A Court Of Shadow and Blood

☆ Rising from the Ashes ☆

Wind whipped at the trio even from the base of the mountain, where snow and rocky crags were the only thing to see for miles. A mammoth set of doors raised well above their heads, however it was expertly hidden among the bleak expanse of the mountain face. The guards cloaked in winter camouflage paid no attention to their High Lord and Lady as they passed. Behind them, their Third in Command, Mor, was striding along with them. They stepped between the towering doors with an air of disdain, entering into the deathly Court of Nightmares.

The High Lady was accustomed to the rough beauty of the scenery-having seen, dealt, and managed the cold place-but it still managed to take her breath away. Stone-carved homes and bridges rose above them in the hollowed mountain, small rivers and streams of crystal-clear mountain water running along indents in the granite walls. Pillars carved with flowers twining around them supported the cavernous city, the spires of buildings rivaling them for height. And while the place retained a warm heat of crackling fire, the fae of the court remained icy as the spin-drifts outside toward their rulers.

Rhysand, the High Lord of Night, was clothed in his typical black attire, the silvery threads of stitching appearing to be starlight-no doubt a hint of his ancestry and magic. There were no bat wings or talons of the Illyrian war tribe apparent in his devastating countenance; only a mask so unreadable and cold, it could've been one of the many carvings harshly tracing the cavern walls.

His wife, mate, and High Lady of Night, Feyre, walked with him, their arms intertwined even as their steps were imperious. The cobalt silk of her dress was almost iridescent, for she was the shimmering in-between of day and night to Rhysand. Feyre's painted features were as artfully crafted as the mask she, too, wore. Even Mor-shining and brilliant Mor-was dark and humorless in her scandalous robes.

The delightful scent of roasting meats arose from within the throne room, steaming and waiting to be eaten by the gathering crowd of high fae. The High Lord and Lady, as well as the Third in Command, passed the wide, carved arch of the throne room without a glance to their people inside, instead stepping into a side room, one dominated by an obsidian table that seemed to absorb light.

As soon as they did, the High Lord allowed a dark slither of power through the room-imposing a strong, back-snapping resolve upon the main occupant. The hollowing confines of cave walls pressed down on the assembled group, a light of grapevine glass draping over the table. It illuminated the face of Keir, who languorously sat at the head of the strip of obsidian.

"Keir," Rhysand said by way of greeting to the male, voice as scathing as his violet stare. The High Lord and Lady settled into the table opposite the steward, Morrigan pressing into the shadowed enclave of the walls as an observer.

Keir's dark eyes danced with faint amusement at the sight of his daughter, such an expression so vastly dark it was hard to look into. The steward of the Hewn City merely smirked and leaned back in his chair, hardly more than a whisper of sound. The hard lines of his face could be considered handsome, were it not for the horrible sneer that permanently twisted the pale skin.

"High Lord, have you received the news, then?" His light-depraved brown eyes flicked to the High Lady, then to the form of his daughter behind her. The Morrigan straightened at his gaze, but snarled nonetheless at the apparent threat. Keir's smile spread, and looked at Rhysand.

"Yes." The High Lord braced his elbows on the obsidian table, leaning forward. "Where did you get this information?"

"My, it seems as if the High Lord hasn't been properly informed by his spymaster," the male replied. His eyes swept the room once more. "It appears he isn't even here, High Lord. Perhaps he is stealing another relic with the tiny demon like the last time you visited. If you were wondering, my hand has healed since then, even after Mor's extra visit-"