A Court of Dreams and Promise

Chapter Forty-Seven

Helion

The shadowsinger's words had stuck with him, making him question the cloud of hopelessness that had so easily covered him.

Two hours. All their hope had been stolen from them in two hours. He had lost his lover, his son.

He barely remembered what had happened before Tamlin had found them and taken them.

He had been rummaging through Tamlin's clothes, pondering how one person could possibly own every hideous shade of green in tunic form. Someone had come up behind him before he had a chance to react, and he had turned.

But he had been too late and had been bound and winnowed into the parlor. He had tried to ignore the scent of blood in the room, tried not to look at Lucien's cold, unmoving stare, but had failed.

Then Feyre had crawled over to him and they had clung to each other as the shadowsinger had been dragged in. They became one as they watched the scene unfold as Tamlin threatened and as Velaria was forced to make the bargain that kept her with Tamlin indefinitely.

Remembering the feel of Feyre's clammy hand against his bicep, recalling the metallic tang of Marigold's blood in the air, the sight of Kallias's brutally bloodied cheek, of Velaria struggling and being hurt by those sickly, ugly bonds, of all the High Lords stone cold and possessed, fae he would have considered his friends, utterly nauseated him.

He sat up, one hand braced on his stomach, the other hand steadying himself on the bed.

He had been so clouded in his unrelenting grief that he had shouted at Feyre, at the shadowsinger, for having hope.

Shit.

Azriel was right. They needed leverage. They needed a way into Tamlin's court without Tamlin ever knowing they were there. They had Lucien and Elain, but that wouldn't be enough. Besides, Lucien was a scholar, not a spy or a warrior.

They needed someone who could fight, if caught in a sticky situation, someone who knew how to spy and sneak around Tamlin's manor, who knew the skills to keep quiet and stay out of sight.

It hit him instantly, the person, what he needed to do.

Helion knew one thing with absolute certainty: he was going to get Rhysand back, if it was the last thing he did.

✿ ↬ - - - ↫ ✿

Helion wished he had the shifting abilities Velaria did, or the shadow walking abilities of Azriel, as he snuck into the Spring Court yet again. But this time, he was determined to get out, a new ally gained.

From the small bit of intel that Kallias and Feyre had gotten before they were captured, the guest bedrooms for the High Lords were down the hallway from where Tamlin's bedroom was, all of them sleeping in Tamlin's personal wing, to his surprise.

He crept through the same set of doors, walked over the same rugs. He would have thought, with all of his newfound power, Tamlin would have learned how to make wards that Helion couldn't shatter and repair before anyone even noticed.

At least, he hoped Tamlin hadn't noticed.

He walked slowly down the hall leading to the High Lords' chambers, stopping every now and then to send out a tendril of power to make sure that no one was around.

After what seemed like an eternity, Helion finally reached the row of doors belonging to the High Lords. Closing his eyes, he cast five golden tendrils of power out, each one going under a different door. His power worked in mysterious ways, but one of its many abilities was that to sense surroundings.