A Court of Desires and Darkness

Chapter 11

The Shadowsinger who visited me all those years ago. Though we didn't exactly meet, let alone talk, he saved me. After feeling alone for so long--long before even being captured--he reminded me that I was not. There are those out there that I can still help. I just need to get out of here, first. 

The scuff of feet from behind us broke our eye contact. Tamlin and his emissary, Lucien stepped out from the shadows. I watched the group in front of the dais recoil in disbelief, their faces twisting with disgust.

The brunette female was whispering under her breath, shaking her head as she watched them take a few steps closer. The violet-eyed fae, whom I suspect to be the High Lord of the Night Court, asks Tamlin, "What was the cost?" They all bicker back and forth. I don't hear any of it, my attention back to the Shadowsinger. Deep red blood spreads onto his leather armor, smothering his flickering blue syphons. Seven syphons, I realize. A typical Illyrian warrior only uses one, maybe two, to keep their powers in check. The other Illyrian has seven as well, colored red instead of blue. That is when I remember stories about the Night Court and the current ranks. 

Rhysand, a tremendously powerful High Lord. Amren, his Second--a terrifyingly formidable being, older even than me. Morrigan, his Third--devastatingly strong and a truth speaker. Cassian, his army General. And Azriel, his spymaster--a Shadowsinger.

"Feyre," Tamlin orders, a hand outstretched to the brunette female. The human who was Made. She makes no move towards the High Lord of Spring. I study her, the human who helped break the curse put on the High Lords of Prythian. The mortal who fought for the love of one of those lords. The martyr who died for it, to save him. She does not appear to have those same feelings for the blonde male standing by the dais, his arm still stretched out to her. She motions away from him, towards Rhysand and the General, who are now holding the injured Shadowsinger.

The tension in the room increases ten fold when the King declares Feyre to break whatever bond there is between Rhysand and her. I notice the swirls of black ink around her arm. A bargain. 

Rhysand remains frozen in place while Feyre pleads Tamlin to stop. 

Jurian draws his sword, his eyes fixed upon the High Lord's Third. 

My heart thunders in my chest, my magic pooling underneath my skin, beckoning to be called upon. Shadows begin slithering around me, keeping close, hidden. I keep my eyes on the Illyrian, using him as an anchor to not release the hold I keep tight on the darkness within. Lest they all perish. 

The sound of a punch to the face breaks my concentration. I see Feyre phase back from winnowing, she steps into Rhysand's arms. Tamlin is consumed with wrath as he wipes the blood trickling from his nose. That is when I smell it. The sacred bond. Feyre and Rhysand are mates. The King's laugh echoes through the hall. 

Feyre bellowed from below, her gaze so full of hatred towards Tamlin. "I'm not going with you. And even if I did...You spineless, stupid fool for selling us out to them!" She turns her wrath on the King and me. "Do you know what they want to do with that Cauldron?"

"Oh, I'm going to do many, many things with it," the King responded. As if being summoned, the Cauldron appeared at the base of the dais, separating us. It's whispers engulf my senses, overwhelming me. 

Kill him kill him kill him, it says. I don't know to whom it is speaking to or about. Feyre seems to hear it also, her gaze faltering. Then... she releases her magic. Short lived, however. As the stifling power of the King interrupts her transformation. Her magic... it is like all the other courts, but unlike them all the same. 

The main doors opened. The mortal queens waltz in with their guards. Two women are pushed forward with them. It is not until I see Feyre's terrified face that I know who they are--her sisters. 

The excited roars of the Cauldron snuff out the yelling between the King, the mortal queens, and the Night Court. It whispers words in broken sentences. So loudly that my head starts spinning and I grip the throne to keep steady. My movement catches the eyes of the others in the room. 

"My Queen tires of this. Kill one of them," he points to the Illyrians. "Perhaps the spymaster?" I look to him, a knowing expression etched on his face. I hear growls come from the High Lord and General.

I step back from the throne, back from him. The darkness inside me whirs, electrifying my bones. "No," I retort. The King snaps his head to me, rage warping his features. 

A blinding white light erupts from in front of me and I turn to shield my eyes. A pained scream comes from one of the fae of the Night Court and I whirl towards it. The General--Cassian--lay bloodied, his wings torn to shreds as he covers Azriel from the King's blast. He writhes in pain, blood pooling around him, staining the marble floor. 

I look up to see one of Feyre's sisters being hauled into the Cauldron, the other fighting so hard against the fae soldiers. When she is pushed into the ancient object, I suck in a deep breath. The pounding of the Cauldron's magic pulsing through me as it changes her. An invisible tether of searing heat bounces back and forth between it and me. I grip the throne again as the Cauldron uses some of my magic to aid in the transformation--as it did with Jurian's resurrection. I hear the human girl cry out in pain, drowning out the screams of the two sisters in the room. 

Then the Cauldron tipped over, the once human girl splayed out on the floor soaked in the black water. Her humanness is gone, replaced by the gracefulness only a fae can portray. 

I clutch my stomach, sealing my eyes closed as I regain the strength that the Cauldron borrowed. 

Not yet, it hissed, pulling back. 

I opened my eyes, vision blurred, just in time to see the second sister being hauled into the Cauldron. It purrs in excitement. She stands in the water, almost completely under. The soldiers struggle to complete the task. She lifts her arm, a finger pointing directly at the King. At me. I feel him stiffen next to me. 

One finger, a curse and a damning.

A promise. 

When she goes under, I collapse to my knees, the magic the Cauldron takes is overwhelming. Not the Cauldron, but the girl. She claws at the abysmal darkness, taking more than what it was willing to give. An icy chill runs down my spine, the temperature in the room suddenly dropping dramatically. It spins around me violently and I close my eyes to keep from vomiting. I hear the Cauldron tip over, crashing onto the floor, the water flooding out like rapids. I lift my head, panting, and watch the now High Fae female rise angrily to her feet and towards her sister, rage consuming her motions. 

Though the transformation finished, nausea still threatens me. I shakily rise to a standing position, leaning close to the King. "I need to leave," I force out through gritted teeth. In response to my shaken state, my shadows swirl aggressively on my skin, ready to lash out on anyone. It could devour everyone in this room. The King, the only one who would survive.

With one glance at my almost smothered arms, he nods sharply. 

I turn on my heels, stealing a glance to the others one last time. The hate filled sister is huddled over the other, Tamlin's emissary close by, a look of shock on his face. Tamlin stands between them and the Night Court. Feyre and Rhysand stay close together. My eyes land on Azriel, the only one who watches me leave--the only one who can, as I let the shadows consume me, let them take me away to safety. 

I see his hazel eyes long after I enter my silent room.

I collapse on my bed, convulsing from the events before giving way to the deep exhaustion.