Of Light And Dark | acotar

Chapter 6

Never in Feyre's life had she so wished to destroy something.

Anything.

Burn it. Dissolve it. Shred it. Drop it from a hundred feet above the ground to watch it crash and crumble.

Fifteen days in the Night Court. Fifteen days of theorizing and researching, of seeking out even the thinnest leads they could follow. But Azriel's shadows hadn't made a dent in escaping the Night Court's borders and therefore had returned no actionable intel. Amren had been combing through the Court's most sacred archives—so secret and guarded only the Inner Circle had access or even knowledge they existed—and Cassian and Mor had visited every known mage and soothsayer in the territory.

All had met with failure.

Nesta and Feyre had spent most of their days in the library beneath the House of Wind, reading through tome after tome, volume after dusty volume. No mentions anywhere of time abnormalities or memory disturbances or reality bending. Feyre would have taken anything: a nursery rhyme, a half-translated fable, a general's diary entry describing a sense of gods-damned deja vu while eating his lunch one afternoon.

But no, they hadn't been so lucky. And Feyre wanted to scream. Their time here was nearly half gone, and they had nothing to show for it.

Still, she was grateful to be in her home court at least, even if most of her family still considered her barely more than a stranger. Had she remained in Spring Court, with the male she neither liked nor trusted, she wasn't sure she could've handled the frustrating, unending failure.

She'd have demolished a vase or two, for sure.

The Inner Circle were gathered in the House of Wind for a subdued dinner. Cassian and Nesta, of course, sat close together at one corner of the table, the rest spread around evenly. Bounty before them notwithstanding, they all picked at their food like Amren normally did, very few bites actually consumed amongst the group.

A fork clattered to a plate, the shrill sound stabbing straight though Feyre's pounding head, and she flinched.

"There's another option we haven't discussed yet," Mor said, lips pulled taut.

Everyone in the room looked toward her. Feyre massaged her temples but didn't respond. The moment lay over them, heavy as wet wool, before Amren huffed. "Well, come on, then. Spit it out."

Mor swiped her golden hair over her shoulder, lifting her chin up. "We can steal the Veritas." Cassian snarled. Azriel looked like he wanted to, face twisting with distaste and anger, but kept quiet. Before either male could speak, though, Mor continued, "You said you stole it before."

"Yes," Cassian said, eyes blazing. "But we had Rhys with us—the whole cavalry, actually—and a damn good distraction to keep anyone from wondering what we were up to." Despite himself, it seemed, his eyes flicked toward Feyre, slight color pinking his cheeks before looking back to Mor with a shake of his head. "And what exactly could it tell us?"

"That's the point," Mor argued. "We don't know! It could tell us nothing. But its power is truth. What if it can give us enough of the truth to send us on the path to fixing this?"

Cassian opened his mouth again, but Azriel cut him off. "Amren would have to stay. It would just be you, me, and Cassian going down there." His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Can we get to it, just the three of us?"

Mor didn't answer immediately, pondering. Finally, though, she met his gaze. "If we think it through, plan carefully, then it's possible."

"And what if we came with you?"

Every head whipped in Nesta's direction, but she merely gave an imperial shrug. "What better distraction is there than a couple of humans in the Court of Nightmares?"