𝐂 𝐎 𝐒 𝐌 𝐈 𝐂 𝐋 𝐎 𝐕 𝐄 !
𝙲 𝙷 𝙰 𝙿 𝚃 𝙴 𝚁 𝚃 𝚆 𝙴 𝙽 𝚃 𝚈 !
( 𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔞𝔨𝔢 ! )
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⬩❖⬩ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐀 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐅𝐄𝐘𝐑𝐄'𝐒 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍. As part of the bargain made between Ana and Amarantha, Feyre was to be treated like any other member of the court⎯a room with a nice bed and a bathroom, three meals a day, and no harm from the guards of any kind. Meaning in order for Ana to reach Feyre's room, she had to slip soundlessly through the dungeons and hallways, blending with the shadows to keep the other faeries from spotting her.
Ana knew Feyre was hurt. There was no doubt in her mind after hearing the cry of pain from the Archeron at the end of the task. And, with how dirty she'd been, Ana knew that her wound was infected. It had to have been, what with the mixture of shit and mud that had been caked on her body like a second skin. She knew no one would heal the wound for her. Not even Lucien, who was currently going through hell for aiding Feyre in the last task. Meaning it was up to Ana to heal her friend before she gave into the fever.
It took nearly an hour of searching for her to finally find Feyre's door. It looked like any other door in the long, stone-carved hall, but Ana knew. Call it intuition or the surge of warmth from her powers at the mere sight of the door, but she knew.
With a gentle knock against the wood, Ana pushed the door open and slipped inside. Every inch of her body was alive as her adrenaline rushed through her veins, eyes open and alert for any sign of trouble.
Finding Feyre was easy. The poor girl was laying on her back on the bed, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Her skin was pale and covered in sweat, hair a tangled mess atop her head. She was still dirty, not having taken a bath, and she seemed to be teetering on the edge of sleep. Feyre seemed completely unaware of Ana's presence, even as the blonde walked further into the room.
"Oh, Feyre." Ana rushed to her side, immediately spotting the cause of her problems. One of the bone shards had impaled the flesh of her arm. The gash was red and swollen, puss and blood leaking from it. Definitely infected. "How long have you been like this?"
Feyre moved her gaze to Ana, but she seemed as though she didn't believe the girl was there. "Are you real?"
Ana managed a smile and nodded. "As real as one can be." She pressed the back of her hand to Feyre's forehead and winced. "You're burning up. The infection's spreading fast. How could you let it get this bad?"
"I hadn't realized it was bad," Feyre said, shuffling into a seated position that made her skin grow even paler. "You're hurt."
Ana had forgotten all about her own set of injuries in her search for Feyre. Her skin was still littered with various markings, all still in the process of healing from the night before. But the pain was barely there, Ana having grown used to the constant stabbing and throbbing sensation after years of experience. She felt as normal as before the torture began, and while that would concern many, it barely captured Ana's attention. She had bigger things to worry about⎯Feyre dying, for one.
"I'll heal. I'll be fine. You, however, will not be if I don't take care of this quickly." Ana gave no room for protest as she left Feyre's side and searched the room for the bathroom.
The room was nice⎯well, as nice as a room under a mountain could be. It was spacious, with a crackling fireplace, a large bed, and a dresser of tunics and trousers. A mirror stood against one wall, a desk pressed against another. The door to the room had a lock, which Feyre no doubt used at all times, and another door was open to reveal a bathroom.
Ana quickly gathered the items she needed⎯a bowl of water, cloths, gauze, and a bucket. With her arms full, she took her spot at Feyre's side and gave her friend a look. "This will hurt for only a second. I have to clean the wound before I can heal it. Just try to stay still, okay?"
Feyre nodded and Ana got to work. She removed the shard of bone first, apologizing profusely as Feyre winced and whined. Once it was placed in the bucket, Ana could see the full extent of the wound. It was deep enough that Ana could see hints of Feyre's own bones, the muscle and tendon all torn and shredded. If Ana wasn't used to seeing worse, she would've definitely thrown up.
