Feyre had come to visit me one more time, but I still hadn't left my room. Mor was bringing me food three times a day, and I ate it gratefully as she tried to coax a conversation out of me.
No one else had come by to see me. I thought maybe Nesta would come check on me, considering she was the one who sent me into this spiral. But she didn't even seem to care.
That afternoon, a soft knock on my door sounded.
"Come in," I called weakly, not bothering to sit up.
Mor stepped inside, wrinkling her nose when she saw me. I must've looked a mess, especially compared to her. She always looked perfect, even when she wasn't planning on leaving the house.
"Feyre is coming for dinner tonight," she announced. "And you're joining us."
"No, thanks," I declined.
Mor huffed, crossing the room and opening the curtains. I groaned, holding a hand out to shield my eyes from the light.
She then gripped the top of my blanket, yanking it off of me. I yelped, trying to get it back from her. But she snapped her fingers, and the blanket had disappeared.
"We need to get you cleaned up," she decided. "They'll be here in a few hours."
"I'm not going."
"When was the last time you left this room?" she demanded. I didn't answer, knowing full well that it had been over a week. "When was the last time you bathed? Or even got out of your bed?"
I just glared at her.
"You'll take a bath, and I'll find a nice dress for you," she said. "Then, I'll do your hair. You're going to look so pretty."
I doubted that. I'd never really been pretty. Even as a Fae, I didn't compare to my sisters.
"You might be attractive when you grow up," Mother had once told me, my chin in her grip as she studied my features. "But different, not like your sisters."
I had been young, but I still knew 'different' didn't mean pretty.
Mor stepped over to the bathroom and began running the water. Climbing out of the bed, I grumbled curses. My legs nearly collapsed under me the second I put my weight on them. But Mor was by my side the second she heard my cry, helped me stand. My legs were so stiff from not being used.
⋆ ˚⋆ ⋆ ˚⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚⋆ ⋆ ˚⋆
Mor and I were the only ones dressed formally, save for the red headed male that had declared himself to be Elain's mate.
Mor had forced me into a golden gown, slim and flowing. It was strapless, and she'd given me a bra that pushed my breasts up. My hair flowed down my shoulders, shining, not frizzy like it usually was. She'd smeared cosmetics onto my face and spritzed me with perfume.
"Oh, Sammy, you look so pretty," Feyre said to me, her voice lilting as if I was a child. I wondered if she'd ever stop treating me like a child.
"I dressed her," Mor grinned.
"Of course you did," Cassian drawled, shaking his head. "Poor girl just got here, and you already got your claws on her."
"She's like a little doll," Mor teased.
I rolled my eyes as Feyre smiled at us. I crossed the room and sat beside my sister, leaning my head on her shoulder.
"I'm so glad you're adjusting well," Feyre murmured to me. "And I'm glad you've made a friend." I perked up at that.
"Does she really consider me a friend?" I asked, lifting my head to look at her. Feyre laughed.
"Yes, she really likes you," Feyre assured me.
My cheeks went a bit pink, but I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face. She said we were friends.
The smile faded from my feature as Nesta stepped into the room. She was wearing a beautiful midnight blue dress, her hair up.
"Where did that dress come from? I want one," Mor gasped, breezing over to her.
"I assume my mate dug it up somewhere," Feyre said, throwing a glance over her shoulder at Rhys. It was strange hearing her refer to her mate.
"He gets all the credit for clothes," Mor said, "and he never tells me where he finds them. He still wont tell me where he found Feyre's dress for Starfall. Bastard. Its a good thing were not the same size--or else I might be tempted to steal that dress."
"Likely right off her," Cassian muttered.
"Fortunately for you," Nesta said flatly, "I don't return the sentiment."
Azriel coughed into his wine, and Feyre and I exchanged an exasperated glance. But Nesta only took her seat at the table, on Feyre's other side. She hadn't bothered to glance at me.
"I think were going to need a lot more wine," Mor winced.
"I'll raid the collection," Cassian offered, disappearing through the inner hall doors.
"They mean well," Feyre assured our sister.
"I don't care," Nesta replied.
Amren slid into the seat across from Feyre, right as Cassian returned, a bottle in each hand, and cringed. Amren said to my sister, "You're a real piece of work."
"Why do your eyes glow?" Nesta asked the female.
"You know, none of these busybodies have ever asked me that. They glow because it was the one part of me the containment spell could not quite get right. The one glimpse into what lurks beneath."
"And what is beneath?"
"They never dared ask me that, either."
"Why."
"Because it is not polite to ask--and they are afraid. We are the same, you and I. Not in flesh, not in the thing that prowls beneath our skin and bones . . . But . . . I see the kernel, girl. You did not fit--the mold that they shoved you into. The path you were born upon and forced to walk. You tried, and yet you did not, could not, fit. And then the path changed. I know--what it is to be that way. I remember it, long ago as it was."
