Dance of Fate

Chapter Eighty One

Stepping back into Hybern's war camp was one of the most difficult things I would ever have to do. Knowing the horrors that occurred inside, the pain, the torture... what had happened to me...

But this time I would not be caught. None of us would. I would not allow it. I knew that Azriel would not allow it, either. I couldn't see him as we carefully strode into the camp, behind Feyre- who looked exactly like Ianthe. He couldn't see me either. But I could feel him beside me, and I knew he could feel me too. 

I held my breath as we approached the guards stationed at the edge of the camp. Should things go wrong, should Feyre not be allowed passage, we would have to kill them quickly. Very quickly, or we would risk the entirety of the camp noticing the intrusion. 

The six stations guards examined Feyre, her perfect disguise. She continued walking through with the same confidence and sensuality that the actual Priestess had possessed. And the guards did not stop her. 

Relief flooded through me, but only for a brief moment. As we entered the camp, it was an effort not to turn back and run. An effort not to let the horrific reminders consume me. 

Keeping my eyes trained on Feyre, flitting around us every few seconds to make sure there was no danger, we continued through the camp. 

The reveling soldiers were the same as in the other camp. Not the same people, of course, considering most had not managed to escape. But they indulged in the same horrid activities, drank and laughed in the same way. 

A scream sounded, and it took everything in me to ignore it. Those screams had been common at the camp. For a day, they had been my own screams. 

Feyre stopped suddenly. I felt the horror leaching off of her, and prayed that her expression did not give it away. 

You have to keep going. I said silently to her.

I can't- 

Yes you can. Your sister's life depends on it, and so do ours. I urged. 

The female hesitated, but finally continued. As we went on, it was evident who had been screaming, and why. A small, slender human hung from a rack near a makeshift dais of granite. Two others hun beside her- evidently dead. 

I'd seen hundreds of humans in this same state. Yet I'd only been able to save dozens, and it would haunt me for as long as I lived. I knew we wouldn't be able to save the humans in this camp, either. 

"He's been looking for you," drawled a hard male voice. I turned, still completely concealed by y magic. Feyre did too, facing Jurian, who strode towards her.

I glanced at the dais. And as if an invisible hand wiped away the smoke ...

There sat the King of Hybern. He lounged in his chair, head propped on a fist, face a mask of vague amusement as he surveyed the revelry, the torture and torment. The adulation of the crowd that occasionally turned to toast or bow to him.

My knees almost gave out at the mere sight of him. With the wave of fear, came a wave of rage. The fact that he wielded so much power over me, the fact that he made me fear my own self...

It's alright, Azriel's soft voice sounded in my mind. I wished I could see him. 

I know. I said, even though I hardly believed it. 

"I have been busy with my sisters." Feyre said to the king. 

Jurian stared at her for a moment too long, and I knew without needing to look inside his mind that he saw thorough Feyre's disguise. I prayed to the gods that the king would not, and at the same time prepared my magic for the possibility that he would.