The blood had mostly congealed around the edges, but puss continued to flow freely. Ana dipped the cloth into the water and began cleaning, attempting to be as gentle as possible but also being as thorough as she could be. She wanted to ensure that the wound was clean before using any of her healing magic. It was how Shadowhunters were taught to tend wounds⎯always clean before using your Iratze.
With the blood and puss removed, and the bucket filled with dirty scraps of cloth, Ana placed her hands over the injury. She dug deep into her being, tugging on the power that flowed within her⎯that was a living and breathing part of her. Slowly, the skin of her hands began to glow, tendrils of gold encircling Feyre's arm and focusing on the injury. Ana kept tugging and tugging, a sense of freedom filling her as she let her power flow. Keeping it locked up while around the members of the court had taken a toll on her. It exhausted her and stressed her out. But letting it run free? It was a feeling she couldn't even begin to explain.
Once she was sure the wound was healed entirely, Ana let go of her hold on her power. The glow faded and the golden tendrils evaporated. Feyre's skin had stitched together, leaving no mark of a previous injury. Just smooth pale skin.
Ana gave her friend a smile. "Now, the fever should go quickly, as should the chills and pain. Once it's gone, wash up. Leaving all that muck on you will get you sick, and I don't know when I'll be able to visit you again."
Feyre was gaping at her arm, as if in disbelief. "You can heal?"
Ana nodded. "I was just as surprised when I found out myself." She stiffened at the sound of feet outside the door. "I have to go. I'll try and see you again, but I can't promise anything."
The Archeron nodded in understanding. "Thank you, Ana."
The blonde smiled. "Anytime, Feyre."
⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⬩❖⬩ ⎯⎯⎯⎯
"Oh, everyone in this fucking court has officially made my list."
Ana found herself kneeling before a fireplace, up to her elbows and knees in soot as she searched for lentils. Why someone would have a bowl of lentils near an unlit fireplace, Ana didn't know. In fact, she was pretty sure no one in their right mind would have a bowl of lentils near an unlit fireplace, but then again, the people of this court weren't in their right minds.
The guards had woken her from a rather nice sleep and dragged her to the room she was currently in, claiming that Amarantha wanted her to spend her days off from the bargain cleaning and doing manual labor. In their exact words, "If Feyre is to be treated like a guest, you will be working in her place to earn both yours and hers keep."
Never had Ana wanted murder to be legal in her life.
Teeth grinding against each other, Ana continued to pick through the ashes for the small beans that were officially her least favorite food group. She swore she'd never eat lentils again for as long as she lived. If she had to, she might throw a fit and burn whoever's house down. Call her dramatic, whatever, but she believed her reaction would be understandable.
"When those guards come back," she muttered to herself, "I'm going to skewer them with the fire poker. Maybe force them into cleaning the lentils out of the fire pit themselves. See how they like it."
In her frustration, she hadn't noticed the owner of the room enter⎯hadn't heard their soft footsteps nor the closing and opening of the door. It was only when the familiar, night-kissed voice sounded, that Ana knew she was no longer alone.
"As much as I love hearing you speak of murder, Ana darling," Rhys said, sprawled on the bed, his head propped up by a hand, "do I want to know why you're digging through my fireplace?"
Ana let out a relieved breath and turned, meeting his violet eyes filled to the brim with amusement. He wore his signature feline smile, and if Ana was in the mood, she would have allowed it. But her frustration made her hate him at the moment. "Wipe that smile off your face before I stab you with the poker."
Rhys chuckled, and Ana felt her muscles relax. The tension in her body soothed and she slumped against the fireplace. "Will you, now? Come on, I thought you liked me too much."
"Don't push your luck." She smiled at him slightly, cheeks stained with soot. "Anyways, the guards ordered me to pick the lentils from your fireplace. I'm guessing they were the ones to put them there in the first place, since I doubt you are dumb enough to have lentils near an unlit fire. But, then again, I could be wrong."
