Crescent City: A Court of Thrones and Glass

Chapter Thirty-Two: Feyre

      A sharp, metallic tang pierced the blackness of sleep. Feyre stirred, pulling the blanket toward her face, but the smell refused to fade. She jerked upright in bed. Blood. Lots of it.

       "Rhys! Wake up! Wake up!" She elbowed her mate who was sleeping beside her. Immediately, he jumped up.

      "What? What? Feyre, are you alright? Is the baby alright? What's wrong?" He inhaled sharply, the colour leeching out of his face. "Aelin," Rhys whispered softly with panic. Feyre swore and threw on some clothes as quick as she could, Rhys following suit. They sprinted out of their tent—well, Feyre waddled quickly— and raced to Rowan and Aelin's tent. Shit. Shit. It was pitch black, the moon hidden behind thick storm clouds. Rain poured down from the sky, and Feyre's feet sunk deep into the mud. She grabbed Rhys' hand, and together they made their way through the storm. The water nearly blinded her, but she quickly fashioned a shield to protect them from the worst of the elements. The outside of Rowan and Aelin's large tent was unremarkable, save for the entrance was left slightly open. But it reeked of blood. Drawing a blade and readying his magic, Rhys stepped inside and swore. Feyre ducked her head in and gasped. The floor of the tent was bathed in blood— fresh blood, still gleaming; red and sticky. Every surface was splattered with it. But Aelin and Rowan were gone. Feyre's breath came hard and fast, the panic fully setting in. 

     "Wake the camp", Rhys said. Feyre peeked her head outside the tents, and called to the sentries who were patrolling nearby. Within minutes, the entire camp was awake, and the Illyrians and the Inner Circle had gathered outside of Aelin and Rowan's tent. Cassian and Mor stood beside them, watching the warriors. Feyre scanned the crowd. Her eyes widened.

      Manon, Dorian, Hunt, and Bryce aren't here, she said to Rhys down the bond. What? He answered, scanning the crowd once more. This can't be. I searched Aelin's tent. There isn't a trace of anything, he said, incredulous. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing. 

      "Who searched the tents of our new allies?" Rhys' voice rang out over the crowd. A pair of hand shot up. "Did you find them?" He demanded.

      "No, High Lord. I assumed they were already here," came the reply. 

      "Has anyone seen them?" No one answered. Feyre's stomach dropped like a stone. She looked to Mor, who had her arms wrapped around herself, and Cassian, who looked uncharacteristically weary. She couldn't help but notice the Az-shaped hole in her family.

     "What's going on, High Lord? I can smell the blood from here!" One of the Illyrians shouted from the back of the group. Rhys and Feyre shared a look. They had to tread carefully.

     "There was an enemy in our midst. An intruder, who has captured our allies. The foes we march against felt threatened, and lashed out. No matter, our plan doesn't change. We are all that stands between Prythian and utter destruction," Feyre called, hoping to ease some of the tension. Inside, she felt torn apart. Their strongest defence against Mantyx had been taken away. Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked hard, holding them back. She couldn't bear to watch her family die, not after everything they had just survived. Cassian stepped forward.

     "Double the patrols and remain alert. No one gets in or out without me knowing. The rest of you, get some sleep." The Illyrians dispersed, their dismay was palpable in the chilly night air.  Feyre turned to face her Inner Circle, Rhys doing the same. Cassian was stone-cold, while Mor looked close to tears. 

     "What are we going to do?" She whispered. Rhys shook his head, rubbing his temple. Feyre put an arm around his waist.

     "We can't stop now," Cassian said, "Az is our brother, and Rowan was right. He's not dead. As of right now, neither are our world travellers. We owe it to them to save them." 

     "Of course we're not leaving them," Feyre exclaimed, looking at Rhys, her brow furrowed.

     "I know, I know. I wasn't suggesting that we give up," Rhys answered. "We just have to devise a plan that doesn't end up with us all dead." Cassian chuckled half-heartedly.

     "That would be appreciated. What are you thinking, Rhysie?" The High Lord looked at his shrunken family; Az's absence was like a missing limb. 

     "We should wait until Lysandra arrives with Eris' army," he answered. Cassian nodded.

     "Then we use both armies as a distraction, still, and you guys infiltrate the palace," the General suggested.

     "Our focus should be freeing our friends," Mor said, "they can help us get to Mantyx." 

      "We kill him, his army will fall, and the Winter Court citizens will be free," Rhys concluded. Feyre considered their rudimentary plan. 

     "Mantyx will be heavily guarded, and there is still the Summoner to contend with," she said. 

      "True," Rhys contemplated, "the Summoner is very ancient, although that doesn't mean much in terms of the Prison. Hopefully his power is spent, considering there haven't been any newcomers since Bryce and Hunt."

      "Or he just figured out how to use his power," Cassian countered. Mor looked to him.

      "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," she said. "On another note, where is Viviane?" 

     "I haven't seen her since the meeting, but I assumed she was going to meet us here," Feyre answered, drawing her cloak around herself. It really was freezing cold this close to Winter.  

     "If she shows, great, but we shouldn't wait for her," Rhys said. They all nodded. "We should rest. Who knows what tomorrow will bring." Mor grimaced, and Cassian threw his arm around her shoulder. Together, they walked towards their tents. Feyre took Rhys' hand, and they retired to their tent as well. Exhaustion weighing on her heavily Feyre fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.   

                                                                                      *       *       *

     This time, Feyre woke to the sound of shouting, and rhythmic footfalls. Rhys was already awake, getting dressed and Feyre hastily threw on her fighting leathers.

     "Eris' army is here," he said. Relief flooded through Feyre. She was worried that they wouldn't show, but Lysandra had pulled through. Hand in hand, the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court went to greet the Autumn soldiers. They were dressed in deep red armour, and their helmets were fashioned the look like flames. They looked terrifying, but Feyre's face fell. The contingent was tiny. She counted again. There were only 10 Firebringers in total. Feyre approached the commander, who was at the head of the group. 

     "Where is Lysandra, the lady who brought you here?" She asked him. He looked at her quizzically.

     "Has she not already arrived? A couple days ago, she told us she was going to shift and fly ahead, to let you know we were marching. She ordered us to continue the rest of the way without her." Feyre's eyes widened, and her relief vanished. Lysandra had been captured, too.