A Court of Dawn and Midnight

The Gift

Rhysand was shaking his head.

"Rhysand, listen to me." Feyre put her hands out like she was trying to reason with him. "I can help. I can get Tamlin to help."

Rhysand smashed his fist into the side of the tree Feyre was pushed against. 

"I don't need your High Lord's help." He hissed. Ferye glared at him.

His people were dying and he was too proud to save them.

Rhysand turned away from Feyre and began to make his way out of the forest. By this time, the sun was finally starting to come up and the brilliant colors of day broke through the leaves.

Feyre had no idea how to get out of the forest on her own, so she decided to follow Rhysand instead of giving him space. He grunted when Feyre caught up with him.

"You'd rather have your Fae die," Feyre glanced up at Rhysand, "than to have Tamlin's help?"

Rhysand stopped so abruptly that Feyre didn't realized she had kept walking ahead of him. She turned around to face him and the light filtering through the leaves of the forest caught her hair, turning the brass strands into gold.

"I am the only one who can help the Night Court. Me, Feyre, only me." Rhysand growled.

He walked past her, brushing his broad shoulder against her own.

Feyre sighed deeply and continued to follow Rhysand out of the forest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As soon as Feyre and Rhysand were inside of the Night Court's palace, the shadow servant from the night before found Feyre. She glared at Feyre and grabbed her arm. The servant glanced at Rhysand and a question formed in her misty eyes. Rhysand nodded and Feyre was pulled away from him by the servant.

Feyre could not comprehend how such a wispy looking thing could be so strong. The servant practically dragged Feyre to her bedroom and flung her through the door.

"You left," the shadow servant rasped. She was standing in front of the door like she was blocking it.

"It won't happen again," Feyre lied. How could she be sure that she wouldn't leave the palace again? She had to get out last night, so she did. Feyre knew it was foolish of course, but wasn't obeying Rhysand's every command like subservient wife foolish too?

The servant seemed to sense the lie because her eyes blazed like stars as she drifted toward Feyre. She reached out a translucent hand and Feyre recoiled, she expected a slap across the face or a few harsh words but the shadow's hand only fell onto Feyre's head. The servant pulled a leaf out of Feyre's hair, grimacing as she brought it up to her face. She hissed and then grabbed Feyre's arm yet again.

The servant led Feyre to the door in the back of the bedroom and Feyre was about to reach for the handle when the shadow passed through the door like it was made of mist. The servant dragged Feyre behind her and she too, passed through the door.

Feyre gaped at the room she had just entered. Gleaming black and blue tiles blended together to form deep, dark walls that resembled the night sky. Racks of plush, silver towels and cosmetics hung on the walls and in the corner of the grand room was a sunken tub and a porcelain sink.

Suddenly, Feyre remembered that she hadn't bathed since she arrived in the Night Court and she felt as if she was made of dirt. She looked over at the servant but the shadow had already crossed the room to the bath. She began to fill it with steaming water, adding oils that smelled of roses.

Just like the roses in the Spring Court. Just like the thorns and the blood that haunted Feyre's dreams and every thought.

She shook her, trying to forget her time Under the Mountain but Feyre knew that she could never forget.

The servant finished filling the bath and Feyre was relived when the shadow left her alone in the bathroom. She had expected the servant to scrub Feyre herself.

Feyre walked over to the bath, inhaling deeply as she slipped into the heated water, letting the warmth seep into her skin and cleanse her pores. She ran her fingers through her hair, gently easing the dirt out of each strand.

Feyre felt as if she had spent a whole day soaking in the water but when she opened the door to the main bedroom, wrapped in a black silk robe, the shadow servant was in front of the dresser. She turned when she heard Feyre and in her hand was a deep, blue tunic.

The tunic clung to Feyre's chest and waist, accenting every curve. She slipped on the soft, black pants and boots that the servant handed her. After she was dressed, the shadow nodded to her then vanished, leaving a trail of black mist in her wake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Feyre slipped out of the bedroom and ambled down the hallway. She explored each and every room that the hallway led to. Most of them were bedrooms identical to the one Feyre was staying in. After some time, she walked past the door that led to the forest where the creature had been. Feyre shivered as she remembered the events of last night.

Eventually, the hallway ended and opened up to a massive balcony that over looked the entrance to the palace. Feyre had never gotten to see this, she was always being herded away to her bedroom, so the sheer beauty of the room hit her like a gust of wind.

The balcony was framed by two, elegant, curved staircases that led to the main floor. The opal steps melted into the floor that was an abyss of shining, black diamond. Feyre shuffled toward the staircase and slid down the steps, holding onto the silver banister for support. When she reached the floor, she placed one foot onto the ground and leaned over. Feyre's reflection shown in the shimmering black, just as it would if she was leaning over a pond.

Reluctantly, Feyre tore her eyes away from the main floor and focused on the doors that lined the edges of the room. She glided to one of the doors and placed her hand on the handle. Feyre pushed the door open without a creak from the hinges and entered the room.

Perhaps the world was giving Feyre a gift. Perhaps the world felt bad for everything that it had done to her and was asking for forgiveness. The room was a gift, it brought tears to Feyre's eyes and warmed her soul. It gave her hope and inspiration and deep, deep happiness that began to blossom in her chest.

The room was an art gallery.

Feyre allowed her legs to travel around the room as her eyes devoured each and every painting. Even the gallery in the Spring Court could not compare to what she was seeing.

The colors, so dark and yet radiant, captivated Feyre and pulled her into a daze. She wanted to touch the canvases but was afraid that if she did, the colors would lose their enticing appearance.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" Feyre jumped back as Rhysand's deep voice rolled over her and knocked her out of her drunken daze. She turned to face him and stumbled for words.

"I- yes they are beautiful." She whispered. "Who- who made them?"

"Ah." Rhysand stepped toward Feyre. "That I do not know."

He was standing next to her now, smiling at the painting that Feyre had been staring at.

"They have been found by my Fae and brought to me. Though I have never found out who the artist is that painted them." His hand swept across the room, gesturing to the hundreds of masterpieces.

"One artist? One artist painted all of these?" Feyre shook her head in disbelief.

Rhysand met Feyre's gaze and her heart seemed pause for a second as she found herself staring into Rhysand's eyes. The eyes that she had tried to paint for so long.

But Rhysand broke the stare and his face hardened into a scowl as he backed away from Feyre. He pointed to a wall of paintings across the room and nodded his head.

"Behind that wall, there is everything you need." Then he turned and fled from the gallery, leaving Feyre alone to discover just what exactly was behind that wall.