Another laugh. This one had Ana's heart racing and her smile growing. "Despite your situation, you still manage to find time for jokes. Something I truly do find awe in." She was glad for the soot on her cheeks now. It hid her soft blush.
Standing, Ana wiped her hands on her already dirty trousers. "Is this clean enough for you, or do you need me to keep searching?"
Rhys cocked his head. "Why not use your magic to clean it?"
She opened her mouth, only to stop. Why hadn't she used her magic? "Honestly? I hadn't thought to use it. It's still so new to me, and there's this satisfaction I get from doing all the grueling work by hand. Yeah, I'm pissed about the never ending amount of lentils, but still." She approached the bed, but remained standing, not wanting to dirty his sheets. "What had Amarantha wanted from you? Since you were the only one to bet for Feyre."
He sighed, reaching a finger up to run along her silencing rune. It glowed momentarily before settling. "Oh, she had words with me, but it was nothing I couldn't handle." Though, when he smiled at her, it didn't quite reach his eyes. Ana's heart fell. She knew exactly what her words had been.
She decided to change the subject. "You know, I couldn't help but wonder⎯Amarantha took powers from all the High Lords, and yet you seem to have more. I know the books say that you are the most powerful to exist in all of Prythian's history, but . . . did she allow you to keep more, or is what you have truly just the scraps?"
The thought had been running wild through her head ever since his display with Feyre back in the Spring Court. Tamlin could shape-shift and perform glamour, but that was all she really saw him do. And she had yet to witness any of the other High Lord's powers, what with having only seen them for the first time during the first task. She wondered if Rhys was so powerful that even the smallest scraps of his power was still enough to reduce someone to nothing.
"These are just the scraps I get to play with," he said, watching her intently. "Tamlin has brute strength and shape-shifting; my arsenal is a far deadlier assortment."
"Oh, I have no doubt in my mind about that." She smiled at him, but it fell as more questions tugged at her. Questions she hadn't yet asked him, even during their months of dream walking together. "Earlier, when you found out about my bargain with her, I could have sworn I saw the shadow of wings . . . though, I could be imagining it. Are all High Lords able to shift form, or is it just Tamlin?"
"Oh, all the High Lords can. Each of us has a beast roaming beneath our skin, roaring to get out. While Tamlin prefers fur, I find wings and talons to be more entertaining."
Ana laughed softly. "Fitting, truly. And I never was one for fur. Too many rough encounters with werewolves to make me prefer it." She noticed Rhys's eyes widening in her peripheral, but she continued on. "So, your wings . . . can you shift now, or did she take that, too?"
Rhys stood, and Ana watched the darkness hovering around him writhe and twist and flare. A gasp of surprise left her lips as it settled, revealing the same High Fae male, but with slight adjustments.
"Not a full shift, you see," Rhys said, clicking the black razor-sharp talons that had replaced his fingers. Below the knee, darkness stained his skin⎯but talons also gleamed in lieu of toes. "I don't particularly like yielding wholly to my baser side."
Ana studied Rhys⎯really studied him. Still the same handsome face, the same powerful male body, but flaring out behind him were those oh so familiar massive black membranous wings⎯like a bat's, like those of the dragons of old. He tucked them in neatly behind him, but the single claw at the apex of each peaked over his broad shoulders. Horrific, stunning⎯and oh so beautiful.
She had to fight the urge to reach out and run a finger down the length of them. If the wings of the Seelies had taught her anything, she knew never to tough without permission. Wings were sensitive in ways that most couldn't understand. The right touch, the right caress of a spot, could do things to someone. And while Ana wanted to feel the strength of those wings beneath her fingertips, she had more respect for Rhys.
Still, despite her inner protests, her hand slowly reached out, as if it was being pulled by some unseen force. It was as though she was outside of her body, watching herself move but unable to stop. Like she'd been placed in a trance she didn't want to wake from. Just before the tips of her fingers could brush the edge of the wings, she stopped, her heart pounding within her chest.
