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song of the chapter: black beauty by lana del rey
"you said if you could have your way, you'd make it nighttime all today"
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Spring had at last dawned on the human world, crocuses and daffodils poking their heads out of the thawed earth.
Only the eldest and the golden-haired queens came this time. They were escorted by just as many guards, however.
"We appreciate you taking the time to see us again," Rhys said with a nod.
The younger queen merely gave a little nod, her amber gaze leaping over to me, Cass, and Az, and on either side of the bay of windows where Elain and Nesta stood in their finery, Elain's garden in bloom behind them.
Mor stood on Rhys's other side, the onyx box containing the Veritas in her tan hands. The ancient queen, surveying us all with narrowed eyes, let out a huff.
"After being so gravely insulted the last time," A simmering glare thrown at Nesta. The fierce, beautiful girl leveled a look of pure, unyielding flame right back at her. The old woman clicked her tongue. "We debated for many days whether we should return. As you can see, three of us found the insult to be unforgivable."
"If that is the worst insult any of you have ever received in your lives, I'd say you're all in for quite a shock when war comes," Feyre retorted.
"So he won your heart after all, Cursebreaker," the youngest said to her.
"I do not think," Feyre said, "that it was mere coincidence that the Cauldron let us find each other on the eve of war returning between our two peoples."
"The Cauldron? And two peoples?" The golden one toyed with a ruby ring on her finger. "Our people do not invoke a Cauldron; our people do not have magic. The way I see it, there is your people—and ours. You are little better than those Children of the Blessed. What does happen to them when they cross the wall? Are they prey? Or are they used and discarded, and left to grow old and infirm while you remain young forever? Such a pity so unfair that you, Cursebreaker, received what all those fools no doubt begged for. Immortality, eternal youth What would Lord Rhysand have done if you had aged while he did not?"
Rhys said evenly, "Is there a point to your questions, other than to hear yourself talk?"
A low chuckle, and she turned to the ancient queen, her yellow dress rustling with the movement. The old woman simply extended a wrinkled hand to the box in Mor's slender fingers.
"Is that the proof we asked for?"
Before Mor could so much as nod, Feyre said, "Is my love for the High Lord not proof enough of our good intentions? Does my sisters' presence here not speak to you? There is an iron engagement ring upon my sisters finger—and yet she stands with us."
"I would say that it is proof of her idiocy," the golden one sneered, "to be engaged to a Fae-hating man and to risk the match by associating with you."
"Do not," Nesta hissed with quiet venom, "judge what you know nothing about." Part of me was irritated, but the other part of me understood her need to defend her little sister.
"The viper speaks again," the golden one said. I bjy down the anger that rose in my chest. She raised her brows at Feyre. "Surely the wise move would have been to have her sit this meeting out."
"She offers up her house and risks her social standing for us to have these meetings," Feyre said. "She has the right to hear what is spoken in them. To stand as a representative of the people of these lands. They both do."
The crone interrupted the younger before she could reply, and again waved that wrinkled hand at Mor. "Show us, then. Prove us wrong."
The silver orb inside glimmered like a star under glass. "This is the Veritas," Mor said in a voice that was young and old. "The gift of my first ancestor to our bloodline. Only a few times in the history of Prythian have we used it—have we unleashed its truth upon the world."
She lifted the orb from its velvet nest. It was no larger than a ripe apple, and fit within her cupped palms as if her entire body, her entire being, had been molded for it.
"Truth is deadly. Truth is freedom. Truth can break and mend and bind. The Veritas holds in it the truth of the world. I am the Morrigan," she said, her eyes not wholly of this earth. "You know I speak truth."
She set the Veritas onto the carpet. Both queens leaned in.
But it was Rhys who said, "You desire proof of our goodness, our intentions, so that you may trust the Book in our hands?" The Veritas began pulsing, a web of light spreading with each throb. "There is a place within my lands. A city of peace. And art. And prosperity. As I doubt you or your guards will dare pass through the wall, then I will show it to you—show you the truth of these words, show you this place within the orb itself."
Mor stretched out a hand, and a pale cloud swirled from the orb, merging with its light as it drifted past their ankles.
The queens flinched, the guards edging forward with hands on their weapons. But the clouds continued roiling as the truth of it, of Velaris, leaked from the orb, from whatever it dragged up from Mor, from Rhys. From the truth of the world. And in the gray gloom, a picture appeared.
It was Velaris, as seen from above—as seen by Rhys, flying in. A speck in the coast, but as he dropped down, the city and the river became clearer, vibrant.
Then the image banked and swerved, as if Rhys had flown through his city just this morning. It shot past boats and piers, past the homes and streets and theaters. Past the Rainbow of Velaris, so colorful and lovely in the new spring sun. People, happy and thoughtful, kind and welcoming, waved to him.
Moment after moment, images of the Palaces, of the restaurants, of the House of Wind. All of it—all of that secret, wondrous city.
And I could have sworn that there was love in that image. I could not explain how the Veritas conveyed it, but the colors I understood the colors, and the light, what they conveyed, what the orb somehow picked up from whatever link it had to Rhys's memories.
The illusion faded, color and light and cloud sucked back into the orb.
