Of Light And Dark | acotar

Chapter 2

Her cheeks stung with windburn by the time Feyre finally turned toward home. Or, at least, the place she once had called home. Her feet guided her there with hardly a thought, and she paid no mind to the elements still tearing at her skin and hair. Only walked on, mind whirling and worrying.

It's a dream. A dream. Only a nightmare, and Rhys will wake you any minute.

She waited for his voice to break through the fresh torment her subconscious had concocted for her. Reached for him. Begged him to pull her from this place. Tugged at that too-loose string between them.

Just a dream. A bad, bad dream.

But the bitter cold biting at her nose and cheeks told her differently, as did the dreadful, familiar ache of a starving belly. The snow clinging to her hair was too solid. The burden of a suddenly human body too great.

This is no dream.

For the hours-long trek to their old hovel, those words repeated, horrified, in her mind. The journey was long enough to accept the truth of those words, if not to surrender to them. Much more difficult to ignore was the chasm in her chest, throbbing and raw.

Rhys. Nyx. Mor. Cassian. Azriel. Amren. Her sisters.

Oh, gods, her sisters.

The versions of them she was minutes away from seeing would be entirely different females than the two she'd come to know as Fae. That alone was a knife twisting in her gut. For the first time, they had known something like peace among them all. And now...

Feyre swallowed it down. She couldn't focus on that. Tamlin would come. He'd arrive by the next night, two at most.

Her head ached. But she had to think.

The sharp, black angles of that pitiful shack carved into the deeper black night around it. Only a faint orange glow through one of the grimy windows revealed even that much.

As well as the shadow of a figure standing outside. Waiting.

Feyre's stride faltered. Tamlin's estate was days away. Even with their speed, it was far too soon for him to have arrived. Her fingers inched toward her bow.

An imperious voice ripped through her like the icy wind through her cloak. "You know, I hated those tattoos on you, but you look strange without them now."

All the air vanished from Feyre's lungs, chest collapsing inward. Wary footsteps turned eager as she rushed forward and wrapped Nesta in her arms. Her sister stumbled back a step and stood somewhat stiff under her embrace, but she didn't pull away. Proof enough for Feyre that this was the sister she'd come to know in Prythian, not the one she'd left behind on this original night years ago. (Or would leave a day from now? The pain in her head intensified.)

She pulled back, looking into Nesta's face. Her human face. It was the one she'd known far longer than she had the Fae version, and yet it sent goosebumps prickling over her skin. She wondered if her sister felt the same jolt looking into hers. If the differences made her stomach roil with unease too.

"You...you remember?"

One nod was all she gave in answer. Nesta's jaw jutted out in that supremely Nesta way, eyes steady and lips tight. Feyre could feel the waves of uncertainty and fear rolling off her, though. Not unlike the power that had once been tangible as the slope of her nose. Before Feyre could ask, Nesta added, "Neither of them do."

"How'd you know I would?"

She shrugged. "I didn't. But if anyone else would, it'd be you. And I'd rather get the question of whether you did or didn't out of the way at the beginning."