"Sorry," she muttered, going to lower her hand.
Rhys reached out and stopped her, wrapping his fingers around her wrist. Their eyes met⎯blue on violet⎯and something swirled within them. He gently brought her hand closer to his wings, Ana's breath catching as she felt them beneath her fingers. Smooth, trained muscle and bone. Delicate and strong.
He watched her as she trailed her fingers along the edges of the outer wing, his heart hammering inside his chest. Her touch was soft and gentle, almost like a puff of night-kissed air against his skin. It took everything within him not to take her right then and there as she neared the most sensitive parts of his wings. But he had more control than that, and more respect.
Ana allowed her hand to fall back to her side, her eyes twinkling like a thousand oceans under the summer sun. "Beautiful . . ."
Rhysand rolled his neck, and it all vanished in a flash⎯the wings, the talons, the feet, leaving only the male behind, well-dressed and unruffled. "I think that's the first time anyone's ever referred to them as beautiful."
"That's a shame." Ana pursed her lips as she tried to settle her racing heart. "Do you miss it? Being able to fly? I know I would . . . if I knew what it felt like . . ." She met his eyes again. "What's it like? To fly with wings?"
She had flown before⎯on enchanted bikes, in planes, and even once after Magnus tricked her into drinking a potion "for science." That levitating potion had made Ana nearly kill the warlock, but it had been fun. But Ana wondered what flying with wings felt like. What it felt like to have the wind rushing past her face and through her hair.
"It's an exhilarating feeling, I will say that." Rhys spoke with longing, and Ana could understand why. If she had the gift of flight, she too would long to be in the skies. Rhys suddenly snapped his fingers, and Ana found herself clean of soot, the bucket meant for lentils filled and the fireplace clean. "You're welcome."
Ana couldn't get a snarky comment in as the door opened, revealing the guards who had dragged her there in the first place. They looked at the bucket of lentils and ground their teeth, obviously displeased to not have a reason to hurt Ana more than usual.
I could order them not to, Rhys said in her mind. Keep them from hurting you.
Ana gave him a gentle smile. As much as I wish you could, you can't. It's part of the bargain, my love. No outside interference.
The guards approached her and took her by the arms. "She has more tasks for you, halfling."
Ana nodded and didn't fight as they pulled her toward the door. Rhys watched, barely-concealed rage in his eyes. It will all be over soon, Ana darling. I promise.
And she believed him. It would all be over soon.
⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⬩❖⬩ ⎯⎯⎯⎯
If Ana had been counting days correctly, four had passed before she was taken from her cell by two High Fae females. Dressed in what Ana could only assume was servant garb, they took her gently by the arms and led her from her cell. As per usual, Ana studied the path as they took her from the dungeons, up through dusty stairwells and down forgotten halls until they reached a nondescript room. She hid her surprise as they stripped her naked, bathed her roughly, and then⎯to her slight horror⎯began to paint her body.
Ana held no insecurities when it came to her body. She was well-trained and fit, like all Shadowhunters had to be. She didn't care what others thought of her slender waist, wide hips, and generous assets. She actually often used them to her advantage when on missions with Izzy. Body language was a big thing for Shadowhunters⎯each female knew how to use theirs to their advantage when fighting demons. Bodies of all shapes and sizes were able to do wondrous things when in battle, so there was no reason to be insecure of them.
What she was insecure of were the scars littering her skin. Silvery remnants of her battles and wars throughout life. Some self-inflicted, others not. They showed her life in the most vulnerable way, and she hated that she was now exposed for others to see. Most of the runes covered them, but if one looked hard enough, they'd find them. And it always made nausea swirl within her stomach.
The brushes were cold and tickled her skin as they moved across every inch of her body. Crimson stained her flesh in intricate whirls and patterns. Ana didn't ask why she was being painted, nor did she really want to know.
From the neck up, she was regal: her face was adorned with cosmetics⎯rouge on her lips, a smearing of gold dust on her eyelids, kohl lining her eyes⎯and her hair was in luscious curls that fell like liquid gold down her back. But from the neck down . . . well, let's just say Ana had worn worse.
