Crescent City: A Court of Thrones and Glass

Chapter Five: Feyre

Feyre, Mor, and Amren were working. Well, shopping, and working. The plan was to assess Velaris and pinpoint the areas that could use some improvement, but they may have made some stops in between. Amren couldn't resist looking in the fancy jewellery shops, and Mor and Feyre loved the clothing stores around the city. After a long day of walking, the ladies returned to the River House for wine and dinner. With the boys and Nesta gone and out of the house, it was a lazy evening with lots of conversation and laughter. Suddenly, Elain burst through the door, hair wild and eyes panicked. Feyre jumped immediately out of her seat.
"Elain, what's wrong?" Feyre asked with great concern for her sister. It was almost like Elain was in a trance.
"Nameless and the King of Ice," Elain said, eerily, "the Umbra Mortis and the starborn Bryce. Old enemies shall return, and in the end they all must burn." As she finished the verse, Elain stumbled and collapsed to the ground.
     "ELAIN!" Feyre yelled as she rushed over to where her sister lay on the floor. She cradled her head in her hands.
     "Mor, write down what she said. Amren, get Elain some water, please," Feyre ordered. Elain sat up groggily and gratefully took the glass Amren handed to her. She'd been getting better with her powers, but she hadn't a vision this bad in a long time.
     "They're coming. We must warn the others," Elain whispered to Feyre.
     "Who's coming?" Feyre asked.
     "Them. And others like them. An ancient evil has been awoken," Elain responded, tugging on Feyre's dress. "You must hurry."
     "Okay Elain, let's get you to bed so you can lie down," she said and carried her to a nearby bedroom. Mor approached Amren, a piece of paper in her hand. On it, in neat, flowing script read:
Nameless
and the King of Ice,
The Umbra Mortis
and the starborn Bryce.
Old enemies shall return
and in the end,
they all must burn.
     "What do you think it means? What are these things, or people? I've never heard of these titles before," Mor asked. Feyre returned to the room soon after, asking, "What's an Umbra Mortis?" Amren's face paled and she was quiet for a moment, then she spoke.
     "I haven't heard that in a long time, but in the Prison I heard other inmates talk about it. From what I can recall, Umbra Mortis means shadow of death." Feyre's eyes grew wide.
     "Did Elain just foresee one of our deaths?" she questioned shakily.
     "I'm not sure, but I think we need to call a meeting with the High Lords. If we're about to have some unexpected visitors, or if our lives are threatened, they need to know," Amren responded.
     "I'll send out requests right away. I'll tell them it's an emergency," Mor said and walked towards the study. Feyre was worried. If death was coming to Prythian, not only did she have to worry about her life, but also the life of her unborn child.

Rhysand

     After a couple hours of flying, Rhys finally made it to the troublesome camp. Cassian and Nesta were already there, and had gathered the camp's officials. Azriel was nowhere to be seen.
     "What seems to be the issue here?" Rhysand asked the group, a mask of cool indifference on his face.
     Cassian answered, "The males find it insulting that the females are taking up some of their training time. They are also complaining that their tents aren't as clean as they used to be, because the females aren't spending as much time tidying."
     "Clean them yourselves. While the males are cleaning their own tents, the females can train, and then you switch. Any overlap, and you will have to share. Please remember that you are highly trained Illyrian warriors, not toddlers fighting over a toy. Take care of yourselves, don't make anyone do it for you," Rhys ordered, his tone unwavering. One of the camp lords interjected,
     "However—" Before he could finish his sentence, Azriel appeared out nowhere in front of Rhys and said,
     "High Lord, may I have a word? It's urgent." And walked towards a nearby forest for some privacy.
     "Excuse me," Rhys said, dismissing the crowd, and quickly followed Azriel.
     "What is it?" he asked. Azriel seemed frantic, worried. Rhys had never seen him so panicked.
     "An inmate just escaped the Prison. One capable of opening doors between worlds, hell-bent on destroying us all."