Chapter Text
Amren hadn't dressed Nesta in cobwebs and stardust, as Mor and Feyre were clothed. And she hadn't dressed Nesta in her own style of loose pants and a cropped blouse. She had kept it simple. Brutal. A dress of impenetrable black flowed to the dark marble floors of the throne room of the Hewn City, tight through the bodice and sleeves, its neckline skimming the base of her pale throat.
Nesta's hair had been swept into a simple style to reveal the panes of her face, the savage clarity of her eyes as she took in the assembled crowd, the towering carved pillars and the scaled beasts twined around them, the mighty dais and the throne atop it ... and did not balk. Indeed, Nesta's chin only lifted with each step they took toward that dais.
One throne, Feyre realized—that mighty throne of those twined, scaly beasts. Rhys realized it, too. Planned for it. Nesta and the others peeled away at the foot of the dais, taking flanking positions at its base. No fear, no joy, no light in their faces. Azriel, at Mor's side, looked murderously calm as he surveyed those gathered. As he beheld Keir, waiting beside a golden-haired woman who had to be Mor's mother, sneering.
Promise them nothing, Mor had warned them.
Rhys held out a hand for Feyre to ascend the dais steps. She kept her head high, back straight, as she gripped his fingers and strode up the few stairs. Toward that solitary throne. Rhys only winked as he gracefully escorted her, the movement as easy and smooth as a dance.
"Starting without me, love?" a warm voice rumbled through the room, all heads whipped towards the throne room doors that were thrown open. A single figure waltzed forward as if they commanded the room. Feyre's breath shuttered and it took all her might not to look at Rhys, she could feel all the complicated emotions down the bond. The tremor as he fought to remain impassive.
Mara's hair was intricately twisted and braided, then pulled back into a ponytail. She wore light makeup, but her lips were a deep berry. She wore a dress that resembled a suit. Shoulders harsh and neckline plunging. Chains with delicate stars and moons adorned her.
The fabric a rich and beautiful purple.
She looked every bit like Lucien if he were born to the night court, rougish and handsome.
Mara winked to a random woman in the crowd making Feyre bite her cheek to keep from laughing. Then she was before them, Rhys and Feyre still frozen where they stood. "My lady." Mara breathed and bent into a bow, her hand taking Feyre's free one and pressing a kiss to her knuckles, she turned her head slightly, looking up at Feyre through her lashes as her hot breath fanned across her wrist.
Feyre's mind went blank..
Mara took the last step up the dias and sat in the throne, pulling Feyre with her. Mara sat with legs spread, a coy grin as if she wore the crown. Feyre held her blank face, even as Mara's hand slipped around her waist and slid to caress her upper thigh, holding her in place.
The crowd outright gasped and Rhys simply perched on the arm of the throne, his eyes only on Mara. "Bow." he commanded, for they had not. Their faces were still a mixture of shock and disdain as they all dropped to their knees. Feyre avoided looking at Nesta, who had no choice but to follow suit. She also knew that the hold Mara had on her was far from family-friendly, not when her thumb brushed closer to the crease where Feyre's thigh met her torso.
Instead, Feyre made herself look at Keir, at the female beside him, at anyone who dared meet her gaze. Made herself remember what they had done to Mor, now bowing with a grin on her face, when she was barely more than a child. Some of the court averted their eyes. "I will interpret the lack of two thrones to be due to the fact that this visit came upon you quickly." Rhys said with lethal calm. "And I will let you all escape without having your skin flayed from your bones as my mating gift to you. Our loyal subjects," he added, smiling faintly.
Feyre traced a finger over the scaly coil of one of the beasts that made up the arms of the throne to keep her head in check. The mouth she'd painted that dark, dark, red parted into a lazy smile. Tendrils of power snaked toward the dais, but didn't dare venture past the first step. Testing. But not getting close enough to offend Rhysand.
Feyre let them creep closer, sniffing around, as she said to Rhys, to the throne room "Surely, my love, they would like to stand now." Rhys smiled down at her, then at the crowd. "Rise." They did. And some of those tendrils of power dared climb up the first step. Feyre pounced. Three gasps choked through the murmuring room as she slammed talon-sharp magic down upon those too-curious powers. Dug in deep and hard. A cat with a bird under its paw. Several of them.
