

Her eyebrows damn near shot up to her hairline. He seemed just as surprised by the words coming out of his mouth. “Oh. Okay, Az .”

“It’s what my friends call me.” 

Friend. Was she a friend ?

He looked at her, expecting her to maybe give him a name. But she offered none. Couldn’t bear the words to come out of her mouth. Couldn’t bear to see the look on his face. She didn’t know how to face him so bare, with her heart laid out, with all her secrets put to rest.

So she just stared, easing her feet into a mirrored position of his. “Like this?”

Az swallowed hard, but nodded as he surveyed her form. “It’s perfect.”

“You’re sure?”

He nodded, stepping around her, his careful eyes fixed on her. “I am.”

And they worked through various exercises together, until the morning sun had risen and the call of birds could be heard throughout the air. It was grueling. Far more than she pushed herself most mornings. And then some. 

It was no wonder he was in shape and how he maintained it. She worked muscles she didn’t even know she had, more than she thought she had. Sweat dripped off her face, soaked her clothes. And more so, her leg fucking throbbed .

It had been a long time since anything had strained her. The mobility exercises were precisely what she needed, a blissful pain lacing down her shoulders, back, arms, and legs. Along her wings, even. But underneath it, where her wound remained, it throbbed badly enough that even Az began to notice.

“Let’s…take a break,” he murmured, releasing a heavy breath. His breathing, throughout all of it, was steady. Collected. She felt like glass was dragged down her throat, ripping apart her breathing.

The Commander couldn’t help but agree. “Alright,” she sighed, dropping her position.

She hissed as she steadied herself, putting weight on her leg. 

Az glanced between the mask and her leg. “What happened?”

She limped toward the back of the ring, sitting down and rubbing it. She grimaced and kept doing it, even though it hurt. “Hybern. What else?”

His gaze softened as if he remembered it. What had happened to her when she visited them in the war tent. “After Elain.”

She avoided his look, his gaze. But nodded nonetheless. “As punishment, yes. I had to take out the arrow myself.”

“I’m sorry.” He kneeled beside her, hands twitching as if he willed himself not to reach out. To help her. 

“May I?” he asked hesitantly.

The Commander paused, her heart stalled, before she nodded.

Az gently pressed his hands along her thigh, feeling her scars even beneath the pants. As his fingers pressed closer, it drew out a hiss. Hot, white pain flashed in her body. Sharp and cold as it had been the day she was shot out of the sky. She lost her shot at freedom with it. At least, it had felt like it until the war had finished.

“That wound runs deep,” he murmured. “What do you do for it?”

“Not…really anything, I guess. I haven’t found anything that’s worked.”

But really, she just suffered through it. Pushed through it. Even when pain clouded her mind, the only release from it was blissful sleep. Even then, when the pain was too strong, it invaded her dreams.

“It’s fine,” she mumbled, well aware Az could hear her. “I just…pushed it too much.”

His hands parting from her left an absence. It was quickly replaced as he offered her a hand up. “I’ll get you some ice for it.”

She took it, pulling herself to her feet. “Thanks.”

Az held the door open for her as they stepped inside the House of Wind, and she limped inside. It was hard to keep the weight off it. 

Especially on those steps. So many fucking steps in this fucking House.

They slowly made their way to the dining room, Az keeping pace with her, even though he didn’t have to. On the table already was a towel wrapped with ice, as if the House could hear their request. As well as all of her favorite breakfast foods. Blueberries, oats, and brown sugar.

She slowly looked around. The House was the same as ever.

And the House recognized her. Her presence. Her very being.

Her shuddering breath wasn’t only because she eased herself into a seat.

Az sat down across from her, wiping a napkin on his face, neck, drying off the sweat. He watched her carefully as she took the towel and wrapped it around her leg. The coolness was a relief, even though it made her leg feel stiff. 

“You’ll want to ice it, and then heat it. A few times a day, if you can.”

The Commander nodded, keeping the towel around her leg. She stared at the oats in the meantime, the smell enticing. Az noticed too, eyes glimmering a sweet hazel. As if he knew how much she wanted to dig in.

And on cue, her stomach growled.

They stared at each other for a second before chuckling, the Commander wiping a nervous hand over her neck. “Sorry,” she mumbled, still laughing.

“You’re welcome to eat. The House can get you anything you’d like.”

But she shook her head. “I’ll eat when I get back to the manor. Thank you, though.”

Az nodded before continuing, “Still. It was…it was nice having someone to practice with.”

“I feel the same.”

And she did. It was refreshing, to say the least, having someone to train with. She knew Jurian would in a heartbeat, and they have, but being here. In the House. With Az. It felt like when she was a child again without the overhanging threat of her father. 

She didn't know she needed his patience and gentleness until he guided her with it, walked her through every basic step.

“You’re welcome to come here anytime. Train anytime. It doesn’t have to be with me,” he said, voice a chill calm.

“Too bad,” she said, a smile playing on her face, even if he couldn’t see it. “I quite like training with you.”

Notes:

Hehe okay so I don't know if Im going to continue switching between Az and Sirius but I think I might as it adds a different perspective to the story. Sorry it's a little slow rn, it's because it's building up to the events of Silver Flames. I'm considering editing a few chapters from earlier in the fic so it adds a bit more depth to the story, but that's a back burner project XD ENJOY!!

Chapter 37: Lessons in Caution

The Commander didn’t have the mask on her face as she once more traversed the Illyrian war-camp, eyes to the ground as she weaved past a particularly rowdy group of males, with her arms laden with dried and canned foods. They made some jeers, a few tasteless comments to each other as she passed, but she ignored them. Her face glamoured, eyes hidden, she was just like every other broken female in this place.

Didn’t need help , her ass. 

Half the females here had gaunt cheekbones. Even the males, with all their training and the harsh winter, looked a little thin. 

It bothered her so fucking much. The fact that they didn’t have hardly enough food to go around. The fact that the females here looked so scared, so concerned, about what would happen to them. The fates of their children, their husbands, their brothers, their fathers, and themselves .

She kept the rage from crossing her face as she weaved through the people, tucking her wings in closely. 

The Commander gave a few shy smiles to some of the females who passed her, noting how a few had clipped wings, dimmed eyes, and bruises too high to conceal.

Yes, she had work to do today.

Illyrians to put back into place.

Azriel, of course, didn’t know she was here. She prayed his shadows wouldn’t spy her as she rapped her knuckles along the outside of a tent. Not that he would know what to look for. She wore no mask, hid her looks. No shadowy magic seeped around her as it did from the war.

