Dance of Fate

Chapter Eighty

I was back at the war camp. For a moment, I wondered if the past few weeks had been a dream. The army surrounded me, stretching endlessly into the horizon. 

Than the large black tent. And inside it, the King of Hybern, standing over a map, flanked by Jurian and other commanders I recognized. 

Feyre and Nesta. The elder sister stared at the king in fear, while Feyre whispered something with urgency to her sister. 

A sense of death and life and happiness and suffering washed over me. I tried to look down at myself- but I was not a body. 

I was the Cauldron.

I could feel it. I could feel its power. I could feel it watching Nesta and Feyre.

I shot up in bed, gasping. Azriel's arm around my middle loosened as he sat up, eyes wide and alert. 

"What?" He asked, his forcedly calm voice quivering as he desperately searched my face. 

"I don't- I need to see Feyre." I breathed. 

Azriel did not question me. He nodded, jumping out of bed as quickly as I did. He tossed me something, and I caught the cloak and wrapped it around myself as he threw on a shirt. 

We were both rushing out of the tent in seconds. My heart pounded in my ears, my power thrumming in my bones, as if in warning. 

Azriel kept close behind me as I shoved open the flaps to Rhysand and Feyre's tent. 

The female was on her feet, her face bloodless. Rhys was beside her, his eyes wide. 

"What did you do," I breathed. 

Feyre shook her head, the picture of utter horror. "I..."

Before I could urge her to tell me, someone else entered the tent. "You hear it, too," Nesta panted. Her eyes flashed between her sister and I.

Then Amren came in, followed by Varian, her bare feet were splattered in mud and grass. "It came here—its power. I can feel it— slithering around. Looking."

"What did you do?" I snapped again. Amren looked at me with wide eyes, no irritation at me snapping at her. I knew they'd found the Cauldron's location. Rhysand had told me, but I hadn't cared enough to ask how they had done it, not when I'd thought Azriel was going to die. 

"Nesta scryed. And we- we pried too deep," Amren said. "Battle aside, it knows where we are as much as we now know its location."

Nesta raised a hand. "Listen."

A shiver crept down my spine as I heard a song and invitation, a cluster of notes sung by a voice that was male and female, young and old, haunting and alluring. I bit down on my tongue as my power thrashed. 

"What does it want?" Feyre asked.

"What is that," Azriel hissed from beside me.

I turned to him. "You can hear that?"

A shake of the head. "No—but the shadows, the wind... they recoil."

The Cauldron's song sounded again, though this time it was more distant. "I think it's leaving," Feyre whispered.

Cassian stumbled inside a moment later, a hand braced on his chest, Mor on his heels. Rhysand quickly explained what was happening.

The Cauldron sang one final note—then went silent.

Than my magic stilled. I loosed a quivering breath, relief and fear creeping through me.

"What you did- It knows where we are. It saw both of you." I gestured to Nesta and Feyre. "It knows where we are. You taunted it, and now..."