Cassian shrugged, "Rhys's power grew every day—and everyone, even the camp lords knew he could mist everyone if he felt like it. And the two of us...we weren't far behind." He tapped his crimson siphon, "A bastard Illyrian had never received one of these. Ever. For Az and me to both be appointed them, albeit begrudgingly, had every warrior in every camp sizing us up. Only pure-blood pricks get siphons—born and bred for the killing power. It still keeps them up at night, puzzling over where the hell we got it from."
"Then the War came," Azriel took over, "And Rhys's father visited our camp to see how his son had fared after twenty years."
"My father," Rhys said, twirling his wine, "saw that his son had not only started to rival him for power but had allied himself with perhaps the two deadliest Illyrians in history. He got it into his head that if we were given a legion in the War, we might very well turn it against him when we returned."
Cassian snickered, "So the prick separated us. He gave Rhys command of a legion of Illyrians who hated him for being a half-breed and threw me into a different legion to be a common foot soldier, even when my power outranked any of the war leaders. Az, he kept as his personal shadowsinger—mostly for spying and his dirty work. We only saw each other on the battlefields for the seven years the War raged. They'd send around casualty lists amongst the Illyrians, and I read each one, wondering if I'd see their names on it. But then Rhys was captured—"
"That is a story for another time," Rhys said sharply enough that Cassian raised his brows. Confusion raced through me and I looked at the High Lord. His violet eyes met mine, and I wondered if it was true starlight that flickered in him as he spoke, "Once I became High Lord, I appointed these four to my Inner Circle, and I told the rest of my father's old court that if they had a problem with my friends, they could leave. They all did. Turns out, having a half-breed High Lord was made worse by his appointment of two females and two Illyrians bastards."
"What-what happened to them then?" Feyre asked.
Rhys shrugged, his wings shifting with the movement, "The nobility of the Night Court fall into three categories: Those who hated me enough that when Amarantha took over, they joined her court and later found themselves dead; those who hated me enough to try and overthrow me and faced the consequences; and those who hated me, but not enough to be stupid and have since tolerated a half-breeds rule, especially when it so rarely interferes with their miserable lives."
"And they're the ones who live beneath the mountain?" I took my turn with the questions.
A nod. "In the Hewn City, yes. I gave it to them, for not being fools. They're happy to stay there, rarely leaving, ruling themselves and being as wicked as they please, for all eternity."
"The Court of Nightmares," Mor said.
"And what is this Court?" I asked looking around the table and the people who sat at it.
It was Cassian, his eyes bright as day as he spoke, "The Court of Dreams."
"And you?" Feyre asked, looking between Mor and Amren.
Amren merely said, "Rhys offered to make me his Second. No one had ever asked me before, so I said yes, to see what it might be like. I found I enjoyed it."
Mor leaned back in her seat, a reminiscing smile playing on her features, "I was a dreamer born into the Court of Nightmares," she said. She twisted her blonde hair around her finger, "So I got out."
"What are your stories then?" Cassian asked us as his eyes flickered between us.
I looked at Rhys, I assumed Rhys had told them everything. He just shrugged. Irreverent as always.
Feyre straightened on my right, "We were born to a wealthy merchant family with two older sisters—though Dani's older than me by a year—and parents who only cared about their money and social standing. Our mother died when I was eight; my father lost his fortune three years later. He sold everything to pay off his debts, moved us into a hovel, and didn't bother to find work while he let us slowly starve for years. I was fourteen when the last of the money ran out, along with the food. He wouldn't work—couldn't because the debtors came and shattered his leg in front of us. So I went into the forest and taught myself to hunt while Dani..." She trailed off as she looked at me. I shook my head sternly. I didn't really want the people I night form an alliance with to know that I killed people—sometimes their kind—for a living just so that I could provide for my family. "We kept our family alive, if not near-starvation at times, for five years. Until...everything happened." Her last words were quiet as she spoke.
They fell quiet again, Azriels gaze assessing as his eyes landed on me. He looked like he was about to say something when Cassian spoek first, "You taught yourself to hunt. What about to fight?" Feyre shook her head and Cassian braced his arms on the table, "Lucky for you, you've just found yourself a teacher." I small smile played on my lips because I thought the words were aimed at both of us. I'd love to see the look on his face when I knocked him on his ass just as I'd threatened to earlier.
Feyre spoek softly then, "You don't think it sends a bad message if people see me learning to fight—using weapons?"
Silence.
Mor spoke then with a soft venom in her voice, "Let me tell you two things. As someone who has perhaps been in your shoes before." Again that shared bond of anger radiated between them all. "One," Mor said, "You have left the Spring Court. If that does not send a message, for good or bad, then your training will not, either. Two," I once lived in a place where the opinion of others mattered. It suffocated me, nearly broke me. So you'll understand me Feyre, both of you," her eyes found mine too, "when I say that I know what you feel, and I know what they tried to do to you both, and that with enough courage, you can say to hell with reputation." Her voice gentled, "You do what you love, what you need."
Silence coated the table once Mor as her words sunk in. They were true. I knew that. But my sister needed them most.
But then a voice dark as night cut through the silence, "And what about you?" I looked at Azriel, my eyes meeting with his hazel ones.
"What do you mean?" I questioned.
He looked between Feyre and I, no doubt noting the unmistakable differences between us, "Whats your story?" he asked, and my blood turned to ice in my veins.
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A/N: ITS HERE ITS HERE