The Commander looked plain. Ordinary.

And that’s exactly what the female thought as she opened her tent door. “Hello?”

“Hi,” the Commander said, giving her a tentative smile. She gestured to her overflowing arms. “I was told to bring these to you.”

The female called Brienne, as evidence of her unguarded mind suggested, grimaced in concern. “I think you might have the wrong person. Sorry.”

But the Commander didn’t fail to note the envy and longing in her eyes. How she wished such a thing it was hers.

“You’re Brienne, though, right? I was told to take these to you.” The Commander put on her best nervous face.

“Who sent you?”
“I don’t remember his name, just that I had to give these to you.”

Brienne mumbled some apology as she let her through, the Commander gently setting down every item she brought with her.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, rubbing her arms. She couldn’t have been older than thirty, but by all means, she could have been older. There was only the single cot, a meager pelt on the floor as a rug. Only one change of clothes on the floor. “I don’t know how to repay you.”

“There’s no repayment necessary,” the Commander spoke. “Seriously.”

“I must give you something.”

The Commander considered it. “I was wondering who I should avoid on the way out of camp. I couldn’t help but notice some of the females having clipped wings and others…they didn’t look so good either.”

The female gulped, her wings fluttering, the only indication of her nervousness. “His name is Garth. He…has a tendency to get drunk and start stirring up trouble. He has dark hair, wears a gold siphon.”

There it was. Her golden mark. 

The Commander nodded gratefully. “Thank you. I’ll be on my way. I have a few more deliveries before the day’s end.”

She made her way to the exit, not that there was much room in the tent to begin with. Brienne stumbled after her for a moment, sputtering, “Wait, I didn’t catch your name!”

“Oh, ah, it’s Mor. Just Mor,” the Commander replied, turning back to face her. She inclined her head ever so slightly. “It was nice to meet you. I hope we meet again.”

Brienne released a small, restrained smile. Her brown hair was so dull compared to her sparkling eyes. “Thank you, again, Mor. I was half hoping you were the Wandering Star.”

She blinked. “The what?”

“It’s been a rumor going around,” she said, rubbing her head. “About a Goddess come to life, giving gifts to those in need. Some are even naming her Tueta.”

An old name. A new name, now. But one that carried the same meaning. The same weight, especially here in Illyria.

Queen of the People.

The shock on her face must have been evident enough that even Brienne took a step back. She must think that she’s…

Well shit.

Brienne said nothing and merely gave her a soft, secretive smile.

“It was my pleasure,” the Commander said again, voice low, bowing to the waist.

Brienne smiled, bowing back. “Safe travels, wanderer .”

The Commander continued on, winnowing back and forth from the Human Lands and Illyria. From the gold the dead males carried, she bought supplies from the Humans, distributing them amongst the Illyrians. She gathered information while helping people in the process; by the end of the night, she had a fairly comprehensive list of males. Males who would soon find that this would be their last night on earth, Mother willing. 

They weren’t just anyone .

They were the unforgivable. They were rapists. They preyed on innocents. They were the ones who made the nights an unending torture and the pathways unsafe.

She would clean out those Illyrians tonight, praying it would lead to a better tomorrow.

It’s all she could do.

 

***

 

The Commander washed the blood off her hands, slick and sticky with it. Even the gloves hadn’t covered it, hadn’t been able to keep the stain of it off of her. It was practically embedded in her fingernails. 

From the bathroom’s open door, she spied Jurian lingering in the doorway. His hair was disheveled, his brows furrowed, and he stared straight into her. “You weren’t here.”

“Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed!”

“Don’t play smartass with me, Princess.”

She sighed, chuckling to herself. “Sorry, it was low-hanging fruit.”

He cracked a smile. “I couldn’t sleep without my oversized bat lying next to me.”

“I’d have thought that’d make it easier,” she admitted. “Especially since I’m not constantly hitting you with my wings.”

“It doesn’t feel right without you.”

She’d been away so much. So, so much it made her heart strain. 

The Commander swallowed hard as she dried off her hands, tearing her eyes away from Jurian. He followed her every movement. “Sorry, I had business to take care of last night.”

“You mean murdering people in the middle of the night.”

Her face went eerily calm. “They deserved it.”

And he met her gaze, unflinching. “I know they did. I know you wouldn’t take a life without reason. My question is, why?”

“Because someone has to.”

“And that falls on you?”

“ Someone has to,” she said firmly. “And they have been left unchecked, to their own devices, for far too long. It’s made some of the Illyrians defiant, abusive, assholes, and someone needs to put them in their place.”

“And Rhysand, nor any of the Night Court, does not know of it?”

“Maybe if they fucking bothered to pay attention. Maybe they’ll think their hard work paid off .”

Really, the only one who pushed the Illyrians was Cassian. Occasionally, Rhysand, when Cassian needed someone to back him up, but as proud as he was of his heritage, Rhysand certainly lacked in some areas.

Jurian snickered, shaking his head as he turned away. “I’ll make us some breakfast.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s not just for you!” he said behind his shoulder. “You’re not the only royalty in this household.”

“Hah, hah ,” she grumbled and stalked back to their room, changing out of her bloodstained clothes. When she emerged downstairs, Lucien and Vassa were already eating side-by-side, still early enough that she hadn’t yet turned into her firebird form.

“Good morning!” she said, rather chipper. Far too chipper for her tastes, considering she had been awake all night.
Lucien crinkled his nose. “You smell like blood again.” 

Vassa’s bright smile turned into a confused, concerned look.

“Don’t mind her,” Jurian said, waving a hand. “She’s just being…Sirius.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she said, taking a seat.

“It means you’re being a self-righteous dumbass,” he replied plainly.

Lucien practically choked on his food.

But Vassa just snickered, shaking her head. 

The Commander scowled and just mumbled, “Hand me some food, asshole.”

Jurian did so, sliding her a plate of eggs, toast, and hard cheese. A hearty breakfast. It’s what she desperately needed after last night, after the horrors and bloodshed. 

“Thank you, asshole ,” she said, smiling sweetly at him.

“My pleasure, Princess,” he replied in the exact tone that had her grinding her teeth. Instead, she merely took a bite of toast. Not that it really tasted like much. From Lucien’s face, she could tell he was feeling the same.

Their eyes met, and immediately she knew something was up. 

What’s that look for, Lulu, she cooed in his mind.

He jolted. “Fuck. I forgot you could do that.”

She snorted, taking another bite of food. “You left your mind unprotected. Regardless, you’re up to something.”

He sighed in resignation. “I have a favor to ask.”

