Rhysand
Feyre was screaming. I think I was too. I didn't care who saw, didn't care what people thought of me. I felt nothing, not even pain. I was numb.
Lucien released my mate and she fell towards me, gripping my hands, shouting my name, trying to get a response from me. Nothing. I felt nothing.
Tamlin came into view, a huge grin on his face as he watched me, the wingless Illyrian. His hands were coated in blood, my blood, and my wings in his grasp.
My wings.
My beautiful wings.
I looked at my back, hoping that this was all a dream, but all I found were two bleeding stumps where my wings once lay. The pain came rushing in at that point. Too much pain.
I couldn't deal with it. I blacked out.
And I welcomed the darkness.
Mor
Thirty five minutes. He wasn't back.
"I'm going in." I said to no one in particular and winnowed into the manor, rushing to the servants entrance and straight down into the dungeons. I heard screams as I ran through the corridors. Feyre's screams. Rhys's screams as well. I followed the sound, trying to stop my mind from creating horrific images of what cold be happening to my family.
Someone was coming up behind me. I whirled, quickly drawing two knives, but only found Cassian following me, a wild look in his eyes. Without a word we continued through the dark dungeon, only to round a corner to find an awful scene.
I didn't know where to look. At Feyre, so pale and broken, blood soaking her dress. At Rhys, chained to the floor, blood pouring down his back. Or at Tamlin, a wing in each hand, surveying the scene like he was proud of what he saw.
We were in shock, Cassian and I unable to to move forward and help our friends, hoping that it was just a joke, a nightmare, but no matter how hard I tried to wake up I couldn't, and I realised that it was real, that Rhys was without wings, and that Tamlin was now grasping them.
We were unseen by anyone, hiding in the shadows, but Rhys soon fell to the floor, pasing out from blood loss, and it spurred us into action. Tamlin immediately left, his men following h
I went to Feyre, ensuring that she was not injured, but soon turned to Rhys, still unconsious. Any Illyrian would rather die than lose their wings, and Rhys was no different.
"We have to get him to a healer." Was all I was able to say, my voice cracking. Cassian only nodded, the fight having left his body, too shocked to go after Tamlin and his men. I took Rhys's and Feyre's hands and winnowed them back to Velaris whilst Cassian went back to the tunnel to get Azriel. They joined me in the town house, Azriel covered in the blood of the spy, and a healer with them. Azriel just stared at Rhys, lying on his back, blood still flowing but not quite as fast as before.
I left to grab the nearest healer, returning moments later with an older man who'd patched us up numerous times before. Amren followed us in, but remained silent. She was in shock too.
The healer went to Rhys, running his hands over his back, over two bloody stumps that showed where his wings once were. The healer forced us all out the room, claiming she needed space to work, so we waited in the kitchen, trying to get those dammed manacles off Feyre's wrists and ankles, but no matter how hard we tried, they wouldn't come off.
Of course Tamlin would make them so that only he could remove them, the same way that Tarquin had done with the book of breathings, one of his precious possessions.
Possession. As if Feyre wasn't a real person! He was a fucking bastard, and I vowed that I would make him pay for his actions the next time I saw him.
I hoped that that time would be soon.
Feyre
The pain of the manacles being yanked at was near unbearable, yet I said nothing, because Rhys was going through so much worse.
Rhys. My mate.
He'd had many titles before, but he would now carry the title of the wingless Illyrian.
I refused to believe it. Not his wings, not because of me. No.
But it did happen, and Rhys was now lying on a couch whilst a healer attempted to save him. Yet there was no saving him, not really. Not anymore.
Two hours later we were told that we could come see Rhys. He was still on the couch, but the blood had stopped flowing and bandages covered his chest and back.
"He should wake up soon. Give him a few days. You will need to help him adjust to his new... condition."
Condition. As if this were some sort of illness. But my only response was, "Thank you." before showing her to the door. We moved Rhys to his room, wanting him to be as comfortable as possible when he woke up. I sat by him for hours, holding his hand throughout the night, only moving when I decided to go to sleep as dawn broke.
Rhysand
I woke up to sunlight streaming into my room throughout the open windows, Feyre asleep in a chair next to me, her hand in mine.
Feyre. My mate.
I squeezed her hand and she woke up, her sunken eyes widening when she saw me awake.
"Rhys." SHe breathed, her voice barely louder than a whisper.
"Hello Feyre darling." My voice was raspy, and I hurt all over, but I couldn't figure out why.
And then it all came rushing back.
Tamlin. Feyre. The rescue.
My wings.
I took a sharp intake of breath, praying that it was all just a nightmare, but one look at Feyre's solemn expression told me enough about how much was real.
All of it.
Which meant that I no longer had wings. I didn't want to look, but I had to know. So I got to my feet, with help from Feyre, and walked over to the mirror in my room.
I was a mess. So was Feyre. Her eyes had dark cicles under them, her hair dull, her bones showing through her clothes, and those manacles on her wrists and ankles.
No wonder she looked so ill; she was literally having the life drained out of her. But I only looked at her to avoid looking at myself, but I couldn't put it off forever, so I took a deep breath and looked at myself properly.
My wrists had some faint lines on them, cuts from where I'd pulled too hard at the chains that had held me down. I vaguely remembered breaking some bones as I'd tried to get to Feyre. I analysed everything I could see of myself without turning around, but I knew that I was just delaying the inevitable, so I turned to the side to view my back. And stopped breathing.
Two stumps jutted out of my back where my wings once connected to my muscles, but no delicate black membrane was to be seen.
Before I knew what I was doing the mirror lay in shards at my feet, blood drying on my now split knuckles. Feyre let out a small scream that brought Cassian, Azriel and Mor rushing into the room, practically falling over each other to see what was going on, and Amren calmly following them in.