"That is Velaris," Rhys said. "For five thousand years, we have kept it a secret from outsiders. And now you know. That is what I protect with the rumors, the whispers, the fear. Why I fought for your people in the War—only to begin my own supposed reign of terror once I ascended my throne, and ensured everyone heard the legends about it. But if the cost of protecting my city and people is the contempt of the world, then so be it."
The two queens were gaping at the carpet as if they could still see the city there. Mor cleared her throat.
"We will consider."
"There is no time to consider," Mor countered. "Every day lost is another day that Hybern gets closer to shattering the wall."
"We will discuss amongst our companions, and inform you at our leisure."
"Do you not understand the risks you take in doing so?" Rhys said, no hint of condescension. "Only
—only perhaps shock. You need this alliance as much as we do."
"Did you think we would be moved by your letter, your plea?" She jerked her chin to the guard closest, and he reached into his armor to pull out a folded letter. The old woman read, "I write to you not as a High Lord, but as a male in love with a woman who was once human. I write to you to beg you to act quickly. To save her people—to help save my own. I write to you so one day we might know true peace. So I might one day be able to live in a world where the woman I love may visit her family without fear of hatred and reprisal. A better world."
"Who is to say that this is not all some grand manipulation?"
"What?" Mor blurted.
"A great many things have changed since the War. Since your so-called friendships with our ancestors. Perhaps you are not who you say you are. Perhaps the High Lord has crept into our minds to make us believe you are the Morrigan."
"This is the talk of madwomen. Of arrogant, stupid fools," Nesta said softly.
Elain grabbed for Nestas hand to silence her. But Nesta stalked forward a step, face white with rage.
"Give them the Book. Give them the Book."
"No," the eldest queen hissed.
But Nesta went on, flinging out an arm to encompass us, the room, the world, "There are innocent people here. In these lands. If you will not risk your necks against the forces that threaten us, then grant those people a fighting chance. Give my sister the Book."
The anger in her eyes was petrifying. I stared at her in awe, unable to look away despite to rage that was flowing from her.
"An evacuation may be possible—"
"You would need ten thousand ships," Nesta said, her voice breaking. "You would need an armada. I have calculated the numbers. And if you are readying for war, you will not send your ships to us. We are stranded here."
"Then I suggest asking one of your winged males to carry you across the sea, girl."
"Please," Nesta pleaded, the broken word ripped through me. "Please—do not leave us to face this alone."
When I looked in her eyes, I saw her desperation. My heart broke. I crossed to Nesta, the guards stiffening as I moved through them.
I studied Nesta for a long moment. She was still glaring at the queens, her eyes lined with tears—tears of rage and despair, from that fire that burned her so violently from within. When she finally noticed me, she looked up to meet my eyes.
"Five hundred years ago, I fought on battlefields not far from this house. I fought beside human and faerie alike, bled beside them. I will stand on that battlefield again, Nesta Archeron, to protect this house—your people. I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it most."
I watched a tear slide down Nesta's cheek. I reached up a scarred hand to wipe it away. She did not flinch from my touch.
Nesta swallowed and at last turned away from me. I stared at the girl a moment longer before facing the queens. Without signal, the two women rose.
"Is it a sum you're after?" Mor demanded. "Name your price, then."
The golden queen snorted as their guards closed in around them. "We have all the riches we need. We will now return to our palace to deliberate with our sisters."
"Youre already going to say no," Mor pushed.
"Perhaps. We appreciate the gesture of your trust."
Then they were gone. Mor swore. I turned to Rhys, but his eyes were on the chair where the golden queen had been seated.
Beneath it, somehow hidden by her voluminous skirts while she'd sat, was a box. A box, that she must have removed from wherever she was hiding it when she'd leaned down to pick up her handkerchief.
The voice of the second and final piece of the Book filled the room, sang out.
Life and death and rebirth
Sun and moon and dark
Rot and bloom and bones
Hello, sweet thing. Hello, lady of night, princess of decay. Hello, fanged beast and trembling fawn. Love me, touch me, sing me.
Rhys smoothly picked it up and set it on the golden queens chair. Rhys flipped back the lid. A note lay atop the golden metal of the book.
"I read your letter. About the woman you love. I believe you. And I believe in peace. I believe in a better world. If anyone asks, you stole this during the meeting. Do not trust the others. The sixth queen was not ill."
"It is your choice, ladies, whether you wish to remain here, or come with us," Rhys told the mortal girls. "You have heard the situation at hand. You have done the math about an evacuation." A nod of approval as he met Nestas gray-blue stare. "Should you choose to remain, a unit of my soldiers will be here within the hour to guard this place. Should you wish to come live with us in that city we just showed them, Id suggest packing now."
Nesta looked to Elain, still silent and wide-eyed. Elain thumbed the iron ring on her finger.
"It is your choice," Nesta said with unusual gentleness.
Elain swallowed, a doe caught in a snare. "I—I cant."
"The sentries will be here, and remain unseen and unfelt. They will look after themselves. Should you change your minds, one will be waiting in this room every day at noon and at midnight for you to speak. My home is your home. Its doors are always open to you," Rhys said.
Nesta looked between Rhys and me, then to Feyre. Despair still paled her face, but she bowed her head. And said to Feyre, "That was why you painted stars on your drawer."