"I dont know what you're talking about," Nesta replied.
"When you erupt, girl, make sure it is felt across worlds," Amren smirked. I nearly shuddered.
"Amren, it seems, has been taking drama lessons at the theater down the street from her house," Rhys drawled.
"I mean it, Rhysand--"
"I'm sure you do," he said, sitting on Nesta's other side. "But I'd prefer to eat something before you make us lose our appetites."
Cassian took the seat on Amren's left, Azriel beside him, Mor grabbing the seat beside me, leaving Elain's mate--Lucien.
Lucien frowned at the remaining place setting at the head of the table, then at the blank, barren spot across from Nesta. "I--shouldnt you sit at the head?"
Rhys raised an eyebrow. "I dont care where you sit. I only care about eating something right"--he snapped his fingers--"now."
Roast meats, various sauces and gravies, rice and bread, and steamed vegetables appeared on the table.
"You get used to it--the informality," Feyre told Lucien.
"You say that, Feyre darling, like its a bad thing," Rhys said.
"It took me by surprise that first dinner we all had, just so you know."
"Oh, I know." Rhys grinned. Cassian snickered.
"Honestly," Feyre said to Lucien. "Azriel is the only polite one."
Mor and Cassian protested, but Azriel only smiled as he filled his plate.
"Dont even try to pretend that its not true," Feyre laughed.
"Of course its true," Mor said with a loud sigh, "but you neednt make us sound like heathens."
"I would have thought youd find that term to be a compliment, Mor," Rhys said mildly.
I couldn't help but let out a soft laugh at that. Mor's head turned, her eyes meeting mine as she smiled at me. She had such a beautiful smile.
"I understand--what you meant about the food," Nesta spoke up as Feyre got her some food.
I had understood, too, the moment I had tasted the food here. It put the food back home to shame.
"Is that a compliment?" Feyre challenged.
Nesta ignored her, but dug into her food.
"What time are we back in the training ring tomorrow?" Feyre asked Cassian.
"I'd say dawn, but since I'm feeling rather grateful that you're back in one piece, I'll let you sleep in. Let's meet at seven," Cassian said.
"I'd hardly call that sleeping in," Feyre said.
"For an Illyrian, it is," Mor muttered.
"Daylight is a precious resource," Cassian said, his wings fluttering.
"We live in the Night Court," Mor countered. My lips pulled into a smile.
"I told you that the moment we started letting females into our group, they'd be nothing but trouble," Cassian joked.
"As far as I can recall, Cassian," Rhys countered drily, "you actually said you needed a reprieve from staring at our ugly faces, and that some ladies would add some much-needed prettiness for you to look at all day."
"Pig," Amren said.
"I was a young Illyrian and didnt know better," he said, then pointed his fork at Azriel. "Dont try to blend into the shadows. You said the same thing."
"He did not," Mor said. "Azriel has never once said anything that awful. Only you, Cassian. Only you."
"Youd be wise to leave both of them at home for the meeting with the others, Rhysand. They'll cause nothing but trouble," Amren advised.
"It remains to be seen if theyll be joining us," Rhys said. I wondered what he meant, glancing at Feyre with furrowed brows. "Invitations are going out tomorrow, calling all the High Lords to gather to discuss this war."
"All?" Lucien asked. Rhys nodded. "Can I offer my unsolicited advice?"
"I think thats the first time anyone at this table has ever asked such a thing," Rhys smirked. "By all means, advise away."
"I assume Feyre is going," he said.
"I am," she replied.
"Are you planning to hide her powers?" Lucien asked.
I perked up at that. I had seen Feyre vanish and appear across the room before, but I didn't know what else she could do.
"That was something I'd planned to discuss with my mate. Are you leaning one way or another, Lucien?"
"My father would likely join with Hybern if he thought he stood a chance of getting his power back that way—by killing you," Lucien said. I wondered who his father was.
"Your brothers saw me, though," Feyre said. "Perhaps they could mistake the flame as yours, but the ice . . . "
"Thats the information you need to gather. What my father knows--if my brothers realized what she was doing. You need to start from there, and build your plan for this meeting accordingly."
"Eris might keep that information to himself and convince the others to as well, if he thinks it'll be more useful that way," Mor said.
"Perhaps. But we need to find that out. If Beron or Eris has that information, they'll use it to their advantage in that meeting--to control it. Or control you. Or they might not show up at all, and instead go right to Hybern."
"You and Azriel should talk. Tomorrow," Rhys said. "There is another meeting that needs to be had--and soon."
"Please don't say we need to go to the Court of Nightmares," Cassian grumbled.
"Not in the mood to terrorize our friends there?" Rhys asked.
"You mean to ask my father to fight in this war," Mor said to Rhys, her face pale.
"What is the Court of Nightmares?' I asked softly, speaking up for the first time.