“It must be big if you’re already grimacing.”

Vassa eyed the windows anxiously while Lucien fumbled through his words. “I have to be in the Night Court today,” he admitted. “And I need someone to check on Tamlin for me so I can include it in next week’s report.”

She stalled, staring at her friend. “What?”

“I know it’s a huge ask.”

“You’re asking me to check on Tamlin? Tamlin, who, famously, threw me out at Solstice and, I don’t know , hates my guts. ”

Lucien cringed. Even Jurian turned, eyebrow raised. “Yes. I’m sorry, but yes.”

“No.”

“Sirius, please–”

“I can’t,” she whispered. “He’s just…I need some sleep, Lucien.”

“Please,” he said again, staring at her. “Bring someone along if you must. You don’t even have to talk to him. Just… It’s my duty.”

“Why can’t you do it tomorrow?”

“I’m staying in the Night Court tonight. I was hoping to see Elain.” And from the look on Lucien’s face, his hopes weren’t high, but she fought against the pity at the yearning on his face. At the familiar creeping feeling she had pushed down these past few months. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“I can come with you,” Vassa offered. “We can fly together.”

The Commander smiled slightly. “As much as I’d love to see you burn up his lawn, I don’t think he’d appreciate that. Even more so than me.”

“And what about me?” Jurian asked, sitting across from her. 

“You have work to do, as far as I remember.”

“Ah damn, you caught me.” He scraped a bit of food onto his fork, sarcastically. “Well, that’s too bad.”

She chuckled. “You don’t like him?”

“He’s…okay.”

“Okay?”

Jurian shrugged. “He’s Tamlin. What do you expect me to say?”

“So is that a yes?” Lucien asked tentatively.

“Fine. I’ll go.”

He looked out the window at the subtlest greys and soft pinks entering the sky. “Great. Because I’m leaving…shit, now.”

“Fuck! It’s nearly sunrise!” Vassa shouted, running out of the door. “ LoveYouGuysBye! ”

Jurian and the Commander exchanged a look before bursting out laughing. 

In the distance, they saw a fire burst in the field beside the manor before rising skyward, the firebird airborne yet again. The Commander caught Lucien watching her for a moment, as she soared into the air, a sharp cry from her lips.

Lucien caught the Commander’s staring, sighing a little to himself. Caught red-handed. 

There’s something else bothering you , she said quietly into his mind.

It’s nothing.

No, it’s not. What is it?

Lucien sighed, and Jurian sighed even louder as he glanced between the two. “And they call me the asshole .”

“Sorry,” the Commander replied. “I was just asking Lucien what was wrong.”

“It’s just…we still haven’t found a way to free her yet.”

The Commander watched the young queen, another cry from her distant form. She didn’t dare think about what would happen when her time was up, what would become of her friend. “Yeah.” 

“I don’t know where else to look or who else to turn to.”

“We’ll keep looking,” the Commander said, eyes hard. “There has to be something in the Day Courts library or–”

“We’ve combed through there. I’ve combed through there. We’re talking about a death-lord here.”

“I know. Maybe we can–”

Lucien paced towards the living room. “I don’t know. I just know we can’t fail her.”

But she didn’t need to look in his mind to know that he couldn’t fail her. How close the two had become over the months, even before she’d been introduced to Vassa. The many weeks spent on the boat, rallying the armies against Hybern together. Everything he’d done for the woman.

The Commander rose, clasping Lucien’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. I promise.”

“Sirius.”

“On my life, I swear.”

Lucien only nodded, picking up a bag from the floor, and shouldered it. His eyes were lined with silver as he surveyed her again. “I’ll see you two later. Tell Vassa I said goodbye for me.”

The Commander nodded, taking a step away as Lucien winnowed out of the room.

Distantly, she said, “I should get ready too.”

“Do you want me to come?” Jurian asked seriously.

And she did consider it. Considered having his comforting presence there, helping her shoulder some of the burden with her so she didn’t have to face Tamlin alone.

She knew she’d have to at some point, though.

“It’s okay. I can handle him,” she replied, giving him a reassuring smile. 

It never quite reached her eyes.

She didn’t let herself think about it.

The Commander got ready quickly, mask firmly on her face, leaving before she could think twice about where she was going. Before she could talk herself out of going. 

For Lucien. She was doing this for Lucien. She could handle that. It was reasonable, really, that she would be the one to do it. All she had to do was check on him.

The familiar scent of roses hit her nose before she opened her eyes to the lush green of the Spring Court, outside of Rosehall Manor. The sun had barely risen, just a sliver along the horizon. The roses she had grown up around, once manicured and maintained, were overgrown and overflowing. Some of the petals wilted as if the sun beat down on them too harshly. As if the land itself couldn’t sustain them.

They used to write songs, poems about this garden. 

She used to sing here. 

She used to sing. 

What would her voice sound like now?

Would it be the same as she remembered? Would she even still remember how? Would it be the same rough voice that emerged when she killed someone, when she sang the song of Black Death, and enjoyed the slaughter?

Her hands shook as she stepped into the manor, sensing Tamlin’s mind. He must have been asleep, though, thank the Mother. She didn’t bother to open the door; it was already swung open. Utterly defenseless. 

It was like he was trying to get killed by any ilk of fae or wild creature here.

She climbed up the stairs quietly and peered into the massive bedroom she knew was his. From the bed, half torn, half broken, she could see the male’s body on top of the covers. His chest had welts on it, hair strewn about like he rubbed his hands through it too much. The usually collected male’s pants were torn, bloodied. 

And on the nightstand–

The nightstand–

There was the jewelry box, the ring still perched inside it. It was so carefully placed, so devoted with care. She just turned around and went back down the stairs.

She couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t.

She couldn’t do this.

But the figure on the lawn made her freeze in place. The blood rushed from her face, rooted her in place.

No…

Rhysand plucked a piece of invisible lint from his jacket, straightening out his clothes. At her footsteps approaching, he calmly looked up at her. But she was clearly not what he was expecting. The only hint of his surprise was a slow blink, eyeing her up and down.

“Hello, Commander,” he purred. “This is a lovely surprise.”

“Rhysand,” she practically blurted. Every formality fled her mind as she stared at him, his violet eyes so much like her own. But he didn’t see her . No, he only saw the mask, the Commander of Hybern. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you,” he replied, arching a brow. “I didn’t realize you kept in contact.”

“I was doing a favor for Lucien.”

Mother, she shouldn’t be here. It’s like the Cauldron was trying to damn her again. She shouldn’t be here, she shouldn’t–

His lips curved. “Lucien?”

