Dance of Fate

Chapter Thirty Nine

The meeting room was a chaos as everyone argued over what to do. Cassian and Amren argued that the mortal queens were impossible to reason with- and that perhaps we should take more extreme measures to obtain the second half of the Book of Breathings.
Rhys and Mor objected to this, insisting that if we get the Veritas, an orb that belonged to Mor's blood family, we could show them of Velaris's existence, proving that Rhysand was indeed not the murderous High Lord they believed him to be. And if we did that, perhaps then the queens might listen to reason and willingly hand over the book.

Feyre, Azriel and I remained silent, the three of us watching the others argue. Feyre looked uncomfortable, like she would rather be anywhere than where she was- yet seemed inclined to agree with Rhys and Mor. But Azriel had a carefully calculating look in his eye. Assessing the situation before he decided which side to take- since there was two on each side, he would be the final vote, unless Feyre and I decided to take a side. Though of course Rhysand might object anyway.

Since we had been meeting with the queens- before then, perhaps- I had been at war with my own mind regarding what to do. If the queens didn't hand over the book, and I really wasn't hopeful that they would, there would still be another way to nullify the Cauldron. Or at least a possibility- one that didn't involve exposing Velaris. No one besides Azriel, Cassian, and I knew. And neither of them would ever suggest it- in fact, they would probably be against it. Especially Azriel. But he had kept my secrets for this long. He'd never uttered a word about the Faebane, or what happened in the Spring Court, or the witch, or the Bone Carver. And it gave me no small amount of guilt, but I hoped he would keep deceiving everyone for my sake a little longer- just one detail.

I had to try. I had kept secrets about my magic for so long that it felt like I was going to be crushed under the weight of all the lies and deception. At least, even if everyone was against the idea, the truth would finally be out. Or part of it, I supposed.

"The queens won't listen to reason. They despise us, and nothing we say or show them is going to change that." Cassian hissed. "We'd just be risking exposing Velaris."

"You don't know that." Mor countered, a snarl in her voice.

Amren shook her head, distaste simmering in her eyes. "It's too big of a gamble. We need the Book. Without it there's no way of nullifying the Cauldron, and in Hybern's hands-"

"What if there was another way?" Everyone fell silent, all eyes turning to me. I felt my heart begin to pound, the sound of it thundering almost drowning out that of my own voice. "To nullify the Cauldron. A way that doesn't involve the Book of Breathings."

Across from me, at the other head of the table, Rhysand shook his head. "There is no other way. The Book was made from the Cauldron, which is why it has the power to nullify it."

I swallowed. "There is another way." I breathed. In my peripheral vision, I saw Cassian gaping at me. Beside him, Azriel visibly tensed, shadows swirling rapidly around him. His hazel eyes were wide. "Asteria," he said in a low, cautious voice. I ignored him.

"A while ago, I went to the Bone Carver. To ask him about my magic." I confessed. Rhysand's eyes widened, consumed with shock and a hint of pain.

"You- you went to the Prison?" He asked. This would be much harder than I had hoped.

"Yes." I sighed. "It's a long story, but that's not important-"

"Of course it's important." Rhys spoke in a harsh voice. I resisted the urge to wince. I hated myself for it, but for a half second, I couldn't help but be reminded of my father. "You were really that desperate that you went to the Bone Carver?" He demanded.

I nodded slowly, unable to meet his eyes. My cheeks burned with shame as I felt everyone's eyes on me.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Rhysand said. His voice was both angry, and pained. "Did you go with her?" A sharp glance at Azriel, who remained perfectly still, even as Rhysand gave him a look that promised nothing good.