𝔸 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕎𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕙 (Book 2)

Hundred-Thirty

No.

Amren's voice filtered through the air, swearing at the damage done to Cassian wings. Rhys knew he should care. Should be in agony for his brother, his friend, but...but his mate was in Hybern's hands.

Without him. Because she had made him leave her. Because he had left her there.

It was wrong. Everything about this was wrong and a part of him hoped he would wake up from this sick and twisted nightmare at any moment. Prayed he would and that this was a wicked dream.

But Rhys did not wake. Stuck in this reality of unending pain.

Gods. The Flame. Her friends. Her sisters. The Cauldron. All of it. It was unending, this agony.

"Where is she?" Amren demanded, and Feyre looked up. But Rhys was in a haze, his vision blurring as if was all he could do to keep himself standing and conscious.

Rhys said breathily, "Get the Book out of here." He tossed it onto the ground. He couldn't stand it. He hated the touch of them, their madness and despair and joy.

Amren ignored the order.

Mor was not yet there, likely with Danika's sisters wherever his mate had placed them.

"Where. is. She?" Amren growled, placing a hand to Cassian's ravaged back. Rhys knew she wasn't talking about Mor.

But—but Rhys didn't think he could even begin to fathom words. Didn't think he could do anything other than hyperventilate as he leaned his back against the wall.

He had left her. She had sacrificed her free will for them. Would bow to Hybern to keep them safe. Would...no...no that did not sound like her at all.

Danika Archeron was not one to kneel. Was not one simply give up...she was planning something. She had to be. Rhys chose to believe that rather than the nauseating alternative.

The High Lord of the Night Court surveyed those around him. His bloody, and tattered friends. Mor's panic, the way Feyre seemed to not be breathing. Amren's anger.

You are High Lord, he told himself, They depend on you. They depend on you.

Rhys forced his eyes open. He was High Lord. He had to act like it.

Steeling himself, Rhys peeled himself from the wall, trying his best to be what they needed. To be what they required in this moment as he always did.

He needed to be what they needed because he feared if he didn't...there would be no coming back from the ravaged pile of thoughts he would become.

He needed to find her. He needed to get to her. He needed her.

His cousin appeared not a second later—panting, haggard. She dropped to the floor before Azriel, her blood caked hands shaking as she ripped the arrow free of his chest, blood showering the carpet. She shoved her fingers over the wound, light flaring as her power knit bone and flesh and vein together.

"Where is my sister?" Feyre raised her voice, as she dropped to Mor's side with a shuddering breath. Her light blue eyes roaming over the blonde female as if it was every bit the relief he wished he felt.

He couldn't bring himself to say the words. Not to Feyre. Not to Amren. Not even to himself.

So Mor said them for him as she knelt over his spymaster, both of his brothers mercifully unconscious. "Tamlin offered passage through his lands and our heads on a platter in exchange for Feyre and Danika, breaking Dani and Rhys's bond, and bringing them both back to Spring Court. Ianthe betrayed Tamlin—told the king where to find their sisters. The King had already made soldiers from the Flame immortal, but...as living proof to the queens. He put the into the Cauldron. We could do nothing as they were turned. He had us by the balls. And then—" Mor choked, swallowing the words. Feyre became an unmoving statue.