“He’s actually on his way to your Court. He said he had a report to deliver.”

“That he does.” He took a step closer. “Are you alright? Your hands are shaking.”

Like a fucking fawn. She’d faced the King of Hybern, she’d faced Death, and yet she balked from her own brother. 

She tucked her hands behind her back, wings tucked in tightly. “Of course. I’m fine.”

“Right…” he drawled.

The Commander swallowed hard. “How are…things?”

Mother, fuck her. Fuck. She was terrible at this. Terrible at conversations. Terrible at acting normal .

He actually chuckled. “Fine. Things are fine, thank you for asking. And yourself?”

“Bored out of my mind,” she breathed, choking on a laugh, a sob. Oh, Cauldron, she was speaking to her brother . “But I find ways to keep myself busy.”

“Like what?”

“The Human Lands are rebuilding. A lot of people are. I try to help where I’m needed.”

He blinked again. “I’m glad to hear that. Feyre and I have been busy doing the same. I’m sorry we haven’t spoken in a while, since the War.”

“I understand.” She swallowed hard against the rising tide of feelings. “Being a High Lord and all, your attention must be divided.”

“You have no idea,” he said, rubbing his brow. His immaculate hair held in place, nails perfectly done. The model vision of everything their mother dreamed of for him. Everything, down to the very way he talked, walked. 

“I heard you and Feyre got a nice property by the Sidra,” she commented.

The fucking wealth they had acquired. She supposed her wealth, too, if she ever decided to claim it. It was obscene, really.

All of that gold spent on frivolous, useless bullshit.

“Yes, I did. It was my Solstice present to her.”

She tried to collect herself, but couldn’t help but let it slip a little. The mask of the Commander slipping a little, perhaps. “May I ask something?”

“What is it?”

“Illyria…” He waited with baited breath. “Why is it that there isn’t more help for the war camps?”

There was a flash of surprise in his eyes. “How so?”

“From what I’ve seen, many of the camps are struggling to get by as is. I was wondering why there hasn’t been more help around, why no gold has been spent on them, while so many are still impoverished and struggling to get by. Why are there still so many females being beaten and…” She didn’t linger on the last thought. The wings. The clippings. The rape .

And something clicked in his eyes. Something hard and solid came crushing down, the warm exterior replaced with something colder. “Excuse me?”

“I meant no offense!” she said, hating that look in his eyes. The distrust. The outright hate . “I just–”

“You’ve been in Illyria?”

Oh, fuck. She just exposed herself. Exposed that she had been in the Night Court after a direct order not to be there.

He must have read it in her posture, too, the way she straightened, the way her breathing was tense.

“I…” What the hell was she supposed to say? “I’m sorry.”

He leaned back a little, surveying her. “I’ll give you one last gentle reminder, Commander. I can’t offer you protection or sanctuary if you sneak into my lands and kill my citizens. I have every authority to strike you down right now, if I so pleased.” 

She felt a cold rush through her; at his voice. Never once in her entire existence has he talked to her like this. 

“I understand your concern,” he continued. “But the Illyrians don’t want to be helped.”

“I beg your fucking pardon?” she snapped. Her face flushed with heat. Her core tightened, legs slightly spreading as if she’d need to defend herself. 

The nerve. The nerve .

He blinked, another sign of surprise, at the defiance.

But the Commander didn’t back down, taking a step towards him. “There are people starving in those camps. And you just blow them off like they are nothing but fucking savages. They’re people , Rhysand. With families and friends just like you. Have you forgotten that?”

His brows furrowed. “They’re my people. I’m not the one murdering my people in the night.”

My people. Like she wasn’t an Illyrian. Like she didn’t have the wings and bloodline to prove it.

“At least I’m keeping some checks of power on them. You’ve just let them run loose.”

“They do not run loose—”

But she didn’t let him finish. “Females are being raped !” She screamed at him. “Females are being clipped ! And you have done nothing ! Not even a warm blanket or hot food! Barely any of them can read, nor write! They have been shunned from everything —every comfort that should have been given to them by right —every comfort that has been given to the people of Velaris and yet none to them!”

“You think I haven’t tried to stop that! I’ve tried for the last five hundred years!”

“Well, you sure don’t act like it!” she snarled.

Rhysand stared at her, the stars in his violet eyes winking out. “Don’t come back to the Night Court again.” 

She could read the threat in his eyes. The promise of bloodshed should she step back into his lands—her lands. “Like hell .”

She felt the rumble of his power rising to meet her own. But she didn’t back down. Not a fucking inch. Not when she felt that oily, slick power of hers rising with the tide of shadows. 

“You want to bet?” he asked, voice deadly soft.

But it wasn’t her snarl that responded. “Get off my Gods-Damned lawn,” Tamlin growled, clutching the doorway so hard the wood groaned.

Rhysand’s mask slid back on, masking his anger with a cool smile and a short, curt nod. “Good to see you too.”

The Commander thought they might actually brawl. The two sized each other up, deciding internally whether it would be worth it. Whether the two High Lords would finally release the bloodshed they’ve been aching to.

Tamlin must have won, though, his green gaze piercing through Rhysand’s shadows. Through his mock kindness.

And with that, Rhysand winnowed away, shooting the Commander a warning glare before he vanished from her vision.

The Commander waited, watching him in the doorway. Had he lost weight? The shadows in his eyes only seemed darker, more haunted, as he watched her.

Tamlin watched her with a predator’s stillness. Something like sadness glimmered in his eyes, no longer glaring. “He doesn’t know yet.”

“Stay out of it.”

He blew out a breath. “Sirius…”

“Don’t talk to me like you fucking care.”

Tamlin stared at her for a long moment, eyes dragging away from her and onto the floor. The words must have hit their mark. He stalked back inside, and the Commander didn’t bother to chase after him.

Notes:

ALKSDJLFHALDSKJ okay so I know this feels just the teeniest bit of filler BUT I PROMISE IT'S NOT. This will come in later as we transition into Silver Flames. I really wanted to emphasize some stuff with Illyria and ALSO the tension between her and Rhys. *Chef's kiss* Again, doing some light editing on previous chapters to add some foreshadowing and also blend the story together. <3 LOVE YOU GUYS

Chapter 38: There's a Knock on the Door

Azriel couldn’t sleep again. It wasn’t long before he found himself on the roof of the House of Wind, sword in hand, to train. 

This wasn’t unusual by any means.

The silence surrounded him. It was a blanket that coated his thoughts. It was the first snow of the winter.

