Of Light And Dark | acotar

Chapter 7

There were many things Feyre missed about her mate. His steady presence, his comforting warmth, his wisdom, his love. Every hour of every day, she yearned for him by her side if only for the knowledge that whatever came next, she wouldn't face it alone.

But right then, on a strictly functional level, Feyre would have appreciated the ability to communicate with the rest of her Inner Circle without having to actually speak, exhausted and stunned as she was.

Shards of the Veritas littered the room, the bits of glass winking from between the taupe fibers of the shag rug, atop of the dark floorboards in the corner, tangled in Mor's hair.

All of them, it seemed, were too dumbstruck to form words; at least there, Feyre wasn't on her own. Only when the hearth light caught bits of gleaming red on Cassian's wings could she conscience it.

"Are you all right, Cass?"

He blinked a few times at her address, seeming to come back to himself. Then his wings twitched slightly, as though finally feeling the sting of various cuts. A small, brief, forced smirk. "Nothing but scratches."

"Well...shit" Mor said, chest heaving with the force of her shock, "what... just...happened?"

Nesta stepped forward from where she'd been shielded by Cassian, staring at the spot of carpet where the Veritas had sat. It was absolutely unblemished. No burns or tears marred the textile. A slight indent from the orb's weight was all that hinted at the event that had just transpired upon its surface.

Cassian, hand gripping his mate's tight enough that his knuckles shone white, stepped back to perch on the arm of the sofa next to them. "We just destroyed an ancient fucking artifact of great magic, that's what fucking happened."

"But...how?"

"Its power is truth," Amren said, voice steady but hollow. She, too, was ashen, a rare sight that shook Feyre to her core. "And it was trying to show us the truth, but—"

"It had more than one truth to share," Azriel finished, swallowing.

Feyre's heart tripped in her chest. "It showed moments from this world and...and the real one," she breathed.

"The other world, not the real one." Amren's quicksilver eyes looked up to meet Feyre's. "If we're correct, then this world is as real as that one is. Two contradicting truths. Mutually exclusive, contradicting truths."

"And where, precisely, does that leave us?" Mor sat forward, elbows resting on her knees.

Nesta took another half step forward, one arm held slightly back by Cassian's unrelenting grip. "It means we have somewhere to go home to." The group looked to her, a silent entreaty to continue. With a barely audible huff, she did. "If there are two truths, if the home we"—She gestured between herself, Feyre, and Cassian—"remember is still true, then there must be some way to return to it."

Despite the frustration and stagnation of the last several weeks, relief washed over Feyre, a warm and comfortable saltwater wave that lifted her from the depths she'd unknowingly sunk to. Confirmation — as close as they could get, anyway — that there was a solution somewhere. They simply had to find it.

She'd begun to doubt even that.

Feyre stood suddenly, wobbling a bit at the sudden motion. "I need a drink."

No one argued. An hour later, they were three bottles deep into Rhys's prized wine collection. They'd begun with silent, morose camaraderie. As Mor drained the first bottle, though, dribbling red onto her pristine blush pink dress, Amren — Amren — had giggled, a hesitant sound that bubbled through the room. Then Feyre had followed, then Mor. Azriel's lips gave a twitch, but otherwise he'd held himself in check. When Cassian had loosed his own booming laugh, they all fell apart. Even Nesta had buried her face in Cassian's neck, her shaking shoulders the only evidence of her laughter. Tears streamed down Cassian's cheeks as he wrapped his arm around her back, holding her close, his palm stroking absentmindedly up and down her side.