A Court of Chaos and Confusion - An ACOTAR Rewrite

Chapter 41

Everything was black, and warm – and thick. Inky, but bordered with gold. I was swimming, kicking for the surface, where life was waiting. Up and up, frantic for air. The golden light grew, and the darkness became like sparkling wine, easier to swim through, the bubbles fizzing around me, and –

I gasped, air flooding my throat.

I was lying on the cold floor. No pain – no blood, no broken bones. I blinked. A chandelier dangled above me – I'd never noticed how intricate the crystals were, how the hushed gasp of the crowd echoed off them. A crowd – meaning I was still in that throne room, meaning I... I wasn't dead. Meaning I had... had I killed those... The room spun.

I groaned as I braced my hands against the floor, readying myself to stand, but – the sight of my skin stopped me cold. It gleamed with a strange light, and my fingers seemed longer where I'd laid them flat on the marble. I pushed to my feet. I felt – felt strong, and fast, and sleek. And –

And I'd become High Fae.

I went rigid as I sensed Tamlin standing behind me, smelled that rain and spring meadow scent of him, richer than I'd ever noticed. I couldn't turn around to look at him – I couldn't... couldn't move. A High Fae – immortal. What had they done?

I could hear Tamlin holding his breath – hear as he loosed it. Hear the breathing, the whispering and quiet celebrating of everyone in that hall still watching us – watching me – some chanting praise for the glorious power of their High Lords.

"It was the only way we could save you," Tamlin said softly. But then I looked to the wall, and my hand rose to my throat. I forgot about the stunned crowd entirely.

There, beneath that poor innocent girl's decayed body, was Amarantha, her mouth gaping as the sword protruded from her brow. Her throat gone – and blood now soaked the front of her gown.

Amarantha was dead. They were free. I was free. Tamlin was –

Amarantha was dead. And I had killed those two High Fae; I had –

I looked toward where their bodies should have been, but they were gone, no trash of the blood that had covered where they had been. It had been an illusion. A test within a test. But it had felt real, I could still feel their blood on my hands.

I shook my head slowly. "Are you –" My voice sounded too loud in my ears as I pushed back against the wall of black that threatened to swallow me. Amarantha was dead.

"See for yourself," he said. I kept my eyes on the ground as I turned. There, on the red marble, lay a golden mask, staring at me with its hollow eyeholes.

"Feyre," Tamlin said, and he gripped my chin between his fingers, gently lifting my face. I saw the familiar chin first, then his mouth, and then –

He smiled at me, his entire face alight with that quiet joy I had come to know, and he brushed my hair aside. He put my hand on his heart, and a steady beat echoed into my bones.

Everything I'd done to get to this moment, everything I'd figured out to be standing here... I shoved against the thought again. In a minute, in an hour, in a day, I would think about that, force myself to face it.

But not now.

It was chaos in the throne room in the moments after I'd awakened. The Attor and the nastier faeries had disappeared instantly, along with Lucien's brothers, which was a clever move, as Lucien wasn't the only faerie with a score to settle. No sign of Rhysand, either. Some faeries had fled, while others had burst into celebration, and others just stood or paced – eyes distant, faces pale. As if they, too, didn't quite feel like this was real.