𝙳𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚎(𝙰𝙲𝙾𝚃𝙰𝚁)

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞-𝖋𝖎𝖛𝖊

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

      I'd barely been able to sleep that night. Partly from worry of what Nesta had told us, but also because my room was next to Morrigan's, and she and Helion were at it all night.

     Mor didn't look like a female who had been tumbling with a gorgeous High Lord, however, as she picked at her breakfast. There was something vacant in her brown eyes, a paleness to her ordinarily golden skin.

     I wondered why she still went to bed with males. Even as a teenager, she'd told me of her preference for females. I figured it was a way to distract herself.

"You look terrible—Helion keep you up all night?" Cassian joked to her as he strode in.

    She threw her spoon at him. Then her porridge. Cassian caught the first and shielded against the other, his Siphon blazing like an awakening ember. Porridge slid to the floor.

"Helion wanted you to join," she mildly replied, refilling her tea. "Quite badly."

"Maybe next time," Cassian said, dropping into the seat beside Feyre.

"Is Nesta doing alright?" I wondered, poking at my porridge with my spoon.

"She seemed fine—still worried," Feyre replied.

"Ready for another day full of arguing and plotting?" Eve beamed at us.

      Mor and Feyre grumbled, and I rolled my eyes. Rhys strode in and grinned. "Thats the spirit."

      After breakfast, Eve and I went up to her room to decide what to wear. She let me borrow a modest black dress.

      Eve, however, did not dress modestly. I'd thought her outfit the previous day was just to shock and anger Beron, but maybe I was wrong.

"Where was Az all night?" I asked her as we dressed.

"I don't know," she replied quietly. "I'm scared to ask. And he knows I hate when he puts himself in danger, even though it's his job."

"I know, dulzura," I said quietly, rubbing her shoulder. "I hate it, too."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

      Helion was back to his edged, swaggering aloofness, lounging in his chair as we entered that lovely chamber atop one of the palaces many gilded towers. He gave Mor an extra glance, lips curving in sensual amusement. He was resplendent today in robes of cobalt edged in gold that offset his gleaming brown skin, golden sandals upon his feet.

     Thesan was the only person who bothered to greet us when we passed through that wisteriadraped archway, but he took one look at our attire, our faces, and muttered a prayer to the Cauldron.

     His lover, clad in his captains armor once more, sized us up, his wings flaring slightly, but kept seated with the other Peregryns.

     Tamlin arrived last, raking his gaze over all of us as he sat.

"I thoroughly reviewed the charts and figures youve compiled, Tamlin," Helion spoke.

"And?" Tamlin bit out.

"And," Helion said simply, no trace of the laughing, easy male of the night before, "if you can rally your forces quickly, you and Tarquin might be able to hold the front line long enough for those of us above the Middle to bring the larger hosts."

"Its not that easy," Tamlin said through his teeth. "I have a third of them left. After Feyre destroyed their faith in me."

      Nesta let out a breathy, sharp noise and surged from her chair.

     Feyre lunged for her, nearly tripping over the skirts of her dress as she staggered back, a hand clutching at her chest. Another step would have taken her stumbling into the reflection pool, but I sprang forward, gripping her.

"Whats wrong?" I demanded, holding Nesta upright as her face contorted in what looked to be—pain. Confusion and pain. Sweat beaded on Nestas brow, though her face went deathly pale.

"Something--" The word was cut off by a low groan. She sagged, and I caught her fully, scanning Nestas face.

"Nesta," Feyre said, reaching for her.

     Nesta seized—then twisted past me to empty her stomach into the reflection pool.

"Poison?" Kallias asked, pushing Viviane behind him. She merely stepped around his arm. Tamlin remained seated, his jaw a hard line, monitoring us all.

     But Helion and Thesan strode forward, grim and focused. Helions power flickered around him like blindingly bright fireflies, darting to Nesta, landing on her gently.

     Thesan, glowing gold and rosy, laid a hand on Nestas arm. Healing.

"Nothing," they said together.

     Nesta rested her head against my shoulder, her breathing ragged. "Something is wrong," she managed to say. "Not with me. Not me."

     But with the Cauldron.

     Rhys was having some sort of silent conversation with Azriel and Cassian. But the two Illyrians nodded to Rhys, and began stalking for the open windows—to fly out.

      Nesta moaned, body tensing as if she'd vomit again.

      But then we felt it.

      A shuddering through the earth. Through air and stone and green, growing things. As if some great god blew a breath across the land.

      Then the impact came.

      I gripped Nesta close to me to keep her steady. Mor and Eve clutched onto each other, and Rhys threw himself over Feyre.

     Then it stopped.

     Screaming rose up from the valley below. But silence reigned in the palace. Amongst us.

     Nesta vomited again, and I held her hair back, keeping her on her feet.

"What in hell—" Helion began.

     But Rhys hauled his body off Feyre's, his tan face draining of color. His lips going bloodless as he stared southward. Far, far southward.

"The King of Hybern just used the Cauldron to attack the wall."

    Murmuring—some gasps. Rhys swallowed a third time. "The wall is gone. Shattered. Across Prythian, and on the continent. We were too late—too slow. Hybern just destroyed the wall."