"Do you wish to have this back?" Feyre asked quietly to no one in particular. Near the foot of the dais, Keir was scowling over a shoulder, his silver circlet glinting atop his golden hair. Someone whimpered in the back of the room. "Don't you know," Rhys purred to the crowd, "that it's not polite to touch a lady without her permission?" In answer, Feyre sank those dark talons in further, the magic of whoever had dared try to test her thrashing and buckling.
A low growl sounded through the room, and Feyre felt it slither down her spine. Delicious and angry. Feyre breathed out and sat back "I wouldn't upset her, if I were you." Rhys spoke to no one in particular, his eyes on Mara with a fondness and a heat. "We might be feeling benevolent this evening, but Nimara is quick to anger." Feyre watched the crowd take a step back. She turned her head just slightly to see Mara had let the starlight take over.
What a picture they must look.
Rhys perched, elegant and controlled, on the arm of the throne.
Feyre, devastatingly beautiful and equally as deadly.
Mara...shadow tendrils reaching out, posturing under the eyes of all those who deemed her beneath them. Feyre felt something cool and soft wrap around her ankle. He breath quivered as Mara's starlight eyes glowed eerily over the crowd.
Three separate flurries of motion warred for her attention. Someone had winnowed outright, fleeing. Another had fainted. And a third was clinging to whoever stood beside them, trembling. Feyre marked all their faces.
"Play nice." Feyre spoke, arm lifting to cup the side of Mara's neck. She felt Mara's nose press into the side of her head, and that growl turned into a low purr. Her thumb continued to rub along Feyre's thigh "Good girl." Rhys hummed. Mara's eyes flashed to him, wicked and bright.
Amren and Nesta approached the foot of the dais. Nesta stared as if she didn't know the people before her. Amren bowed her head to Rhys, to Feyre. "By your leave, High Lord." Rhys waved an idle hand. "Go. Enjoy yourselves." He jerked his chin to the watching crowd. "Food and music. Now." He was obeyed. Instantly. Mara winked at Nesta who relaxed minutely before following Amren.
Rhys curled a finger toward Keir and said "The council room. Ten minutes." Keir's eyes narrowed at the order, the female beside him keeping her head down—the portrait of subservience. What Mor was supposed to have been. Their friend watched her parents, cold indifference on her face. Azriel kept a step away, monitoring everything. Feyre didn't let herself look too interested—too worried—as Rhys offered her a hand and rose from the throne.
Mara leaned back, finding too much pleasure in having their eyes on her. "Have I told you how delectable you look today?" she asked, a husk to her tone. Feyre fought the flush "You forget yourself." Feyre chastised lightly "Are you going to punish me, High Lady?" Mara felt the molten heat flush through their bond. Mara chuckled and slowly rose, again all her motions as easy and casual as if she were the one in charge. As if they didn't all despise her very presence.
"Come, let us talk of war." she spoke and waltzed back out of the room as easily as she entered, heels clicking as she went. Feyre took a breath and followed after.
-
As soon as the doors shut behind them it was a swirl of night. Familiar surroundings, Feyre noted, the room he had let them stay in all those months ago. Rhys had winnowed them away momentarily.
Rhys was on Mara in a blink "You love to torture me..." he groaned, eyes dragging down the collared shirt to Mara's exposed cleavage. "You wore my color..." he whispered, voice strained. Finger reaching out to stroke a knuckle over the soft skin of the top of her breast. "Our color." She whispered back, Rhys's eyes flicked up to meet hers "You are a naughty thing, you know." He crowded closer, backing her into the armoire.
"You like it." She smirked, she knew her behavior was toeing the line. He lowered his head, nose brushing that spot under her ear "Don't." His voice was strained, knuckles white as he desperately tried to restrain himself. Mara's breath shuddered as she felt that all-consuming want flood her veins. Mara rose a brow "Oh." She mused and reached a hand up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.
"You don't know how hard it was..." he breathed, Mara wanted to make a quip about how hard he was against her thigh "I nearly dropped to my knees in front of them..." he shook his head "Purple, Nimah." He stressed as if she didn't know the significance. He pulled his head back to meet her eye, her heart stuttered at the look he gave her.
"I wanted to surprise you." She whispered, his eyes dropped to her lips "I have no words for how I feel right now." He rasped. Her breasts were pushed up, heaving with every breath, the dress cinching her waist, and her long, toned leg peaking through. "Careful, you gotta little drool." Feyre spoke up, smirk on her face and arms crossed. Rhys groaned and dropped his head to Mara's shoulder.