However, when he arrived, he was not the only one there. 

The Commander poised a dark sword over her head and swung down, hissing through clenched teeth. Her mask reflected off the stars and moon, making the stark white line across her mask even more pale. 

Azriel paused in the doorway, staring at her. It was only when he cleared his throat did she whipped over to look at him.

“Sorry,” she breathed. 

He waved a hand at her, swallowing hard. “I didn’t think you’d be here so early.”

“I wanted to get an early start.” She raised the sword again, getting into position. But…

Azriel set down his sword and stood by her side, gently adjusting her position. “Like this. It distributes your weight better.”

The Commander hissed in pain, but she held the position. To her credit, she was getting better. 

“Thanks.”

“You weren’t here yesterday,” he said absently.

“I thought I’d come every other day,” she replied, breathing through the movements of the sword. Cut. Thrust. Poise. Strike.

Her leg was clearly bothering her, hesitating as she adjusted her weight.

Azriel nodded. “If that’s what’s best for you.” He failed to mention he wished he saw her every day, every moment, and that every hour apart, he worried for her. He merely watched her form for a moment before picking up his own sword, falling into position beside her.

“What are you doing up so early?” she asked Azriel.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Nightmares?”

He shifted uncomfortably, adjusting his grip. “Something like that.”

“Me too.”

It hung in the air like dust. They all knew it was there, but no one did anything about it. Acknowledging it, from either side, was admitting what they feared.

They were damaged. 

But it was in the air. Perhaps that’s all that needed to be done. Knowing the other person saw it too, knowing there was another person who struggled.

They walked through every exercise together after, struggling and straining and sweating. It was cold here on the roof, the wind whipping them to the bone. They pushed through regardless. Steam rippled off both of them, off their wings.

It continued like this until the sun had risen. Until they were both tired and sore and utterly exhausted.

They had just finished a rotation of push-ups, sit-ups, and shoulder taps when he called it.

Azriel felt like he could sleep again. Could think again. And he was sure the Commander—Sirius—could too.

“Breakfast?” he breathed.

She panted, slowly climbing to her feet. “Please.”

He led the way to the dining room even though he was well aware she knew where it was. She limped slowly behind him, each step painful. He could hear every wince she tried to cover, every strained breath as she lowered herself into a seat. Her seat, he realized, next to the head of the table.

A cold towel appeared as a courtesy of the House, along with a dish of oats, blueberries, and brown sugar, without having to be asked. 

The Commander huffed a laugh and took it with her ungloved hands, pressing the cool towel onto her leg. She shifted uncomfortably until she turned her attention to the food. He looked away. She must be debating to take off the mask in front of him.

The House offered its usual breakfast selection to him. Eggs, toast, oats, and bacon. A hearty meal, filled with protein, fiber, and precious nutrients to fuel him throughout the day. Both of them.

The Commander lifted the mask enough to dish a spoonful into her mouth, not revealing much besides the shadowed edges of her cheek. She practically moaned in delight as the oats hit her mouth. She covered her mouth for a second, a little embarrassed at the sound, before emitting a small chuckle.

“Fuck, this is good.”

Azriel couldn’t help but smile a little. At such a familiar presence, at such a familiar laugh. 

He dished up his own plate. “Yes, it is.”

“When are we leaving today?”

“Let’s go around noon. It should be before Cassian and Nesta get back,” he said, with no small amount of annoyance.

He was a glorified babysitter for them. A Keeper of the Peace , as Rhys had phrased it.

She snorted, taking another bite. “Oh? There’s a story there.”

“They’re just…” He made a motion with his hand. “ Them. You’ll see.”

“That’s it?”

“They’re always at each other’s throats.”

“In a sexual way or like an angry way.”

Azriel choked on his tea. It took him a moment to recover, the Commander staring at him the whole time, shoulders shaking in a contained laugh. “Both, unfortunately.”

“Great,” she grumbled, but there was a lilt of amusement in her voice. “When did this become a thing?”

“A few days ago. Rhysand wants her to train, so Cassian is taking her to Windhaven.”

She cocked her head at him. “This is Nesta Archeron we’re talking about, right?”

Azriel nodded.

She drummed her fingers against the table. “Good luck with that.”

“I’m not the one training her.”

“No, you’ve just got me instead,” she remarked, spooning in a few more blueberries into her oats. 

He huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I’ll only start complaining if you spray my entrails on the ground like Cassian.”

She stiffened a little at the remark, at the callback to the War, but soon realized he was joking. He hoped she knew he was joking. 

His worries were quickly assuaged as she responded with, “Don’t tempt me into trying, Az.”

The two of them snickered and finished their meal in relative silence. He tried not to peer beyond the mask, focusing on his meal, but he couldn’t help but notice the scars hidden carefully by her clothes. As she ate, sometimes the mask slipped higher, and he saw what the King did. The jagged scar that ran down her cheek and her neck. 

What had he done to her?

What had he done she hadn’t spoken about?

He knew what it was like to carry scars he didn’t speak of. Perhaps that was one of them. 

But still, he nearly broke the fork in anger at the sight. At the apparent abuse she suffered while he wasn’t around. Rhys very well may need a week's sabbatical when he finds out. 

He may cave in the city with his rage, his grief, his despair. 

Azriel already felt like he needed one too.

“What’s wrong?” the Commander asked.

And she was just as observant as before.

Azriel shook his head. “Just thinking about our mission today.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the camp over. Unless you’d like to see Cassian and Nesta’s screaming match in Windhaven.”

“I’m good. Thanks. I don’t think any of them would like to see me.”

“You never know.” Azriel wiped his hands on a napkin. “It should be a relatively easy day.”

She nodded, finishing up her meal. She already seemed more relaxed around him. He didn’t think he could bear any more wary looks his way, and the way her whole body tensed when she felt like she did something wrong. Did she think he was going to hurt her?

Azriel cleared his throat. “I’m going to clean up. If you’d like to do the same, I can direct you to a bath. Otherwise, you’re welcome to spend some time in the House library.”

Now that he thought about it, he didn’t smell her. Not even from their workout earlier. Not even her scent .

“Both would be preferred.”

Azriel nodded and stood with her, taking her down the various hallways to a spare bathroom she could use. 

He nearly led her back to her previous room. The room she occupied when her father still lived. The room that had been sealed away, untouched, even after 500 years.

If she were to step in there, he didn’t know how she would react. 

It would look the same as the day she left it.

Would that provide relief for her or just more anguish?

The female behind him wasn’t the same as when she left. Neither was he.

