Velaria
"Give me a reason," Velaria demanded, pressing the knife into his pale skin and drawing a drop of angry red blood. "Or your life is over."
"Velaria." Mor's voice trembled. "What are you doing?"
"Killing this asshole," Velaria said through clenched teeth. "He's done enough harm."
The anger circling her at every threat Eris had thrown out over the years, the pale color of Emerie's face, the centuries-worth of memories of his cowardice honed her instincts. She was content quickly opening his throat and letting the blood pour out, or she could entertain the idea of killing him slowly and painfully. Maybe it was the Illyrian instincts in her, the monster within her that made her so bloodthirsty, but the one voice that kept her from killing so ruthlessly wasn't there. Instead, a sweet voice was ringing out with fear and pain lacing every note.
"Vela, stop," Mor said, her voice breaking.
Feyre put a shaking hand on Mor's shoulder, subtly pulling her closer to her side. "Velaria, you don't need to kill him."
Velaria blinked, some of the anger dissipating. She whipped around. "Why the fuck not?"
Feyre opened her mouth to answer but Eris chose that moment to flip Velaria onto her back, leaving Velaria fumbling with her power to mute his own.
Eris's breath was hot on her face. "You traitor bitch," he breathed. "You turned my brothers against you."
Before Velaria could react or even breathe, Eris, realizing his power was rendered unusable, pulled a dagger out of his belt and held it to her cheek. He dragged it down, every centimeter burning with pain. Warm blood dripped down her cheek and off of her chin. The tangy scent of the blade reached her nose. Faebane.
Fear seized Velaria at the same moment Feyre and Mor took a step forward. She threw her power backwards, stopping them from advancing further with a wall of shimmering, transparent purple.
Feyre began to pound on the wall, Mor's face contorted into disbelief and anger.
"Velaria, what are you doing?" Feyre demanded, pounding quicker.
Velaria's gaze darted to Mor's brown eyes, wide and full of fear. Her power was slowly draining with the effects of the faebane. "You two are too important," she said hoarsely.
"And you're not?" Mor cried. "Vela, we lost you centuries ago. We are not going to lose you again." Mor began to hit the wall as Feyre continued.
Something hot grazed her face and Velaria looked to see a flame dancing in the new cut, burning it further open. Velaria gritted her teeth, realizing that, with the faebane, her grip on Eris's powers had been loosened.
Eris grinned down at her, the strands of his red hair falling in clumps around his face. "Return me my brothers from under your mind's thrall, Night Court bitch, and maybe I'll heal your face."
Velaria spat in his face. "Fuck you."
Eris's face contorted with anger. Fire engulfed her, and Velaria cried out.
The last thing she saw was Feyre yelling out before everything faded to black.
✿ ↬ - - - ↫ ✿
Tamlin
Tamlin stood in front of a crowd of painted guests in pale yellows, light pinks, various shades of green, and gold. He stood still, his eyes unfocused at the wall behind everyone.
Tamlin's mother stood behind him and placed a gentle, pale hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her into her emerald eyes, the ones he had inherited but his brothers hadn't.
"A maid just told me the girl should be here soon," she said, smiling warmly down at him.
The girl. His brother's betrothed, Rhysand's sister. He had only seen her from afar when she was younger, and from Rhysand's subtle compliments of her, she was quite the fae, despite what her father told the families of High Lords.
The High Lord of Night was a deplorable fae, who knew exactly where to strike his children where no one would see.
Tamlin's gaze roamed the crowd as he looked for his brother and the girl's soon-to-be husband, Cyprian.
When he finally spotted him, he wasn't surprised. Cyprian was flirting with the visiting representatives from Hybern.
Tamlin knew the exact moment that the girl was shoved into the room of frills and flowers. Her dark hair was quite the contrast to everyone else in the room, and she looked entirely uncomfortable in the dress she was stuffed into.
Before Tamlin knew it, his legs were moving through the floor, weaving in and out of people to reach her.
He stopped right in front of her and got a good look at her. She was absolutely breathtaking, her round chin and stunning violet eyes framed by curled black-purple hair.
She frowned, putting her gloved hands on her hips. "What are you looking at?" she demanded, temper flaring.
Tamlin put his hands up and bowed, something his father would have scolded him for if he had not been away at negotiations. "Forgive me, I have only come to introduce myself." He stuck out his hand. "Tamlin. I'm your betrothed's youngest brother."
Her gaze was calculating as she took his hand and shook it, her handshake firm. "The runt of the Spring Court litter," she said.
Tamlin let out a rough laugh, which seemed to be the correct response at the smile blooming across her face. "That I am."
"I'm Velaria," she said, her smile brighter than the moonlight streaming in from the atrium's glass ceiling. "You're friends with my brother."
Tamlin dipped his head. "I am." He smiled slightly at her recognition, at the friendliness in her tone.
Velaria cocked her head. "You look like you want to say something."
"I–" Tamlin caught himself, realizing he was about to tell her how pretty she looked. "I was just thinking that hopefully you are more fun to be around than your brother."
Velaria tipped her head backwards and laughed in a way he didn't expect the Princess of Night to do. "I can assure you, I am," she said, putting an arm out to touch his shoulder lightly.
Tamlin welcomed the touch, although he didn't let it show. He cleared his throat. "Do you have any questions...anything you want to know about life in the Spring Court before you come live with us?"
The smile faded from Velaria's face. "There is a question I would ask," she said firmly, "but I am sure you wouldn't answer."
Tamlin frowned. "What do you mean?"
A shadow crossed across Velaria's face before she shook her head. "It is not worth asking," she said.
✿ ↬ - - - ↫ ✿
Tamlin gripped his head tighter, his breaths ragged and fast. He crumpled up the pieces of paper in front of him, the one detailing the resignation of seventeen Spring Court sentries.
