Rowaelin+Feysand

Chapter 2

Present time.

Amelia P.O.V

This could not be happening. I could not endure this. Why? This morning, I had been so happy, and that feeling had escaped, like a whisper of a dream. How much would I give to get it back? To get her back? My mother, who had seemed like a vibrant flower in my life of the deserted land, now wiped of the surface of the earth. The black void inside me which had been there all my life was a joke now. I no longer had a dark void inside me... I was the dark void. ANd nothing, no one, not even my father, who was grieving as much- or possibly even more- than I was, could help close the void. It had no end or beginning. It was who I was now.

I was curled up in a ball, inside our house in Velaris. Which room, I really did not care. I sensed my father sitting beside me, face in his hands, shadows engulfing him, but I made no move to comfort him. Nothing could comfort us now, except having her walk through the door, that smile adorning her face, and she would be asking us why we were so glum...

"Who did it?" Rhys, my father, moaned. He sounded so weak, but I knew he wanted vengeance. Such raw pain and agony were layered in his voice, that I looked up.

Unknowingly, his words triggered the memory I fought so hard to keep from surfacing. My mother was standing outside, in the Rainbow, with me, and she had told me to wait outside as she went to get something for Elain and Nesta. There was a bench outside, and so I collapsed with all the shopping bags on it. I fell asleep; I was so tired. I should have known then, that something was wrong. My mother and I had a bond, as my father and mother did, but ours was different. It was a bond that Feyre had said was one of a kind, a bond of pure love. I had believed her. The bond was silent. So silent, that it had lulled me to sleep. But the bond was never silent. Never supposed to be, anyway. But it was. Which meant that Feyre was wither hurt... or dead.

After I had woken up and ran into the shop, I had been too late. The shop was deserted, but Feyre was lying on the floor. Anyone would have thought she had passed out, but I knew it was permanent. I had had to call Dad, because he was in one of the Illyrian war camps, tending to the sick. He had been so focused, he had not heard it. At least, that was what he told me.

When he came, he had just stood. And stared. And then he had got on his knees, next to her, and told her he was sorry. I took that as a cue to get out, but I could not get out fast enough. I still heard the sounds of my father sobbing, and mumbling about Amarantha. Then more apologies. I thought that he was grieving more in his mind that he let show. I felt as if my whole world had been cleaved apart, but... Having a mate, dead...

"I don't know," I muttered, snapping back to the present. I heard him suck in a breath, then shout a name. Tamlin. Involuntarily, my hands clenched. My mother had told me her stories about her life, against her best wishes. And although perhaps Tamlin had been alright in the end...

"Tamlin?" My voice shook. "You think he did this?"

Rhys shook his head and murmured. "But I think he knows who did..."

A minute later, we had both winnowed to the Spring Court. I had learned to winnow a few years ago and now could do it almost perfectly. My Dad walked all the way to the front of the manor and blasted the door open. I hurried after him, hoping that this would work. And work quickly enough that I would refrain from killing the two-faced tool that Tamlin was.

We walked through like we owned the place, and I inhaled quickly in. It was not the beauty of the palace that made me gasp, but I had caught sight of Tamlin. And wanted to sink my claws into his throat. He was looking, for all the world, that my mother, my sun if I were a planet, was not dead. Not there anymore.

"Who did it?" Rhys asked Tamlin in his flat voice.

"What, Rhysand?" Tamlin snarled."What is so important that you storm into my home and you disrupt-"

"Feyre is dead." he tried not to let his voice break on the last word but failed. "And I think you know exactly who is to blame..."

"How will I-" his face drained of colour. "Dead?"

Rhys nodded. "Yes, dead. And you know who it is."

"I had nothing to do with that, I would never kill-"

"Dad?" a male voice shouted from the top of the stairs. "What are you doing?"

I turned and froze. There was a blond boy, standing four feet from me, and he had startling green eyes. I felt a bond snap into place; a mating bond. No.

"Who are you?" my voice sounded shaky to my ears.

"I am Rick," he answered. "Tamlin's son."

I couldn't help but ask. "And your mother is..."

A flash of pain crossed his features. "Ianthe, high priestess, she's dead."

Ianthe. No. Please, no... That was the Ianthe in my mother's stories. The two- faced lying, greedy... And her son... Their son, the people I hated the most on behalf of my mother... Their son was my mate.