A Court of Silver Embers

A Shot in the Dark

 Nesta looked at what used to be the Weavers cottage. Leaving the others hadn't been easy. She was surprised when Mor had agreed to bring her. Dropping her off in the heart of the Middle, with only The Mask and The Harp. Although this is what she told Mor she had. Her dagger was concealed at her side, her Great Sword was concealed down her spine. Mor had even managed to slip past Azriel's sentinels. Something Nesta made note of. She briefly was glad there had been no tearful face to face good byes with Cassian. She for a brief moment pulled his sleeping face into her mind. He had been so peaceful, despite his shattered heart at the loss of his brother and sister. Of her sister. She swallowed, tucking this imagine away safely into her mind before dawning the Mask. It's power warmed against her skin making it feel as though her face had flushed. She hoped this would keep the dead from seeing her. Amren didn't think it would work but she was willing to risk this. A terse conversation had Amren and her almost at each others throats, even in wake of such horrors Nesta couldn't put aside the fact Amren had turned on her. Had left her adrift and hoped she would drown. She had a task before her now, to prove the High Fae of the Night Court wrong about her. To bring their High Lord home, to bring Feyre home. She blocked out those last moments at the River Estate. The hateful words that flew left and right, the accusations flung at her. As though it had been her fault that those love struck fools had both died.

She withdrew the Harp from the satchel on her hip. Nesta had tried to stop their dying, She had pulled the 26th string in that terrible moment and time had slowed. But as she approached, she could see it. Rhysand and Feyre's life force fading, being pulled away into the After. For all her Cauldron's strength she couldn't stop it. Nesta closed her eyes shuddering against the imagine of Rhysand crashing to the floor of that awful room. Of the babe that never uttered a word in Mor's arms not even grasping a breath. Death had still claimed them. Mine. It had growled at her. A helpless feeling gripped her once more as she plucked the Time string again and then she plucked the first string.

Nothing visibly happened at first. And then light tore the space between her and the cottage. Forces starting to pull her towards it. She pulled it once more. Widening the tear in space. Before her she could see rolling green hills. A ruined castle in the distance. smoke blazing from the towers. Blood reined around it in a fine mist. No not mist, chunks of flesh and sinew were going everywhere. Torn asunder by.. Ice. Ice was felling these great beast rushing for the man in the middle of it all. A man with inky black hair, and sapphire eyes. The roar of some great beast was reaching her ears. Wild laughter its twin from some unknown female. Nesta had a wild thought to step through to this world to help him. But with a breath held she pulled the second string. And the third one. And the one after that. When she came back to the time string her throat closed panic was starting to chase her thoughts. None of the portals that had opened looked like the After. Desperately she started trying combinations of different strings. Wildly closing and opening random realms, Realms of Nightmare, and Realms of Peace all flashing by with each pluck.

With a horrid shriek the 5th and 7th string were pulled, they snapped. her fingers passing through air and before Nesta opened a gaping maw of darkness. There was an obsidian lined stoned pathway trailing away into the darkness. She knew she had found it by the feel alone. Her silver flames retreated far with in her. Far past the point she had pushed them to hide them. Bone chilling cold kissed her exposed lower face. Nesta wasn't sure what she had expected. Screaming, perhaps. The sound of pain, of loss and despair. But there was nothing. Utterly nothing. Worse than nothing. It was dead. Death's River. This was something she had considered. To get to the After, you had to meet Death. The alien of that hole should have sent her running. Should have had her gripping for one of Azriel's shadows to get a message that she changed her mind.

Nesta calmed her racing heart. Replacing the Harp back to his place in her bag and drew Ataraxia from its hidden sheath beneath her Great Sword. Her flames danced over its surface it's glow a comfort as Nesta stepped into the boundaries of the Death's domain.

The entrance was gone. It had closed the moment her other foot was through. Yet still Nesta turned in slow circle to look for it. Her Fae hearing had hollowed out. Leaving her nauseous and off balance. She had never gotten to the part of training if you didn't have one of your senses. What to do in the event she couldn't hear. Her fingers not holding Ataraxia itched to pull the Harp out, to open a way back to the mortal plane. The only light she had was that of her sword's flames, which were flickering frighteningly in the dimness. The illumination of it bounced off the obsidian under Nesta's feet. For all she knew she was walking on the rivers surface. Steeling herself, she began the walk through the encroaching darkness along the designated path.

Nesta wasn't sure how long she had walked for, with only the comfort of her glowing sword to penetrate the darkness. It couldn't have been too long before the first figures started to appear out of the gloom. The specters surfacing as though they had walked straight out of the black ink river itself. They were walking with her. or at least in the direction she was going. Thousands of them in all direction as she looked left and right. they locked sickly, their cheeks sunken, their eyes missing. Some were whispering lowly under their breath pleading to the one that wont be seen. She knew this because she could see their lips moving, the words never reached her ears. None of them noticed her. The Mask it seemed could hide one from the dead.

She walked past figure after figure wandering endlessly through the smoggy river just past her boots. Not even her leathers or cloak could keep the cold out of her. it pierced threw her layers to her very bones. It chased away her flames every time she summoned them for warmth. She had long stopped looking into the faces of the those closest to her. Hoping Feyre was one of them. Hoping Rhysand would come out of the gloom with that cocky smile of his, call her a name, a fool for coming down here for them. The Mask was the only warmth she had, the only comfort that kept her from becoming one of the wanderers. Though she knew the Lord of this place was likely watching her. Waiting for her to slip up. To step into the river.

Nesta's sword arm began to droop becoming unbearably heavy. yes give up. The voices around her whispered. Why keep fighting? this is your fault. Nesta stumbled as her chest tightened up with pain. This was her fault. If she had known what to do with her Cauldron magic she could have saved them, stopped them from being trapped in this place. Her sister died hating her. She never got to say she was sorry. You needn't fight anymore Nesta. You are so very tired aren't you? She felt her head nod at the question. Even though she was fighting to keep herself moving forward. She felt as though the fog around her in the dark had become hands, they wrapped around her chest, her throat. Her very existence.

Nesta my daughter, you are here. At last. Dread slithered through her veins and raised the hair on her arms at the familiar voice that stood just behind her. the breath of the woman's voice tickling her ear. She was stalled in her walking, her sword dropping completely to swing at her side as she looked over her shoulder. Looking for her mother. Nesta panted.

"Mother?" She called into the gloom. Her voice was childlike, hopeful. The sound of her voice was immediately swallowed though, it didn't even echo. Disappointment shot through her. She shook her head shutting her eyes as the whispers started anew while something made the shadows laugh. Nesta should have known it had been a trick. She should have anticipated the tricks the realm was likely to dish out. She had no desire to see her mother again. Not truly.

She tore herself forward, he wouldn't want her to relent. Who was he even? Someone important, he must be Nesta reasoned with herself. The pair of amber eyes that winked back at her when her eyes had been closed were all she could focus on and she put one foot in front of the other. Raising her sword slightly again to keep the light on the path.

The tip of her sword hit something solid. A wall. no a door. Nesta sheathed Ataraxia immediately and using both hands gripped the burning handle, and screamed. a torrent of sound as the pain of the grabbing the latch seared through her palms and arms, and into her very chest. the handle was made of ash wood, of something to kill her. She screamed and screamed. She called his name, begged for his help like a small child, shutting her eyes against the searing agony that was her whole body. With one inhale of breathe, and one exhale of the next. the pain vanished, and cool hair kissed her all over. She was gasping maybe convulsing. She was burning from the inside out. Her silver flames climbing up her arm. Turned against her.