In fact, Ana was sure Izzy would be screaming praises for the maker of the dress.
It was little more than two long shafts of gossamer, just wide enough to cover her breasts, pinned at each shoulder with gold brooches. The sections of deep crimson flowed down to a jeweled belt slung low across her hips, where they joined into a single piece of fabric that hung between her legs and to the floor. It barely covered her, and from the cold air on her skin, she knew that most of her backside was exposed.
The servants only stepped back when they were done setting a silver circlet along her head, decorated with rubies. With the color red, Ana knew who had ordered this. Amarantha was calling in the bargain for something else that night, and Ana had no doubt it would be just as horrible as the torture itself.
She wasn't given much time to study herself in the rusted mirror before the servants led her from the room and down more hallways that Ana studied in passing. The sound of merriment rose ahead of her, and her lips tugged into a serpentine smile. If Amarantha was going to dress her in a way that was considered taboo among the fae, she was going to show them just how much she didn't mind. They could see her breasts beneath the fabric, and most of her backside, and Ana didn't mind.
Though, if they tried to touch her, she would kill them. They could look with no problem, but never touch. It was how Ana always operated.
Queer, off-kilter music brayed through two stone doors that led to the throne room. Ana's suspicions were correct.
Faeries and High Fae gawked at her as she passed through the entrance, the servants leaving at the doors. Many gaped, unable to take their eyes off of her. Ana smirked and swayed her hips, unbothered. This was just like a few of the missions she'd gone on with Izzy, and thinking that made comfort swirl in her gut.
She caught the vulpine smiles of Lucien's brothers and perked a brow with her red-stained lips stretched wide. Wide enough to show her teeth. A warning.
The crowd parted for her, allowing her to reach the dais upon which Amarantha sat. The queen's eyes glimmered as they settled on Ana, though they seemed alive with disappointment. She hadn't succeeded in embarrassing Ana, which had to have been the main plan. Torture through indecency.
Amarantha still smirked, though. "Ah, our guest of honor," she crooned. "You clean up well, halfling."
Ana swayed the skirt. "Well, why not show off what I have to offer? Letting people see something they can't have is the purest form of torture, wouldn't you agree?"
Amarantha hummed. "I would."
"I assume you have me here for more than a party," Ana continued, wanting to get straight to the point.
The queen nodded. "The faerie blood within you allows you some immunity to the affects of faerie wine, but I would like to see just how strong that immunity is. Enjoy tonight, drink up and dance. And at the end of the night, we'll see how powerful that faerie blood truly is."
Ana nodded. She didn't dare bow as she turned on her heel and entered the fray. In all honesty, the party reminded her much of the raves she'd been to with Downworlders. The same music, the same dancing, and the same indiscretions happening in corners and in the middle of it all. It felt a bit too close to what home felt like. Enough to unnerve her for a moment.
She approached the table of drinks and filled a goblet with faerie wine. Right as she was bringing it to her lips, a hand clamped around her wrist, stopping her. Instinct kicked in and Ana used her free hand to grab their wrist, yanking it from her arm and twisting it behind their back. A grunt of pain had her looking, and she scowled. Lucien.
"What are you doing?" she sneered as she let go of him quickly, as though he held a disease within him. And maybe he did.
Lucien shook his arm out and glared at her. "What am I doing? What are you doing? Why are you here? And what are you wearing?"
Ana looked down at the dress and shrugged. "I think I look fabulous. As for what I'm doing here . . . living out the bargain I made with Amarantha. Tonight's testing of my abilities is my immunity to the affects of wine." She took a sip, smiling at the sweet taste. "Mm, delicious."
"You're dressed like a whore in the middle of a place that won't hesitate to treat you as such," Lucien said, as though warning her. As though Ana didn't know already. "And for what? A bargain for your safety?"
