A Court of Kingdoms and Ash: An ACOTAR and TOG Crossover

Wingbeats

Feyre was tired.

Months and months after the Solstice had ended, her duties were plaguing her with full force. There was always something to do—organizing Keir's visits to Velaris, traveling to the Hewn City and the Illyrian mountains, sending letters to Lucien and his interesting group of friends to try and kindle diplomacy with the humans, visiting other courts to settle on a treaty...

It seemed like nothing was getting done, either.

She sat in her office at the River-house, attempting to fill out some stray paperwork that should have been done days ago, but her mind wasn't working. With a huff, she lowered her pen, standing and crossing to the window to look up at the star-studded sky. The cool evening breeze drifted through the open pane, gently ruffling the light navy curtains on either side. For once, the beauty of Velaris failed to make her feel any better.

She was upset enough after her confrontation with Nesta a few days ago. Cassian has wasted no time; the two had left immediately for the mountains after finding proper clothing and supplies for Nesta.

Feyre knew her sister needed to be sent away, no matter how much it pained her to give the order, and couldn't help but feel overwhelming guilt about Nesta's mental state. She should have reached out sooner, should have been more insistent, more understanding, rather than shoving Nesta to the back of her mind and forgetting about her, half-heartedly hoping she would be alright.

It wasn't your fault, Rhys whispered to her, obviously having been listening in. He and Mor were currently away on a short trip to the Summer court, and she couldn't wait until they returned next morning. She missed her mate, and the house had felt strangely empty all day. Elian had spent the day shopping for more gardening supplies, and Azriel and Amren of course had their share of work to do.

I know. But I should have—

You owe nothing to that bitch, he said, interrupting her, his voice icy. She deserves all her misery—

Calm down. What's wrong, Rhys? Do you miss fucking me so much that you're this frustrated? It's been three days, Feyre teased. She opted for humor to ease his mind. Tensions were high lately. They all needed to laugh a bit more.

She grinned at the responding growl and bid Rhys a goodnight, deciding to abandon her paperwork for another time. She padded to the bedroom and slipped into a set of loose night clothes, then cuddled under the strangely empty sheets, wishing Rhys were here. She wanted a day with him, just one day, all to themselves...

Done, Feyre. Your wish is my command. Tomorrow is our day.

But tomorrow we're supposed to—

Tomorrow we'll go up to the cabin, just you and me. Our day.

With Rhys's words echoing in her mind, Feyre smiled, drifting off to sleep.

◌ ◌ ◌

Feyre woke up suddenly, her mind hazy as she sat up. It was still dark out. How long had she been asleep?

She glanced towards the other side of the bedroom and her heart stopped.

It was Elain, standing silently beside the door. She looked white under the starlight, and she stood very still, her eyes wide. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and she was so pale, much too pale.

"Elain?" Feyre whispered, worry gripping her as she climbed out of bed and went to her sister's side. She carefully embraced her, and Elain began to sob, collapsing against Feyre.

"I—I didn't know. I didn't know! Please Feyre, don't go. I'm so sorry," she sobbed, sinking to the floor. Feyre carefully helped her to the ground, sitting her against wall.

"Tell me what happened," she said, her voice soft. "Did you have another nightmare?"

"No!" She cried loudly in response, her voice growing more anguished as she clung to her sister. "Please, Feyre!"

Azriel appeared in the doorway, watching in silence.

Ghosts from the past haunted all of them, but Feyre had thought that Elain was making fantastic progress. With a close friend in Azriel and time to cultivate her garden, she was smiling again, save for a few intermittent nightmares.

But there hadn't ever been anything like this.

Feyre looked to Azriel, at a loss for what to do.

And then she heard it.

It was quiet at first, like the sound of distant thunder, a soft, slow rumble.

Elain had stopped sobbing, unmoving, gripping Feyre's hand as tears dripped off her chin.

The noise slowly grew louder, until its source became obvious.

Wingbeats.

Thousands of them.