The Commander bowed her head slightly, as if she didn’t know the House like the back of her hand. “Thanks,” she said again. “I appreciate this.”

“Of course. If you need me, my room is just down the hall from Cassian’s.” He pursed his lips for a moment, remembering she didn’t know where that was. “It’s two floors up, to the right.”

She chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. “I’ll be in the library after this.”

Azriel nodded, taking a careful step back. “I’ll find you there. And then from there we can go on our mission.”

The Commander merely nodded again and shut the door, breathing a sigh of relief as she did. She pressed her head against the heavy wooden door, listening to Azriel’s retreating footsteps. She could have sworn he lingered for a moment, hesitating, before leaving. Perhaps it was her imagination.

She carefully took off her mask, surveying the magnificent bathroom. The tub was rather a small pool in the floor with an adjacent mirror, sink, and other amenities. Hair oils, conditioners, and soap. Oh, this was a treat compared to the tub that barely fit her wings in the manor.

Next to the pool was a window, the Sidra winding far below her. 

She set the mask next to the sink, slowly walking to the window, and pressed her hand on the cool glass. 

She longed to go into the city again. Into Velaris.

It was too risky. It was too risky being anywhere in the Night Court. Not with Rhysand acting the way he was before. With Azriel being her escort , of sorts, it put her somewhat at ease.

He wouldn’t touch her with him around.

She hoped.

Velaris and the Rainbow called her name. How much has changed since she’d last stepped foot here?

The Commander retreated and stripped herself of her sweaty clothes, her armor, and at last slipped into the heated pool. She hissed as she lowered herself in, leg flaring in pain. The thought quickly faded as the water touched her skin. It felt deliciously warm, deep enough that it was up to her middle just standing in it. 

She sank into the pool completely, letting the water lap gently along her neck, and rested her head against the lip.

Fuck. Yes .

This was the life.

This was better than sex, honestly.

And she hasn’t had sex in a couple of hundred years.

“Mother, thank you. House , thank you, for this warm bath.”

And as if in answer, a bowl of blueberries appeared next to the pool. With a slight squeal of delight, she lifted it barely over the water and popped a few in her mouth.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered to the House. The Commander let some of her power unspool within her, the room darkening to a comfortable mist along the floors as starlight twinkled within. She lifted a hand and let the shadows curl between her fingers like a strand of hair. Like a shadowsinger.

The Commander let out a small giggle, eating a few more blueberries. 

She could command the whole night sky if she dared to. Could bring the stars into the palm of her hand. 

Maybe she would. Maybe she would…

The Commander reached out and cradled the starlight in her palms, watching it twinkle like the glittering of the sun along the Sidra. 

 She focused on that light, that starlight, and felt her power call to it. Like calls to like. Her light amongst the darkness. 

The starlight was as easy to call to as the day had faded into dusk.

She let that light in her grow as she breathed in, let it blossom as it pushed away the shadows, the darkness, it filled the pool.

A pool of starlight.

Just like what she made for Tamlin all those years ago, hidden deep within the forest.

And when she released her breath, the starlight eased back into her.

It was like breathing. It was life . It was everything. It was the one thing she hid from her Father. She showed him all her shadows, all her talons, all her mind tricks. The starlight, though, was her hidden gem. Hers . Not even Rhysand had it.

The House left her a glass of wine beside the blueberries.

For the first time in a long time, she felt like herself again. It was so rare and beautiful. Her smile wasn’t fake as Sirius said, “Yes, I’ve certainly missed you, too.”

She took much, much longer than she needed to; the bath never cooled. It did wonders for her leg. While it was still sore, it didn’t have the sharp pain like it used to.

It didn’t take her long to get dressed, the mask slipping back on her face, and she headed to the personal House library. The great dark oak shelves held hundreds, if not easily a thousand, books. Comfortable chairs and couches littered the floor, along with a few tables of the same oak.

She ran her hands along the smooth, polished tables.

It felt just like yesterday she was here, her Father’s brooding face staring back at her as she stared into a book, pretending she wasn’t as bored as she was. They then had a screaming match for two hours. Or rather, she had screamed at him, and he looked smug while critiquing her, telling her, “You won’t survive three seconds in the Court of Nightmares acting like that.” He was right, and she was left utterly defeated.

The Commander pulled a book off the shelf, skimming through the pages.

The Daglan were near gods, with both faeries and humans under their control. They had ruled the world for thousands of years. Under their rule, magic was raped from the land, taken by its denizens. It wasn’t until—

“ Fionn, the High King of Prythian, overthrew the Daglan and their rule, purging them of these lands ,” she murmured to herself, remembering the very history her Father had taught her. She shelved the book again. “ And from Fionn’s hand, Gwydion, the sword of Kings, he united the lands. Beautiful as the— ”

“ —Night itself ,” Azriel finished, peaking out from a different shelf.

The Commander nearly leaped out of her skin. He fucking snuck up on her. She couldn’t help but return the smirk on his face.

“You know your history,” she remarked.

“As do you.”

They held a stare for a moment before she turned away. “It’ll only be a few hours. Want to sit and read before we have to go.”

He stared at her for a moment before nodding. “Sure.”

They each grabbed a book and took a seat in the library across from each other, lounging on different couches. She let her wings drape across the couch, loosening the muscles along her back and shoulders. The Commander rolled her neck, emitting a few pleasant pops, and stretched her leg out.

While she read, she idly rubbed her leg, working through the sting it made. 

 

***

 

The mission had turned up nothing, and the Commander quickly left. Her and Azriel spent most of the day together. More than that, there was a comfort growing between the two. 

Companions of secrets and silence. 

She had to admit, she had begun to enjoy it. Especially the closeness.

She left before she had to return to the House of Wind, not wanting to face Cassian or formally meet Nesta quite yet. She was sure they wouldn’t be nearly as welcoming as Azriel.

The Commander winnowed into the grassy lawn of the manor where she and the Band of Exiles resided. She stepped into the house, nearly shirking her mask off until she froze in the doorway, a two red haired males in the living room.

As far as she remembered, there was only one.

“Oh.” The Commander slowly closed the door behind her, watching Eris with the stare of a hawk. “You’re here.”

He gave her a courtier’s smile. An easy, deceiving smile. “Commander of Hybern. I’ve heard much about you.”

“And I of you.”

“I feel honored.”

Lucien carefully looked at her. She knew immediately, he was not pleased. Nor was he welcome.

“To what do we owe this visit?” the Commander asked, putting a hand carefully on her side. She didn’t let her limp show as she sidled up next to Lucien’s side.