Ana's eyes hardened as she looked at Lucien over the rim of the goblet. "Not my safety."
His eyes widened. "Feyre's." Ana nodded. "You made the bargain for Feyre's safety."
The blonde took another sip. "Yes. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a bargain to fulfill and a party to get to. Goodbye."
She left before Lucien could say anything more, downing the contents of her goblet with ease. If Amarantha wanted to see her get drunk, fine then. But she'd need more than faerie wine to do so.
The next person to find her was someone Ana thought she'd never see again. "Stasia!"
Aurelia appeared from the crowd and pulled the girl into a tight hug that Ana quickly returned. She'd missed the fire nymph badly upon her departure of the Spring Court. The two held on for a moment before parting, Aurelia studying her outfit with a smile.
"You look hot," was all she said.
Ana laughed softly. "Wow, and that's coming from a fire nymph. Must mean something."
Aurelia nodded. "The highest compliment you can get." She linked her arm with Ana's. "So, I see you and a certain someone are still as close as ever. Though, if anything happens, I won't hesitate to burn them alive."
"I believe that." She did. Aurelia had already threatened Rhysand's life a few times after discovering the bond Ana had with him. "How have you been? I thought you were still in the Spring Court, or had gotten away."
Aurelia sighed. "No. There are many uses for a fire nymph. Or, so I've been told while stuck here. They've had me lighting fires all throughout the court, night after night. Sometimes I'm staffed in the kitchens, and sometimes I'm on laundry duty. Drying things and such. It's not too bad, but . . ."
"You don't want to spend the rest of your life like this," Ana finished. Aurelia nodded. "Don't worry. I believe in Feyre. You should, too."
"I do. I'm just worried." And it was understandable. For a fae to place trust in a mortal . . . after years of hatred between them . . . Ana could understand the hesitance. The lack of trust and the constant worry. She'd felt the same when aligning with Downworlders for the wars. "But, let's forget all that. This is midsommer. Come dance with me."
And so, the two friends ventured deeper into the crowds, spending the night dancing and drinking while pretending they were once again together on Solstice.
⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⬩❖⬩ ⎯⎯⎯⎯
Nights passed all the same. Ana would be washed and painted and dressed up, then taken to the throne room to drink to her heart's content and dance until she collapsed. Amarantha would give her orders to run more tests on her bloodline. First the healing, then the drinking, then the dancing and endurance. How long she could go without taking a break. How often she needed to sit and eat and drink. How often she would get into fights with those who tried to lay a hand on her.
It became routine. During the day, Ana would work and work until her hands bled and her knees ached. At night, Ana would become a plaything of the queen, partying until she died.
But, as the night before Feyre's second task came, that routine was broken. Ana was still painted and dressed up in her usual garb, but when she reached the throne room and approached Amarantha's throne, she saw that the party had been halted in favor of watching a dark-skinned High Fae male sob before the queen.
Amarantha curled her finger at Ana, bringing her forward to stand at her side, opposite of Tamlin. The self-proclaimed queen was smiling at the sobbing faerie like a snake. Ana wondered what the male before her could have done to receive this treatment, but she wasn't left waiting for long.
Amarantha caressed her ring, watching every movement made in the crowd. "The summer lordling," she said of the male cowering at her feet, "tried to escape through the exit to the Spring Court lands. I want to know why."
It was then that Ana noticed Rhysand standing behind the lordling. His eyes flickered in her direction, widening ever so slightly at her dress, then returned to Amarantha.
Behind him, at the edge of the crowd, was a tall, handsome High Fae male⎯his hair nearly white, his eyes crushing, crystal blue, his skin rich like chocolate. But his mouth was drawn as his attention darted between Amarantha and Rhysand. The High Lord of the Summer Court. When she'd seen him last, he'd been shining⎯almost leaking golden light; now he was muted, drab. As if Amarantha had leeched every last drop of power from him while she interrogated his subject.
Rhys slid his hands into his pockets and sauntered closer to the male on the ground.
