Crescent City: A Court of Thrones and Glass

Chapter Twenty-One: Feyre

A/N: Thanks @ohwowits4am, @EmpressLilyana, and @Viviane343 for voting!! P.S. I'm finally done school now! Which means I can spend more time writing!! Yay!!!

     Feyre was done. Done. She wanted nothing more than to just go home and never leave Velaris ever. No more dealing with world wars or evil psychopaths trying to take over Prythian. She wanted to go home, have her baby, then live peacefully for the rest of her immortal life. But of course, the Mother had other plans. One problem at a time, Rhys said down the bond, Let's focus on Viviane. Okay, Feyre responded, taking a deep breath. She looked to where the High Lady of Winter was talking to Bryce and Dorian. They were reclined on the leather couches in the study, but were obviously tense while they spoke. Feyre scanned the room, her mind flooded with thoughts, watching as Rowan held Aelin to his chest while he whispered softly in her ear, pushing her limp hair away from her face. Feyre had only known the Queen for a few days, but she had never seen Aelin look so vulnerable. Manon was in the corner sharpening her iron nails, the movement so familiar it could've been Amren in the corner. The two females were so similar to Feyre it was creepy. Hunt paced the room, occasionally receiving scathing glares from Bryce, the obvious message being "Calm the fuck down before you wear holes in their brand new carpet." Lysandra huddled near the Aelin, the ever-loyal friend.
"How big of a force are the Illyrians?" Rowan asked Rhys, still holding Aelin.
"Numbers were diminished after the War, but it's sizeable enough," Rhys responded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Rowan turned his pine green stare to Viviane.
"And Winter's forces?"
"After the War, Kallias and I thought it would be best to grow our army. Including calvary and the animals, it's about twice the size as it was during the War. Rhysand's eyes widened in surprise.
"If it came down to it, the Illyrians would lose that battle within hours without help," Rhys admitted. But why would the Night Court face Winter? Feyre wondered. Rowan's face hardened.
"Will any other Courts help?" Hunt interjected.
"I don't know—"
"Why do the others need to be involved? Winter will help you get rid of those foreigners, not hinder you," Viviane interrupted with authority. Feyre was inclined to agree.
"Because," Aelin said softly as she slipped out of Rowan's embrace, "if that golden-eyed male—Mantyx, is who he says he is, then your Court's minds are not their own." Feyre didn't understand, but she recalled everything Aelin had ever said. "The Valg King Erawan who invaded my world and slaughtered thousands? Mantyx is his older brother," the Queen said. Feyre's face paled. She pieced it together.
"You think Mantyx has Wyrdstone?" Feyre asked incredulously. If he did, they needed to stop Mantyx, and fast.
      "We have to assume he does, and that the Winter Court is now under his and the Summoner's control," Dorian answered with surprising gentleness for Viviane.
"We also have to assume that the Summoner escapee has brought over others. We must be prepared for anything," Rowan commanded. Feyre was too worried to care that she was being given orders in her own home. Hunt ran a hand through his hair.
"What weakness do the Valg have?" Hunt demanded with cold calculation. Feyre had forgotten he was an experienced General.
"Fire. And healing. Think of the Valg as a disease. They infect a host and control their body. It can be burned out, which kills the host too, or the host can be saved through healing, although that process takes time. Mantyx presumably chose to invade the Winter Court as a deterrent to any fire-wielders, especially a certain fire-breathing bitch-queen," Dorian answered, winking at Aelin, "That Fae that the Summoner possessed was probably chosen for his magic as well."
      "The good news is that these Valg grunts can die like anyone else," Manon contributed, her first words since they retreated too the study. "Stabbing, beheading, neck snapping," she counted the words on her iron-tipped fingers, "It all works." Feyre smiled grimly. At least they knew they could be killed the old fashioned way.
"How many fire-wielders are there in the Night Court?" Lysandra asked, changing the topic slightly.
"Unfortunately, hardly any," Rhys responded, "Most of them live in the Autumn Court, the most powerful serving in Beron's Inner Circle." Bryce winced.
"And we hate Beron, and he hates us," Bryce stated, "that's always the way it is."
"However," Feyre countered, "we have many healers, and Thesan is an ally. Hopefully we can convince him to help us." Rowan rubbed his face.
     "We're still going to need as many soldiers as we can get," the King of Terrasen said, "It's better to squash the threat with minimal casualties in an hour than risk huge losses with a small force."
     "Agreed," Hunt said. Rhys nodded.
     "We leave at first light for the Illyrian camps. Cassian will muster the full might of the aerial legions, while Mor will handle securing allies. Az is scouting Winter as we speak and will meet us and Cass with a report in the morning. For now, you all can stay in the House. Nuala will show you to the guest suites," Rhysand announced, linking his arm through Feyre's. "Goodnight." The wraith appeared in the doorway of the study, ushering everyone out as Rhys steered Feyre to their bedroom. She closed the door behind them and sat on the bed beside her mate. He was running his hands through his hair, clearly distressed. Feyre took his hand.
     "This is insane."
     "I know," Rhys responded squeezing Feyre's hand. "We will get through this. We survived the War. Hybern had been planning that attack for decades and we still won. This Mantyx guy has been here for what, a week at most?" Feyre snorted, but it didn't stop the tears from welling in her eyes. "Feyre darling, please don't cry. We will get through this." Rhys tugged her against his chest, holding her tight. She peered up at him. Her beautiful, selfless mate.
     "Promise me," she begged, "promise me no secret plans. No self-sacrificial bullshit." Rhys chuckled, but his expression darkened at the memory. "I am serious," Feyre insisted, "You pulled that once. I can't go through that again. And with the baby coming..."
     "You don't need me to be an amazing mother," Rhys responded softly, but that was the wrong thing to say.
     "No. Rhys. I need you because I can't live without you. Promise me. Please." The High Lord of the Night Court looked at his mate and kissed her.
     "Fine. I promise."