"It is taking all I have not to ravish you." Rhys mumbled, Mara chuckled "Poor, High Lord." She cooed, those sharp eyes flashed up, and he leaned in, breath washing over her "Don't tempt me, Nimara, I will skip the meeting with Keir and let this whole plan fall to pieces if you give the word." Mara shuddered, her hand reaching out to caress his cheek.
Her hand was caught, Feyre slipping next to them. "We don't have time for this..." she spoke, though her voice trembled "As much as we are all wanting...we have a meeting." She was the voice of reason.
Mara took a steadying breath. Rhys's eyes flicked to her breasts, and he leaned forward almost subconsciously, as if he couldn't help but be drawn to her. Mara's breath caught in her throat as she felt his lips barely graze her sensitive throat "After we are done here. I am going to peel this dress from your body and worship every inch....and then I am going to fuck you as you like." She swore she felt his tongue, and she jerked her head back as a moan slipped past her lips.
Then Rhys was gone, cold air rushing over her feverish skin, Mara blinked. He was by the door, adjusting his suit and hair. Mara's eyes narrowed, and her tongue licked slowly along her lip.
-
The council chamber of the Hewn City was nearly as large as the throne room. It was carved from the same dark rock, its pillars fashioned after those entangled beasts. Far below the high, domed ceiling, a mammoth table of black glass split the room in two like a lightning strike, its corners left long and jagged. Sharp as a razor.
Rhys claimed a seat at the head of the table. Feyre took the one at the opposite end. Azriel and Mor found seats on one side, and Keir settled into the seat on the other. A chair beside him sat empty.
Rhys leaned back in his dark chair, swirling the wine that had been poured by a stone-faced servant a moment before. It had been an effort not to thank the male who'd filled her goblet. But here, they did not thank anyone. Here, they took what was theirs and offered no gratitude or apologies for it.
"I know why you're here," Keir said without any sort of preamble. "Oh?" Rhys's eyebrow arched beautifully, drawing his attention from where Mara stood to the blonde male before them. Keir surveyed them all, distaste lingering on his handsome face. "Hybern is swarming. Your legions"—a sneer at Azriel, at the Illyrians he represented—"are gathering." Keir interlaced his long fingers and set them upon the dark glass. "You mean to ask for my Darkbringers to join your army."
Rhys sipped from his wine. "Well, at least you've spared me the effort of dancing around the subject." Keir held his gaze without blinking. "I will confess that I find myself...sympathetic to Hybern's cause." Mor shifted slightly in her seat. Azriel just pinned that icy, all-seeing stare on Keir.
Keir's eyes flashed to Mara pacing behind them "Will you tell your pet to sit?" he asked, disgust still in his eyes, Mara's eyes flashed with amusement and before Feyre or Rhys could jump to her rescue, she said "Do I make you nervous?" Keir simply glared.
"You would not be the only one," Rhys spoke, an edge in his tone that he was desperately trying to diminish. Keir frowned up at the obsidian chandelier, fashioned after a wreath of night-blooming flowers—the center of each a twinkling silver faelight. "There are many similarities between Hybern's people and my own. Both of us trapped—stagnant."
"Last I checked," Mor cut in, "you have been free to do as you wish for centuries. Longer." Keir didn't so much as look at her, earning a flicker of rage from Azriel at the dismissal. "Ah, but are we free here? Not even the entirety of this mountain belongs to us—not with your palace atop it." Keir drawled "All of this belongs to me, I'll remind you," Rhys said wryly. "It's that mentality that allows me to find Hybern's stifled people to be ... kindred spirits." Keir shrugged.
"You want the palace upstairs, Keir, then it's yours." Rhys crossed his legs. "I didn't know you were lusting after it for so long." Keir's answering smile was near-serpentine. "You must need my army rather desperately, Rhysand." Again, that hateful glance at Azriel. "Are the overgrown bats not up to snuff anymore?" Mara's eyes narrowed as she paced.
"Come train with them," Azriel said softly, "and you'll learn for yourself." In his centuries of miserable existence, Keir had certainly mastered the art of sneering. And the way he sneered at Azriel...Mor's teeth flashed in the dim light. It was an effort to keep from doing the same. "I have no doubt," Rhys said, the portrait of glorious boredom, "that you've already decided upon your asking price."
