Vel, an Oracle older than Prythian itself, visits the Autumn Court at the request of its High Lord. While there she gets swept up in the court's political scheming, with Eris trying to win her favor using any means necessary. But all is not what it...
Underneath the smell of blood and dirt, there was a familiar scent, of night-chilled mist and cedar. She was vaguely aware of a strong arm around her, of her head leaning against someone's chest.
"Velaris might be secure," Cassian's voice seemed to come from far away. Her head felt clogged as if she'd been held underwater. "But for how long? Hybern knows about this place, thanks to those wyrm-queens. Who else will they sell the information to? How long until the other courts come sniffing? Or Hybern uses that Cauldron again to take down our defenses?"
Vel's eyes fluttered open, the dim light of the fire sending a whip of pain through her head. She was nestled into Azriel's side, on a couch in the townhouse sitting room. Her eyes fell into her lap, catching on the torn-up clothes. She had likely fallen off the roof after she had fainted but somebody had bandaged her hand and had even made a poultice for the poison. Everyone else looked from bad to worse. Judging by the smell of leaking blood, nobody else had bothered with bandages.
Nobody noticed that she was awake, they were all in varying states of drowsiness. Mor's eyes were closed, Amren was half-asleep on the other side of Azriel, and Rhys seemed to be standing to keep himself awake. Azriel's fingers stroked her shoulder, or perhaps it was his shadows. The touch was so light that for a moment she thought she'd imagined it. Then it happened again, a soothing, reassuring gesture.
"If we all go to Hybern to destroy the Cauldron ... who will defend the city?" Feyre whispered from the couch across from her.
"I'll stay," Amren replied. "If Rhys must go to Hybern, then I am the only one of you who might hold the city until help arrives. Today was a surprise. A bad one. When you leave, we will be better prepared. The new wards we built today will not fall so easily."
"I can help Amren," Vel spoke up. With whatever was needed, the Book, the city, she didn't need to add. Whatever they had to do to hold back Hybern's approach and perhaps get the Cauldron out of the equation so that she could see again.
"You would be more use to us in Hybern," Rhys returned. His face was a mask but she could see the emotions warring underneath, gratitude that she'd fought for his city but also anger – that she'd let Feyre fight, that she hadn't seen this coming, that she could wield Night Court magic. Probably all of that and more.
"I can't leave Prythian." She was too tired to consider whether she was revealing too much to him. Even her voice came out too small, too weak.
"You can't or maybe you won't, because you know something we do not?" It seemed anger won out in the end but she was too exhausted to fight him. She doubted she could even winnow home if he decided to throw her out in the street for the night.
"I can't," she repeated flatly. "My life is tied to the magic of the land. I am bound to Prythian."
"Would you even tell us if we were going to our deaths?" Rhys's voice was dangerously low.
Azriel tensed next to her but didn't say anything. Once she would have hated him for it. Now she was surprised to find that it sparked no emotion. She'd accepted her place beneath Rhys in his hierarchy.
Mor had turned to her cousin ready to defend her but it was Feyre who spoke first, "So many more lives would have been lost today if not for Vel. She defended Velaris just as much as any of us." Her eyes lingered on Vel's hand, at the blood that bloomed on the white bandages there. Rhys scoffed in response but didn't push further.
Mor loosed a sigh. "So what do we do now?"
Amren simply said, "We sleep. We eat."
And it was Azriel who added, his voice raw with the aftermath of battle-rage, "And then we retaliate."
Vel shared Mor's room for the night. Despite everything she wanted to tell her friend, exhaustion took them both before they could exchange more than a few words.
The next day, she and Amren finished translating the Book of Breathings. Amren explained what Feyre had to do to nullify the power of the cauldron and they discussed their plans for sneaking into Hybern's stronghold unnoticed. Nothing had ever gone according to plan and Vel wondered what price they would have to pay by the time this was all over, if it might be too steep even for them. She prayed that the Mother might at least watch over her friends.
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The price became clear when Rhysand slammed into the floor of the townhouse with Cassian and Azriel. Amren's hands were instantly on Cassian's wings, cursing at the damage. Vel had produced a knife to cut off the ash bolt poking through Azriel's chest.
"Where is she?" Amren demanded.
"Get the book out of here," Rhysand said hoarsely as he dumped the pieces on the ground.
Hello again, Queen of Blood. Snake in the fallen leaves. How many more people have you led to their death since we last met? Shepherd of souls. Forked-tongued liar. Bring us away. Let us be free and we will grant you your freedom.
Vel ignored the Book and slid the broken bolt out of Azriel's chest. Blood showered the carpet and her hands and she pressed down to staunch the flow. Azriel moaned in pain.
"Where is she?" Amren said again, pressing her own hands to Cassian's back.
Mor winnowed in, panting and haggard and she dropped to her knees next to Vel, her blood-caked hands reaching out for Azriel's wound. Vel moved aside and went to work on Cassian's wing, pushing the Book with her foot towards Amren in a silent plea.
Amren ignored it, snapping again, "Where is she?"
Light flared from her fingers and she knitted the thin membrane of Cassian's wings back together. It was Mor who finally answered.
"Tamlin offered passage through his lands and our heads on platters to the king in exchange for trapping Feyre, breaking her bond, and getting to bring her back to the Spring Court. But Ianthe betrayed Tamlin—told the king where to find Feyre's sisters. So the king had Feyre's sisters brought with the queens—to prove he could make them immortal. He put them in the Cauldron. We could do nothing as they were turned. He had us by the balls."
Vel wasn't listening anymore as Rhys and Amren argued. Two humans Made Fae. Three faces of the goddess — Mother, Maiden, Crone.
High Lady of the Night Court. The words brushed past her like a whisper. A High Lady who had risen herself — no, a High Queen, wielding the powers of all seven courts. The magic had chosen, with no intervention from her. Vel wasn't sure what it meant, only perhaps that freedom was closer than she'd hoped.
