A Court of Shadows and Promises

Broken Pieces

Darkness and fear. They coiled around my heart, clenching it tightly until I couldn't breathe. Until there was no possible way for me to get away. Fingers gripped me, dragging me down and down in a never-ending spiral. If I fell to the bottom, there would be no hope of coming back up. I'd be stuck in the same cycle for the rest of my extended existence. The thought of that was worse than death.

I jolted upright in my bed, my breaths short and ragged. Silvery moonlight poured in through the large window, as I hadn't bothered to pull the curtains shut before falling asleep. The room was dark, but empty. There was no reason for the erratic speed at which my heart was thundering.

Shaking my head as if that would rid me of the remaining nightmare fragments, I dragged myself upright and padded into the hallway. The house was near silent. I quietly made my way up to one of the larger patios, wanting to sit out in the cool night air.

It was to my surprise that Rhysand was already there, leaning against the balcony. He didn't say anything as I approached and I draped myself over the railing, eyeing him. His eyes were downcast, shoulders tense. Had he been in bed as well and came up to the house to get away from his own personal hell? Or maybe he was plagued by the burden of being High Lord, unable to really get away from the heavy responsibility.

He had stopped moping about the blood rubies that Tarquin had sent for him, Feyre, and Amren days ago. The gems were a death promise that now hung over their heads for the treachery they had committed at the Summer Court. Not that it couldn't still be bothering him, but I doubted that was the issue. Not with an all too familiar expression on his face.

The stars glimmered against the dark sky. If it wasn't so cold, it would be worth a nighttime flight. Rhys was utterly still beside me, and I wondered if he was even breathing.

"Do the nightmares come every night," I wondered softly, keeping my gaze forward, "Or sporadically? Mine are nearly every night."

We hadn't directly talked about the shared trauma we had experienced due Hybern. Perhaps he didn't want to talk about it at all. I wouldn't blame him. He shifted, the rustling of his clothes the only sound indicating that he had moved. His voice was quiet and hoarse as he answered.

"They're frequent enough."

I nodded, the silence stretching between us again. Taking a deep breath, I spoke again.

"Sometimes- Sometimes, it's Namor. Or someone else. The king," I shrugged, thrumming my fingers against the hard surface beneath them, "Other times it's... It's the people I killed. Doesn't matter who. The guilty. The innocents. I dream of them all, whether they deserved it or not. No matter how many times I see the same thing, I still wake, not fully regretting what I did. What does that make me?"

A heartbeat passed, my body tense and wound at the admission. His gaze finally shifted to mine as he answered, "I think it makes you a survivor." I blinked, my mouth twisting at his words.

He continued, his voice still quiet, but more assured now. "Most of the time it's Amarantha," his eyes guttered as they connected with my own once more, "It used to be you. And mother. Those nightmares have died down at the recent turn of events." His tone was laced with the barest amusement at that. "Sometimes it's my own failure to our people. The list is too long. It makes me- hesitant, to sleep anymore."

I couldn't remember if I had ever seen Rhysand cry. This was probably the closest I had ever seen him to that. My hand slid over, twisting around his in comfort. I gave a light squeeze.

"We're just barely making it by, huh?" I mused, my voice falling flat. "We're both only a semblance of what we used to be before all of our broken pieces were forced back together."

He let out a huff of agreement. Neither of us spoke for a while. Witnessing the sadness that lingered in his expression- I'd do anything to erase it. So that he hadn't been trapped for the last fifty years. And I was sure, so sure that he hadn't enlightened the others about what he had gone through. At least, not to the extent at which he had.

Feyre likely knew. She had been there, under that dreadful mountain. And I noticed the way Rhys acted around her. I suspected he was in love with her. Or at least falling in love with her. And maybe that was indication enough that there was hope, even after everything we'd endured. The possibility of love and joy.

I swallowed, unsure whether to ask my next question, but forcing myself anyway, "Is it easy or wrong, you think, to try to move on? To want love?"

The downturn of his mouth told me he understood my real meaning beneath it. Are we wrong for wanting intimacy and affection after suffering at more ill-intentioned hands? Even after the countless baths and scrubbing, a deep part of me sometimes felt dirty. Like the grime was a permanent stain on my soul.

This time he gave my hand a squeeze. "No. To want that... It isn't wrong. Maybe it indicates strength more than anything. There is no wrong answer. Don't feel pressured to anything you don't want. And if you do, don't feel guilty for that, either. Everyone heals at their own pace, in different ways."

I mulled over his words, grateful for them more than I thought I would be.

"Though, as your older brother," he smirked, his violet eyes narrowing, "I'd obviously prefer if you stayed away from any romantic interests."

My laugh was too loud in the empty space, and I shoved him halfheartedly with a shake of my head. Leave it to him. No doubt part of that was related to any guilt he felt for my early demise. He had no reason to blame himself.

"Don't start with me, Rhys," I warned in amusement, keeping to the now lightened mood, "I'm much too old for all that nonsense."

"Maybe so, but you'll get it nonetheless."

We stayed a bit longer before we both parted, Rhys comforted enough to head to bed finally. He had been so open with me tonight. Part of me was curious if he'd ever show this side of himself to the others. Or if he thought it would be too much of a burden. Either way, I'd make sure he knew he could unload it onto me. No matter what truths or wounds it drug up.