"The place where the rest of the world believes the majority of the Night Court to be. The seat of his power. Or it was," Lucien explained.
"Oh, it still is," Rhys said. "To everyone outside Velaris." He leveled a steady look at Mor. "And yes. Keir's Darkbringer legion is considerable enough that a meeting is warranted."
"Why not just order them? Dont they answer to you?" Nesta asked.
"Unfortunately, there are protocols in place between our two subcourts regarding this sort of thing. They mostly govern themselves—with Mors father their steward," Cassian explained.
Mor's throat bobbed, and I studied her. She never spoke to me about her family.
"The steward of the Hewn City is legally entitled to refuse to aid my armies," Rhys explained. "It was part of the agreement my ancestor made with the Court of Nightmares all those thousands of years ago. They would remain within that mountain, would not challenge or disturb us beyond its borders . . . and would retain the right to decide not to assist in war."
"And have they--refused?" Feyre asked.
"Twice. Not my father," Mor nearly choked on the word. "But . . . there were two wars. Long, long ago. They chose not to fight. We won, but . . . barely. At great cost."
"We leave in two days," Rhys said.
"He'll say no," Mor countered. "Don't waste your time."
"Then I shall have to find a way to convince him otherwise."
"What?" Mor demanded, eyes flashing.
"He fought in the War," Rhys said calmly. "Perhaps well be lucky this time, too."
"I'll remind you that the Darkbringer legion was nearly as bad as the enemy when it came to their behavior," Mor said, pushing her plate away.
"There will be new rules."
"You will not be in a position to make rules, and you know it," Mor snapped.
"We'll see."
"What do you think?" Mor asked Azriel.
"It's not my call to make," Azriel replied.
"That's a bullshit answer," Mor challenged.
"You dont need to come, Mor," Rhys said with that calm, even voice.
"Of course Im coming. It'll make it worse if Im not there." She drained her wine in one swift tilt of her head. "I suppose I have two days now to find a dress suitable to horrify my father."
I smiled, Cassian and Amren laughing at the words.
"The King of Hybern is trying to bring down the wall by using the Cauldron to expand the holes already in it," Feyre revealed to Nesta. "I might be able to patch up those holes, but you being made of the Cauldron itself . . . if the Cauldron can widen those holes, perhaps you can close them, too. With training--in whatever time we have."
"I can show you," Amren clarified. "Or, in theory I can. If we start soon--tomorrow morning." She considered, then declared to Rhys, "When you go to the Court of Nightmares, we will go with you."
"What?" Feyre demanded.
"The Hewn City is a trove of objects of power," Amren explained. "There may be opportunities to practice. Let the girl get a feel for what something like the wall or the Cauldron might be like."
"Why not just kill the King of Hybern before he can act?" Nesta demanded.
"If you want his killing blow, girl, its yours," Amren told her. I wouldn't mind seeing him dead.
"What happened to the human queens?" Nesta wondered. "Were they made immortal?"
"Reports have been murky and inconsistent. Some say yes, others say no," Azriel replied.
"Why?" Cassian wondered.
"By the end of this war, I want them dead. The king, the queens--all of them. Promise me you'll kill them all, and I'll help you patch up the wall. I'll train with her"--a jerk of her chin to Amren--"I'll go to the Hewn City or whatever it is I'll do it. But only if you promise me that."
"Fine," Feyre said. "And we might need your assistance during the meeting with the High Lords--to provide testimony to other courts and allies of what Hybern is capable of. What was done to you."
"No."
"You dont mind fixing the wall or going to the Court of Nightmares, but speaking to people is where you draw your line?"
"No."
"Peoples lives might depend on your account of it. The success of this meeting with the High Lords might depend upon it."
"Dont talk down to me. My answer is no."
"I understand that what happened to you was horrible--"
"You have no idea what it was or was not. None. And I am not going to grovel like one of those Children of the Blessed, begging High Fae who would have gladly killed me as a mortal to help us. Im not going to tell them that story--my story."
"The High Lords might not believe our account, which makes you a valuable witness--"
"Then it is not my problem if youre unreliable. I'll help you with the wall, but I am not going to whore my story around to everyone on your behalf. And if you even dare suggest to Elain that she do such a thing, I will rip out your throat."
I stared at her for a second, the fire in her eyes, then turned to Feyre. "I'll do it. I'll talk to them."
"Absolutely not," Nesta snapped.
"Nes, you've barely spoken to me since we've been here, don't act like you care, now," I said to my eldest sister. She stared at me, narrowing her eyes.
"You aren't going to the Court of Nightmares, and you aren't going to this meeting," Nesta told me.
I turned to Feyre, my eyes pleading with her. She sighed, looking at me apologetically.
"Sammy, I really don't like the idea of you going, either," Feyre admitted to me.
"I'm not a child, Fey," I argued. "Like you said, it could save lives." She took a deep breath, exchanging a glance with her mate.
"We'll think about it."