Fate had her remain with her father and youngest sister the day the debt collectors came.
It was fate that her father let her go.
It was fate that gave her a new husband, a new home.
It was fate that her younger sister disappeared.
It was fate that...
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"You are a fool," Amren told her High Lord as she slammed the office door of the Townhouse shut behind her. Azriel had offered to fly Iyla back to the House of Wind after dinner to change before he and Mor took her to see a play in the City of Starlight.
"I usually am, but can you at least explain why," Rhys told her dryly as he took a seat behind his desk.
"If you wanted your mate to die, you could kill her much more kindly than the Weaver would," Amren said snidely.
"You've been talking to Azriel," Rhys surmised based on the anger that poured from the tiny creature. He could only guess that Azriel had somehow informed his second that Rhys would be taking Iyla to visit the Weaver.
Amren raised one eyebrow as she spoke. "Your Shadow Singer came to me to find out what I personally knew about the death god contained in the Middle. He has a desire to protect your mate from your foolish whims."
Rhys knew he could be mad at Azriel for discussing his plans with his second, but he also understood how much Iyla's friendship meant to the Spymaster and the High Lord would never be upset with his brother's instincts to protect those close to him.
"I appreciate your opinion on the matter-" Rhysand made an effort to begin diplomatically.
To his annoyance, Amren wasn't about to listen to his excuses. "I know exactly what you're doing, Rhys. You want to help a dead mother test your mate, and you cannot see how unfair this is to Iyla."
"My mother promised-" Rhys tried to interject again, growing frustrated with his Inner Court arguing against fulfilling his mother's wishes.
"Your mother is dead, High Lord. She is dead. She wasn't an oracle, or seer, she was an Illyrian fae with minimum powers and a mean husband," Amren snapped. "There was no way she could predict the Mother's plan for you. You're purposefully putting your mate in the path of a death god she has no chance to defeat. You're murdering her for the memory of your mother."
"Iyla has been preparing for this for months," Rhys said brusquely, beyond annoyed and moving into anger. "She's been training with Cassian and Azriel for physical defense, not to mention her magic with you and I. She can completely mask her presence. She is ready to retrieve that ring, and I am ready for her to know she is my mate so she can make her choice."
Amren looked at him with pity. As if speaking to an ignorant child, she explained, "Iyla has been a fae for three months, Rhysand. Before that, she had received no training, physically or magically. Three months and you want her to face a death god. You knew that the Weaver could kill Amarantha, you said so yourself. She was nearly a millenia in age, she held the powers of seven High Lords, and she still couldn't be tempted to face the Weaver."
"Iyla made the choice herself. She will do this, and she will succeed, Amren. I thank you for your concern, but even before I knew her, I knew my mate would succeed," Rhysand said, even though he deflated at her words.