The Summer faerie cringed, his face shining with tears. Ana's heart stung at the fear on his face, the shame etching across his features as he wet himself at the sight of Rhys. "P⎯p⎯please," he gasped out.
With one look, the faerie stopped shaking on the ground. Rhys held his mind.
The High Lord of Summer had gone still, too⎯and it was pain, real pain, and fear that shone in his eyes. Summer was one of the courts that had rebelled, Ana remembered from her research. So this was a new, untested High Lord, who had yet to make choices that cost him lives.
After a moment of silence, Rhys looked at Amarantha. "He wanted to escape. To get to the Spring Court, cross the wall, and flee south into human territory. He had no accomplices, no motive beyond his own pathetic cowardice." He jerked his chin at the puddle of piss beneath the male. Ana noticed how the Summer High Lord sagged. Rhys had lied, and Ana couldn't be more proud of him.
Amarantha rolled her eyes and slouched in her throne. "Halfling, kill him." Ana stiffened. "Let's see how strong that power of destruction truly is."
Ana steeled herself as she stepped down the dais toward the shaking male. She ignored the looks from the faeries, allowing her expression to remain cold and blank. She'd killed before, but never for sport. It had always had a reason.
You don't have to, Rhys spoke. I can shatter his mind and make it seem like you did it.
Ana showed no sign of hearing him other than responding in her mind. No. She would know. I'll be okay, Rhys. I promise.
She would make herself be okay.
"You may do with the body what you wish afterward," Amarantha told the High Lord of the Summer Court.
He bowed, as if he'd been given a gift, and looked to his subject. The male had gone calm on the floor, hugging his knees. He was ready⎯relieved.
Ana stopped before the faerie and tilted her head in an almost predatory way. If she held the power of creation and destruction, that meant she could heal and hurt. The warm power within her body thrummed at the thought of being released once more. It didn't care how, just as long as it was allowed escape after being locked up for so long.
She didn't even raise a hand as she tugged at the power coiling around her veins. Tendrils seeped from her skin and shot toward the faerie like bullets of solid gold. They pierced his skin, leaving no mark, and the male went still. His eyes glazed over as he slumped to the ground. Another jerk of her head, and he released his last breath. Her power had constricted around his heart and squeezed until nothing remained but ash.
She'd just killed without lifting a finger.
No wonder the books wrote of people fearing halflings. If she could do this without unleashing herself, who knew what she could do when she finally did? It scared even her, but she didn't show it.
"Very good," Amarantha crooned from behind her. "Take it away. Let the celebrations continue."
Ana said nothing as she stepped over the body and plucked a goblet from the refreshments table, downing it in one gulp.
She'd only deal with the consequences once her eyes were closed. For now, it was time to forget.
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⬩❖⬩ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
𝐀 𝐔 𝐓 𝐇 𝐎 𝐑 𝐒 𝐍 𝐎 𝐓 𝐄 !
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⬩❖⬩ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
This chapter was a little all over the place, but oh well. I replaced Feyre with Ana in the chores scene because, hello, Ana's bargain was to make sure Feyre was treated properly. So someone had to do the work. Plus, I wanted Ana to see Rhys's wings again, for real this time. It was a small scene that I truly loved writing in my own way, and I hoped you guys liked it as well.
Ana is not afraid to show off her body. I thought I'd add that bit about her insecurities because, let's be honest, everyone has them. And I want everyone to know that it's okay to be insecure, but you should always be confident in who you are. Change only if YOU want to change, not because people think you should. Be proud of you who are, flaws and all. Stretch marks are a beautiful thing. Cellulite isn't a bad thing, and neither are curves. Scars and beauty marks just add to who you are and your unique beauty. Don't be ashamed of you who are. Embrace it like Ana is.
Also, Ana was a badass. She can kill just like that and I love it. And, keep in mind, she still hadn't reached her full potential yet. There's still a damper on her power, so just wait until that's gone.
The second trial is next. We'll see how that goes.
Please comment and vote!
Love you all!
~ a.h.