"They're all traitors," Tamlin muttered to himself, throwing the papers into the fire. He stood up calmly, walked to his desk, and threw his chair across the room. "ALL OF THEM. TRAITORS!"
His claws extended and he began to slash through his wood desk and the walls, trashing the entire study in a fit of rage. First his desk, then ripping down every curtain, and then tearing up the walls before finally shattering every single breakable thing in sight.
When he was done he slumped against the wall, his bare skin hitting the jagged wood where he had ripped his own sleeve open. "I will get Velaria back to me," he swore, "if it is the last thing I do."
✿ ↬ - - - ↫ ✿
Feyre
Feyre pounded on the wall, watching Velaria's eyes close and the stars within them extinguishing. "VELARIA," Feyre roared. Her shadows flew out and began to throw themselves into her indestructible wall.
Feyre summoned her fire, her water, anything that would help them, but nothing worked. Even the power of Helion Spellcleaver didn't work against it.
A shadow flew out as Feyre watched Eris stand up and sling Velaria's body over his shoulder. His gaze briefly flicked to Feyre and Mor pounding uselessly against the wall before he smirked and walked out of sight.
"No," Feyre said frantically. "He can't leave...there's something else, there's got to be something else we can try."
Mor's eyes were brimming with tears. "I won't leave her to die again," she said.
Feyre stared at Velaria's remaining shadows hitting against the wall. "Where did the other shadow go?" she hissed. "Why the fuck did it just leave?"
"I don't know, but–" Mor stopped suddenly, her gaze turning above Feyre's head.
Feyre turned to where Mor was looking and watched as Velaria's shadow flew in, followed by many others. "What–"
"It went to get Azriel's shadows," Mor breathed.
"How did it get here in time?" Feyre asked, bewildered.
Mor shook her head. "I don't know. They're magic, so that's what I'd assume, but..."
Velaria's shadows stopped hitting against the wall, turning to Azriel's. A ripple of understanding seemed to pass between all of them before they reared up and hit the wall together at the same time.
The wall shattered instantly, and Feyre let out a sigh of relief as Azriel's shadows flew away into the distance. Velaria's shadows rushed around the corner, Feyre and Mor at their heels.
Eris had pinned Velaria to the wall with bands of orange fire. He was mid-step when Velaria's shadows began to swarm him, attacking him.
Feyre nodded to Mor and she drew her twin blades as Feyre readied her water to counteract Eris's power.
Mor jumped on Eris, Velaria's shadows parting to make way for her. Mor wrapped an arm around his neck, squeezing.
Feyre took this as her time and ran to Velaria, whose eyes were just beginning to open. She used her powers to snuff out the flame bonds holding her together.
Velaria slumped. "How long?"
"Less than three minutes," Feyre replied. "Can you walk?"
Velaria nodded, groggily standing up straight.
"Mor," Feyre called, and Mor jumped off of Eris immediately, rushing over to them.
"Where are we going?" Mor asked quickly.
Feyre looked to Velaria. "We're going back to where we were before we came and got you," she said. "Vela, are you strong enough to winnow?"
"Yes," she said gruffly. "Mor, take my hand."
A laugh sounded. "I think all three of you will want to stick around when you see who I've called into the dungeon," Eris said, struggling to stand up straight. Mor had done her job well.
Feyre was getting ready to winnow out anyways when a familiar chuckle echoed throughout the dungeons.
The three of them froze, all recognizing the laugh and who it belonged to at the very same time.
The owner of the chuckle smirked as he rounded the corner. "If it isn't three of the fugitives I've been looking for," he drawled that familiar, rolling, rich tone that Feyre loved so dearly.
Feyre whimpered, her mind racing, as she stared at her mate.
"Rhys." Velaria let out a sob. "I–"
Rhysand only rolled his eyes, going to stand by Eris. "Eris and I were discussing him handing me Mor, but this is even better."
She had to do it. This was her chance, her one chance.
"Rhysand, you bastard," Mor said hoarsely. "Break free. You are so much stronger than this."
Rhysand snorted as Feyre readied her power.
"Feyre, no." Velaria was staring right at her High Lady as she realized what Feyre was about to do, her eyes full of alarm. "Feyre, look at me. Don't do it."
Feyre didn't look, only breathed deeper as she remembered her training with Helion.
"Feyre, don't do it. Not here, not now," Velaria said urgently under her breath. "Don't."
"I have to try," Feyre breathed. "I can do it." She readied her power to strike, ready to send it hurtling towards her mate–
"Where is Nyx?" Velaria blurted out, the pain in her tone urgent.
Rhysand raised his eyebrows. "I left him at the Night Court."
Feyre's heart stopped beating. She lowered her hands, her power slowly beginning to fade. "What?"
"I left him at the Night Court with some priestess," Rhysand said, as if he was talking about a random thing he owned.
Velaria swore. She seized Feyre by the shoulders. "Feyre, snap out of it," she said. "We need to leave. Now."
When Feyre didn't answer, Velaria's presence entered her mind. Feyre, I will go get Nyx from the Night Court, but I need you to take Mor's hand so she can winnow you two out.
Feyre didn't answer, prompting Velaria to leave her mind. Mor was quiet, staring blankly ahead until she seemingly snapped back into her own senses.
Mor grabbed her High Lady's wrist, readying herself to winnow.
"No," Feyre whispered. "I can heal him."
Mor shook her head furiously. "No, you can't, love," she said. "Not right now. We need to go."
"I can't, I won't."
"I'm taking you whether you like it or not," Mor snapped.
The last thing Feyre saw was her mate's cold, expressionless face before they winnowed out.