"What happened?" Mor demanded, but they swiftly figured out the situation. I turned to them, rage very clear on my face.
"I'm going to kill him." I growled, my power filling the room.
"As much as we all want to, Rhys, it's not that simple. Tamlin doesn't have an heir to take over. The Spring Court would become a battle ground for fae nobility." Mor kept talking but I ignored her.
"I don't care. I want him dead." I said, cutting her off from saying any more.
"Please, Rhy." Feyre said, her voice so quiet and weak. I turned to her. "THink about what you are doing. You aren't thinking straight, and that is understandable, but we can't make any hasty decisions. Not now."
I knew she was right, but I couldn't focus on anything other than revenge.
"Even if I don't kill him we still need to get those manacles off you soon, or you will waste away."
"We will have to arrange a meeting with him, ensure that he is willing to remove them. Mor is right though. We can't risk starting a war." I was shocked by Amren's words. It was not like her to try and prevent a fight.
"Well if we are going to meet with Tamlin we will have to find a neutral location, preferably one that won't allow other High Lords to know about it." Cassian said, a general planning our next move. "Rhys, Feyre and probably Azriel should meet with Tamlin and two other people from his court to get the manacles off Feyre, but we can't risk using force, and we definitely want to avoid a war, since we don't know if Hybern is allied with Tamlin yet." He was right. Everyone was right except me.
Feyre looked to me, her dead eyes pained. "I don't want you risking yourself for me, or anyone else, for that matter. If Tamlin won't remove the manacles without a sacrifice from you we will leave and find another way. We have already lost too much." I nodded along with her words, agreeing to go along with what she was saying, but we all knew that it was a lie.
The meeting was set a week from then, but in the end we had to arrange to meet Under the Mountain, and Tamlin would be bringing Lucien and Ianthe. That bitch.
I winnowed Azriel and Feyre, who was so close to death, to the entrance to the mountain, and Azriel went in first to ensure there weren't any surprises. He returned a moment later, everything as it should have been.
We walked into the former throne room to find Tamlin seated at a long table, Lucien to his right and Ianthe to his left. We walked up to them, Feyre's arm on mine, and took the seats opposite the Spring Court, Feyre facing Ianthe and Azriel to Lucien.
After a few awkward moments in which Azriel struggled to fit his wings around the high backed chair, we were all settled and ready to begin the meeting, yet Tamlin didn't bother to begin with formalities, and instead went straight to the insults.
"Well that's something you won't miss, is it, Rhysand? You could say I've done you a favour, as now you will be able to sit anywhere with ease."
I was so close to killing him then and there, but Feyre squeezed my arm lightly to try and get me to calm down and focus on the task at hand.
"Watch it Tamlin, or this meeting will go south very quickly." My voice was cold, the mask back on once more. Yet I felt a crack in my facade as Feyre began to shift in her seat besides me. It was foolish to bring her here, and for us to talk this way would only bring back the horrid memories of what she went through.
"Are you ok, Feyre? You aren't looking too well." Tamlin smirked at her. I would kill him. No. I would torture him, and he'd deserve everything he'd get.
Of course Feyre didn't look well; had this meeting been a day later she wouldn't even be conscious. No wonder Tamlin chose today to meet. He wanted us to be as desperate as possible.
Fucking arsehole.
But I had to remain calm, had to save Feyre. Trying to regain control over my emotions I began to look around the room, try to find something to keep me grounded, yet my eyes fell on Ianthe, and all I could see was red. No. Stay calm.
"You know why we're here, Tamlin, so why don't you just unlock these manacles and let us go." Feyre said, her voice barely audible. I saw a flicker of guilt in Tamlin's eyes as he took her in, but it was soon covered over by that insufferable smirk that he kept putting back on. "Please, Tamlin." Feyre begged.
"No." was all he said. He was really willing to do this, to kill her, just to punish me for loving her.
"Tamlin plea-" Feyre started, but I'd had enough of begging.
"What do you want?" I asked him.
"Ianthe here hears that you are very good at... pleasing people. But all these spies and rumours can be quite unreliable. She wants a first hand account. What's another ten years in that department, Rhysand? I'm sure that you will have a lot of fun." I froze, not expecting this. I couldn't whore myself again, not after Amarantha, but one look at Feyre and I made my mind up. Anything to save her, my mate. No matter what.
"Done." I said. That word echoed throughout the room. Ianthe stood, and I knew that she wanted to start there and then, but I wasn't going to give myself to her just yet. "But you must free Feyre now, or there is no deal."
"Fair enough." He said, too pleased with himself to think of what that might mean for himself. He stood, vanishing the table in order to reach us easily, and bent down to unlock Feyre's ankles, lingering a bit down there, but removing them all the same. One touch was all it took to release her, and the moment her wrists were free she sagged in her chair, her power rushing back into her. Good. We weren't sure if she would recover, but the healing gifts from dawn began to take effect, and I could see some strength return to her. Not a lot, but enough to let us know that she would be ok.
He was so happy with himself, with his plans. So happy, in fact, that he didn't see me as I drew a knife.
He didn't move fast enough as I lunged for him, blade aimed at his throat.
And I couldn't stop myself in time as Lucien jumped in between the blade and Tamlin, taking the fatal blow meant for someone else.
I didn't wait around for long, and grabbed Feyre and Azriel, winnowing them away as Feyre screamed her friend's name, but not before we saw the light leave Lucien's eyes.
Well, eye.
Revenge was so sweet, but no amount of death, no amount of suffering could make up for my loss.
I would kill Tamlin, but he would suffer greatly first, suffer more than anyone had before him.
I was darkness, and pain, and suffering.
And I was coming for them.
One Spring noble at a time.
Until they were all dead and that land destroyed.