“I’m here to talk to Queen Vassa. It should be dark soon.”

“Why?”

“That’s for us to—”

“She’s our Queen,” she sternly replied. Her guard rose, protectiveness flashing through her. And for Lucien, too. “Whatever business you have of her, you have with us. We will not allow you to speak to her unless you tell us what is going on.”

Eris narrowed his eyes at her, glancing between her and Lucien. 

“Some of my soldiers have gone missing.”

Lucien’s brows rose all the way to his hairline. Eris pursed his lips, eyes still narrowed at them. 

“What does that have to do with us or Vassa?” the Commander continued.

Eris folded his arms. “The last known traces of them had scents of humans. I wanted to consult with Vassa. See what she thought.”

The Commander chewed her lip, but the mask only showed the careful, picturesque darkness. “Fine.”

Lucien looked like he might object when Vassa and Jurian stepped through the doors, Vassa blinking when she spotted Eris by the fireplace. She pulled the cobalt jacket around her tighter, eyes still aglow with flames.

“Shall I open a bottle of wine?” Jurian remarked.

“Get the whiskey,” was all the Commander replied as she sank into one of the chairs.

Jurian walked to the kitchen while Vassa took a seat on one of the obnoxious pink couches. “Eris Vanserra of the Autumn Court. To what do we owe this pleasure?”

Eris took a seat by the fireplace as Jurian handed the Commander a glass of whiskey, one occupying his hand, too. The Commander merely gestured for Eris to tell his story while Lucien glowered from his spot on the wall.

The Commander carefully lifted her mask and knocked back a gulp. She was in for a long night.

“As I told your lovely guard dog here, some of my soldiers went missing while they were on patrol days ago. There were no signs of struggle. No last known scent beyond their last location.” 

Vassa sat down, giving him a considering look.

“It is strange,” Jurian murmured. 

“Yes. It is,” Vassa finished. “Why have you come to us?”

“I thought you might have some answers, considering who you ruled with. If humans might want to attack them.”

She raised a brow at that, and the Commander simply sipped her whiskey. Yep. Long night.

“Why’s that?”

“Their scents… it had traces of something odd on them… something… human? But not quite.”

“It could be possible,” Vassa said, serious. “Unlikely, but possible. I would never have put out that order. I don’t have much sway in these lands.”

“I wasn’t referring to you, Your Majesty. I know some of the hosts of humans remain here. Lord Grayson, I’ve heard, is still as fearsome as ever and holds a reasonable host of humans. Tensions still run high here.”

At the mention of Grayson, Lucien tensed, sucking in a deep breath. Despite the mask, Lucien glanced the Commander’s way. There was something there she was missing.

“I don’t doubt Grayson may try something like that, but not with the War still fresh on people’s minds. And the scent… Have either of you noticed anything odd?” she asked Lucien and the Commander.

Both shook their head. 

“Not particularly,” Lucien said.

“He seemed reasonable when we spoke,” Jurian said, sipping from his own glass. Lucien looked tempted to get his own.

Both Lucien and the Commander tensed at the same time as they felt the ripple of a presence through the wards. Someone had come into the yard.

“Who is that?” Lucien asked, gunning for the door.

It was an unfortunate chance as the Commander skimmed the mind of the approaching party. Even more so that they knew how to shield their mind. 

Lucien opened the door right as General Cassian raised a large fist to knock.

Oh, fuck this. 

The Commander wanted to sink into the cushions and fade away into the shadows.

Lucien let him in, and it was too late to just winnow away. Jurian watched her with a restrained smirk.

Eris, however, didn’t.

“Cassian,” he drawled.

Vassa turned and raised her brows. “General Cassian. A pleasure.”

Cassian blinked, a pause in the conversation that he eventually recovered from, bowing his head. “Your Majesty.”

His eyes fell on her, and she didn’t have to know that he was simmering with hate. For both her and Eris.

Jurian coughed and said, “It only goes to her head when you call her that.”

She whipped her head to him, straightening. “I am a queen, you know.”

It was fair, she supposed, that his reaction was this way. She had almost killed him. Did he not remember she let him live? Not that she wanted to kill him in the first place.

“Last I heard, your kingdom was no longer yours. Are you still a queen?” Jurian continued

And when he found out she was a spy for them, it seemed it did nothing to soften the look in his eyes. The disdain. The wrath incarnate.

Will you fill me in on this conversation? She asked Jurian, mind-to-mind.

Going to sneak away already? Just when the fun has started.

She felt his amusement flutter up his body, but it quickly faded as he sensed her own worries, her own anxiety.

I don’t want to start things.

Being here will show that you are trustworthy. An ally to all of us.

If he doesn’t stick his knife through my gut first .

“Did you come with news or orders?” Lucien interrupted, taking a seat beside Jurian on the couch.

I need to get out of here , the Commander said again.

So be it.

I’ll be outside .

The Commander winced as she rose to her feet again, a sharp pain going through her thigh as her scar flared in pain. Her wings twitched as if to make up for it in balance, to flare out to catch her.

What was there to catch?

She limped to the kitchen, glass in hand, and topped it off. Voices continued in the other room as she felt their eyes trail after her. 

She ignored them.

Merciful, painful whiskey. Awful whiskey. It was hardly worth savoring. It was better to be knocked back and suffer than to taste and savor.

The Commander slipped out the back door and into the night, using the walls to steady herself. 

She didn’t want to know why Cassian was here. Didn’t want to hear his voice. Didn’t want to see that look in his eyes as she turned and left.

Why was everything so terribly painful?

Hadn’t she suffered enough already?

The Commander sighed through clenched teeth as she sat on the ground, throwing back the rest of the whiskey in two big gulps. 

She hadn’t drank whiskey since…

Hybern.

Since Hybern.

Since her long nights stuck in her tent, tossing and turning from nightmares. Since she couldn’t stand the sight of herself and left all reason, all abandon at the door.

She didn’t want to live then.

And she didn’t want to live in her own skin now.

Yet still, she gazed up at the sky, empty glass in hand, wondering if she had made a mistake. 

She couldn’t do anything about it now, but the thought haunted her. 

She could have had that townhouse or had a room in Rhys’s new manor. Could have stayed there forever. They would have laughed, cried, rejoiced. She knew her brother would have been eternally grateful to the Mother and the Cauldron and treasured this time together for all eternity. He would have made sure she was well cared for. Never cold or starved or had to fight again. 

