A Court Of Shadow and Blood

☆ Rising from the Ashes ☆

"Tell me where you got the information or your other hand will be crushed as well," the High Lord of the Night Court bit out between bared teeth. Keir frowned with disdain.

"Right," he said, "the information you so sorely seek was found by some spies of my own. I had them placed into the Keep of Hybern shortly after the King was killed during the last war." Keir mirrored Rhysand's pose, leaning forward. "Two can play this game, Rhysand. But which one of us is better?" he taunted, tilting his head to the side with a predatory stare. He waved for a drink.

Feyre said vehemently through blood red lips, "That will not be necessary." The servant who had obediently stepped forward froze mid-step, their teal gaze dancing between Steward and High Lady. At Feyre's surprisingly harsh glance, the servant stepped back. "You will do good to remember to care for the hands that feed you Keir, and the ones who ultimately control you."

As if in answer, Keir stiffened, a claw sliding against his mental barrier in warning. The steward looked to Rhysand, nostrils flaring. Rhysand noticed his gaze, his face hardening, eyes turning merciless.

"The information," he prompted with a lazy wave of his hand, leaning back into his chair and accepting the drink that Keir was supposed to have. Anger rippled from the male, his teeth gritting together. Rhysand raised a groomed brow, taking a sip to taper off the red-hot brand of his own temper.

"Of course, High Lord." The steward looked to another servant and nodded tightly, waiting in silence as the fae disappeared. Shortly after, they returned, a small length of parchment pinched between their spindly fingers. Keir took it and waved the servant away, ungraciously tossing it to the High Lord. Even as Rhysand deftly caught it, Mor snarled a warning, taking a step towards her father. Keir didn't spare a single glance for her and instead kept his gaze focused on the High Lord, settling back into his role.

Rhysand's eyes scanned the paper before he handed it to Feyre, whose face tightened imperceptibly as she, too, read it. As Mor held the note in her hands, her father spoke up.

"So, the High King of Hybern is dead, but his wife has stepped out of hiding to take control of the kingdom," he said with infinite boredom, shoulders and posture relaxed once more.

"Not only that," Mor whispered, rich brown eyes guttering, "but an army rising with them."

***

The meeting had ended shortly after that, the Third in Command glaring at her father as she disappeared in a wisp of shadows to alert the others of the Court. The High Lord and Lady had eked out as much information from the Steward before exiting into the cold mountains outside of the Hewn City. They whipped into darkness much as Mor had-winnowing into the clear sky above the granite mountains. There, they plummeted but for a second when two sets of Illyrian wings swept out and they glided.

"Hybern had been stomped out in the war," Feyre muttered into the whipping wind. "Perhaps it was wishful of me, but I had hoped for the rest of our life to be without Hybern breathing down our necks." Rhys let his wing brush against hers' in comfort.

"We should have guessed the King also had a Queen," he said, looking down upon the mountains and their deathly beauty. "No man as cunning as him would leave his throne just like that." He sighed, violet eyes tracing his lands.

The shadowed mountains and spiraling gusts of snow soon led into Velaris, the City of Starlight. Even now, in the deep of the night, it shone bright as the moon, the sparkling of marble bridges and merriment of roaming fae visible to them. Rhys's eyes softened, starlight reflecting into them. But there was also a sadness there, one of compromised control and not-withstanding peace.

"You couldn't have known, Rhys. It's not your fault whatsoever." She met his gaze. "No one knew," Feyre amended. Rhys nodded absently, stuffing the feeling down before his violet eyes took on a contemplative approach.