A Court of Fire and Shadow

Rhysand slammed into the floor of the townhouse, and Amren was instantly there, her hands on Cassian's wings, swearing at the damage. Then she cursed at the hole in Azriel's chest. Even her healing couldn't fix both wounds. No, they would need a true healer for each of them—and fast—because if Cassian lost his wings, Rhys knew he'd prefer death. Any Illyrian would.

"Where is she?" Amren demanded, her voice sharp.

Rhys had the same question echoing in his mind, but he couldn't answer it.

"Get the Book out of here," he ordered, dumping the pieces onto the ground. He hated the touch of them, their madness, despair, and joy. But Amren ignored his command.

Mor hadn't appeared yet—likely dropping off or hiding Nesta and Elain wherever she deemed safest.

"Where is she?" Amren asked again, pressing a hand to Cassian's battered back. Rhys knew she didn't mean Mor.

As if summoned by his thoughts, his cousin appeared—panting, bloodstained, and haggard. She dropped to the floor beside Azriel, her shaking hands pulling the arrow free from his chest, blood spraying across the carpet. She shoved her fingers over the wound, her magic flaring as light knit the bone, flesh, and vein back together.

Before she could finish, Nala appeared. Her presence in the room was like the arrival of a tempest, commanding and unwavering. Her dark wings unfurled protectively behind her, stretching wide like a barrier. She looked at Mor for only a second before storming over to Azriel, her face tight with possessive fury.

Without hesitation, Nala shoved Mor away, a snarl of warning escaping her lips. "Get your hands off him," she growled, her voice low and dangerous. She wasn't one to tolerate another female's touch on her mates, not unless it was Amren.

Mor's eyes flashed with surprise, but she backed off immediately, recognizing the sharpness in Nala's tone and stance.

Nala didn't look at her. Her attention was entirely on Azriel as she knelt beside him, placing her hands over the still-bleeding wound on his chest. Her magic surged, and shadows flickered around her fingers, blending with her fire, as she worked to heal him. It wasn't the perfect precision of a healer, but Nala's power was far more raw, a blend of dark force and fire, and it worked. Slowly, Azriel's bleeding stopped, and his breathing became steadier.

"I've got him," Nala muttered, her voice edged with quiet determination. "He'll live." One of his hands slowly moved to her thigh and gave a small squeeze to comfort the burning rage within her. 

Amren glanced between Nala and Rhys, her expression unreadable. "Where is she?"

Rhys couldn't answer. The words stuck in his throat.

Mor, still kneeling beside Azriel and Nala, finally spoke, her voice thick with a mix of sorrow and anger. "Tamlin offered passage through his lands and our heads on platters to the king in exchange for trapping Feyre, breaking her bond, and bringing her back to the Spring Court. But Ianthe betrayed Tamlin—told the king where to find Feyre's sisters. So the king had Feyre's sisters brought with the queens to prove he could make them immortal. He put them in the Cauldron. We could do nothing as they were turned. He had us by the balls."

Those quicksilver eyes shot to Rhys. "Rhysand."

Rhys swallowed, his voice strained. "We were out of options, and Feyre knew it. So she pretended to free herself from the control Tamlin thought I'd kept on her mind. Pretended that she... hated us. And told him she'd go home—but only if the killing stopped. If we went free."

"And the bond," Amren breathed, her hands slowing the blood on Cassian's back.

Mor added, "She asked the king to break the bond. He obliged."

Rhys felt the sharp pain of that thought—a fresh wound to his heart. The agony was almost unbearable.

"That's impossible," Amren said, disbelief in her voice. "That sort of bond cannot be broken."

"The king said he could do it."

"The king is a fool," Amren barked. "That sort of bond cannot be broken."

"No, it can't," Rhysand whispered, his heart breaking.

They both turned to him.

He struggled to clear his mind, to push aside the agony that threatened to crush him. Feyre had sacrificed herself for him—for her family. She had done everything for them, and yet... she hadn't believed she was essential. Not even after all she had done.

"The king broke the bargain between us. Hard to do, but he couldn't tell it wasn't the mating bond," Rhys murmured.

Mor froze, her eyes widening. "Does—does Feyre know—"

"Yes," Rhys breathed, the words like a weight in his chest. "And now my mate is in our enemy's hands."

"Go get her," Amren hissed, her voice sharp.

"No," Rhys said, the word tasting like ash in his mouth.

They stared at him, shock and confusion flashing across their faces. Rhys wanted to scream at the sight of his brothers unconscious and bleeding, but he bit it back, forcing himself to remain composed. "Weren't you listening to what Feyre said to him? She promised to destroy him—from within."

Mor's face went pale as she moved to stand to help Amren with Cassian. "She's going into that house to take him down. To take them all down."

Rhys nodded grimly. "She is now a spy—with a direct line to me. What the King of Hybern does, where he goes, what his plans are, she will know. And report back."

Nala's shadow-wrapped form remained at Azriel's side, unwavering. Her power seemed to hum in the air, dark and potent. "Feyre will do far more damage from within than we could ever hope to do from here," Nala said, her voice steady but laced with the same fierce determination that Rhys knew so well. "She's getting inside the king's head. If we act now, if we go in too early, we risk exposing her. Let her gather more information, weaken them from the inside. She'll bring them down when the time is right."

Amren met her gaze, unblinking, her lips pressed tight in thought. "You're not happy about this, are you?"

"No," Nala answered flatly. "But it's the only way. Feyre is a warrior, and she's sacrificing herself—for us, for this court. The longer she stays there, the more she learns, and the more we'll know about the Hybern king's plans. I hate it, but I trust her."

Rhys felt a flicker of pride surge in his chest for his half-sister's words. "Exactly. Feyre is stronger than all of us give her credit for, and she'll use this opportunity to weaken Hybern. But we have to wait. We need to be patient."

Their eyes met, a quiet understanding between them.

Amren's tone softened, a rare flicker of something akin to respect in her eyes. "You're right. But don't forget, we still need to plan our next move carefully. Hybern has no idea what he's facing."

Rhys clenched his fists at his sides. "And when the time comes, we will rip the Spring Court, Ianthe, and Hybern to shreds. Slowly. Until then, we prepare." He met Nala's gaze again, her shadowy wings folding around her protectively. "I'll find a way to bring Feyre back. When she's ready, we'll strike."

Mor's gaze flickered, her hands still glowing with magic over Cassian's wings. "And what about the Cauldron? The Book?"

Rhys stared at the door, as if waiting for Feyre to appear in the doorway, vibrant, laughing, beautiful, and full of life. He gritted his teeth, his power building like an untamed force desperate to be unleashed. "Until then, we go to war."

The room fell silent as they all felt the weight of the words. Rhys knew, deep down, that the battle ahead would demand everything they had—but it would be worth it, for Feyre, for his family, for his court. And when the time was right, he'd make sure the Hybern king would pay for every ounce of suffering he'd caused.