Cassian and Azriel would have watched and taken care of her. Cassian would have taken her out drinking and trained with her, laughing and jeering like old times. Telling jokes and poking fun at eachother. Azriel would have been there with his quiet comfort, waiting for her in the shadows. Would have comforted her after nightmares. Listened to her stories. Told her everything would be alright again.

She and Mor would go out to eat, have coffee, and drink. She would have laughed and sang again. She and her cousin would laugh at her brother, gossiping as they always did. She would take her to see every new play, every new dress, and show her everything she missed.

But that wasn’t her reality. 

And she knew it couldn’t be.

The Commander couldn’t put down her sword. Not yet. She knew that if she went back to Velaris, all the work she had done in Illyria would go down the drain. She wouldn’t be able to do anything for herself. Not to mention the bureaucratic mess she’d be in.

What would she even be to them?

Sister?

Friend?

Was that all she’d be?

Some pretty little mantle piece to talk and take around. To be sidelined at the first sight of danger.

She couldn’t do it to herself. Not while there was work to be done, and sure as hell while they still underestimated her.

Maybe that was all life was. To live, and live, and still be the villain.

She was both Sirius and the Commander of Hybern. She was both kind and a killer. She was both tortured and a torturer. A sinner and a saint.

She knew how her family viewed her. Sirius was the pretty little saint. 

Could they even face the current reality?

Raised voices carried over the wind by the front door. Cassian and Eris were at each other’s throats. 

She perked her head at that, but couldn’t make out the words despite her Fae hearing.

Slowly, the Commander stood again, only swaying a little, as she snuck towards the front door. The shadows swelled around her, covering her movements.

“Because my father has already pledged his forces to Briallyn and the war she wishes will incite,” Eris revealed.

The Commander’s shadows didn’t falter, but her surprise was genuine.

What?

“What?” Cassian started.

Eris’s vibrant red hair was tossed in the wind, face a mask of cool amusement. “I wanted to feel out Vassa, Jurian, and the Commander . But they clearly know little about this.”

“Explain what the fuck you mean by Beron pledging his forces to Briallyn.”

“It’s exactly what it sounds like. He caught wind of her ambitions and went to her palace a month ago to meet with her. I stayed here, but I sent my best soldiers with him.”

“Those wouldn’t happen to be the same soldiers who went missing, would they?”

Eris’s grave look was palpable. “They returned with my father, but they were… off. Aloof and strange. They vanished soon after—and my hounds confirmed that their scents at the scene are the same as those on gifts Briallyn sent to curry my father’s favor.”

“You knew it was her this entire time?” Cassian said, motioning to everyone who was inside. Well, almost everyone.

“You didn’t think I’d just spill all that information, did you? I needed Vassa to confirm that Briallyn could do something like that.”

“Why would Briallyn ally with your father only to abduct your soldiers?”

“That’s what I’d like to find out.”

“What does Beron say?”

“He is unaware of it. You know where I stand with my father. And this unholy alliance he’s struck with Briallyn will only hurt us. All of us. It will turn into a Fae war for control. So I want to find answers on my own—rather than what my father tries to feed me.”

“So we take out your father.”

Eris snorted, and the Commander was half inclined to do the same.

“I am the only person my father has told of his new allegiance. If the Night Court moves, it will expose me.”

“So your worry about Briallyn’s alliance with Beron is about what it means for you, rather than for the rest of us.”

“I only wish to defend the Autumn Court against its worst enemies.”

“Why would I work with you on this?”

“Because we are indeed allies.” Eris smiled at him in the same way he smiled at her. A courtier’s smile. “And because I do not believe your High Lord would wish me to go to other territories and ask them to help with Briallyn and Koschei. To help them remember that all it might take to secure Briallyn’s alliance would be to hand over a certain Archeron sister. Don’t be stupid enough to believe my father hasn’t thought of that, too.”

Cassian’s eyes flashed with rage. She could see it even from where she stood. “I could kill you now and not worry about this at all,” he mused.

“Then you would certainly have a war on your hands. My father would go straight to Briallyn—and Koschei, I suppose—and then go to the other discontent territories, and you would be wiped off the proverbial map. Perhaps literally, since the Night Court would be divvied up between other territories if Rhysand and Feyre die without an heir.”

“So you’re my ally whether I wish it or not?”

“The brute understands that at last. Yes. What you know, I want to know. I will notify you of any movements on my father’s part regarding Briallyn. So send out your shadowsinger. And when he returns, find me.” Eris’s mouth curled into a smile again, and before he winnowed again, he said, “Stick to fighting battles, General. Leave the ruling to those capable of playing the game.”

Cassian was left standing by the front door, bristling, and the Commander didn’t make it any better. She let the shadows vanish and leaned against the stone wall of their manor.

“Sounded serious,” she said, failing to mention she was Sirius . The joke that had always been passed around in her youth.

Cassian nearly drew his sword as he whipped around to face her, muttering a few curses.

She raised her hands in surrender. “Whoa! Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

He huffed, hand twitching for his sword. “ What do you want? ” he snapped.

She swallowed hard, pausing for a moment. “The Night Court are my allies, too, in case you’ve forgotten.”

The look of fury in his eyes almost made her back away in pain, but she held her ground. “We have no use for traitors.”

“Oh, really? Az certainly thinks otherwise.”

It was enough to make him pause and consider for a moment.

“What do you want?” he asked again.

“I want to know what’s going on. This is the first bit of news I’ve heard in months.”

“This really is none of your concern.”

“It isn’t? What’s to stop Briallyn from gathering what forces Hybern has left and using them? The King left a void when he died, one that would easily be filled by someone of the likes of her.”

“Why didn’t you take it?”

She straightened, a cold washing over her. “Do you really think so little of me?”

“It was right there for the taking. You seemed eager to take it before you were a spy .”

She gave him a cold chuckle. “Never. I never would have, and I never will.”

“Even if Rhysand asked you?”

“ No ,” she said forcefully enough that even Cassian seemed struck over the head by the dominance. She had no idea where it came from. It rose from deep within her chest, within herself.

“Tell Az I’ll be there tomorrow. I want to be there when he goes after Briallyn.”

Cassian slowly shook his head. “He’s going to say no. And what makes you think he’d want to work with you anyway?”

“Because we do. And because he will say yes. I know how people like operate like the King of Hybern. Briallyn was allied with him, too. Perhaps, if worst came to worst, she’d listen to me.”

Cassian seemed to consider it. “Fine.”

She nodded. “Do you need someone to winnow you back?”

“No.”

The Commander watched him, facing each other like they had on the battlefield so long ago. Perhaps they would fight. One day. 

But not today.

She limped back inside, vanishing from his gaze.