Keir peered down the table—to Feyre. Looked his fill as she held his stare. "I did." her stomach turned at that gaze, the words. Dark power rumbled through the chamber, setting the onyx chandelier tinkling. "Tread carefully, Keir." Keir only smiled at Feyre, then at Rhys. Mor had gone utterly still.
"What would you give me for a shot at this war, Rhysand? You whored yourself to Amarantha—but what about your mate?" He had not forgotten how they'd treated him. How they'd humiliated him months ago. And Rhys ... there was only eternal, unforgiving death in his face, in the darkness gathering behind his chair.
He didn't have a chance to utter a threat before shadow licked up Feyre's legs and drowned the room, oppressive from above. Keir glanced only briefly up before looking to Rhys "Such dramatics over a simple question." Keir gave an oily smirk, believing he had gotten under the High Lord's skin. "You'll find my patience that of a priest compared to my mate." Keir's eyes flicked to Feyre, who was the picture of boredom, then to Mara, who stood behind her, head tilted down and snarl on her lips, those same starlight eyes a swirling depth forcing anyone who dared meet them to face their reflection.
"The bargain our ancestors struck grants you the right to choose how and when your army assists my own. But it does not grant you the right to keep your life, Keir, when I grow tired of your existence." As if in answer, invisible claws gouged deep marks in the table, the glass shrieking. Feyre flinched. Keir blanched at the lines now inches from him.
"But I thought you might be ... hesitant to assist me," Rhys went on. He snapped his fingers and said to no one in particular "Bring him in." the doors opened on a phantom wind. Feyre didn't know where to look as a servant escorted in the tall male figure. At Mor, whose face went white with dread. At Azriel, who reached for his dagger—Truth-Teller—his every breath alert, focused, but unsurprised. Not a hint of shock.
Or at Eris, heir to the Autumn Court, as he strolled into the room.
This time, a growl slipped from Mara's lips, and the shadows lashed. A reaction not intended. She had said time and time again, she would kill him and all his brothers....
Rhys remained sprawled in his chair, sipping from his wine. "Welcome back, Eris," he drawled. "It's been what—five centuries since you last set foot in here?" Mor slid her eyes toward Rhys. Betrayal and—hurt. That was hurt flashing there. For not warning them. For this ... surprise. Gone was the simmering heat from just moments ago.
Feyre wondered if she schooled her features with any more success than the rest as Eris claimed the vacant seat at the table, not bothering to so much as nod to a wary-eyed Keir.
"It has indeed been a while." He'd healed since that day on the ice—not a sign of the gut-wound Cassian had given him. His red hair was unbound, a silken drape over his well-tailored cobalt jacket. 'What is he doing here?' Feyre speared down the bond, not bothering to hide any of what coursed through her. 'Making sure Keir agrees to help' was all Rhys said, the words tight and clipped. Restrained. As if he were still holding the full might of his rage in check.
Shadows curled around Azriel's shoulders, whispering in his ear as he stared down Eris. Mara's stare locked on him like a wolf with eyes set on prey 'You risk her losing control' Feyre sent down the bond, an almost question. "You once wanted to build ties to Autumn, Keir," said Rhys, setting down his goblet of wine. "Well, here's your chance. Eris is willing to offer you a formal alliance—in exchange for your services in this war." 'How the hell did you get him to agree to that?' Rhys didn't answer. 'Rhysand.' Feyre hissed in his mind.
Keir leaned back in his chair. "It is not enough." Eris snorted, pouring himself a goblet of wine from the decanter in the center of the table. "I'd forgotten why I was so relieved when our bargain fell apart the last time." Rhys shot him a warning look. Eris just drank deeply. "What is it that you want, then, Keir?" Rhys purred.
Feyre had the feeling that if Keir suggested her again, he'd wind up splattered on the wall. But Keir must have known, too. And said simply to Rhysand "I want out. I want space. I want my people to be free of this mountain." Feyre rose a brow "You have every comfort," she finally said. "And yet it is not enough?" Keir ignored her as well.
"You have been keeping secrets, High Lord," Keir said with a hateful smile, interlacing his hands and resting them on the mauled table. Right atop the nearest deep gouge. "I always wondered—where all of you went when you weren't here. Hybern answered the question at last—thanks to that attack on... what is its name? Velaris. Yes. On Velaris. The City of Starlight." Mor went utterly still, Mara's glare left Eris to stare at Rhys. He could feel the distress from his mate and his friend. "I want access to the city," Keir said. "For me, and my court."
"No," Mor and Mara echoed. The word rattled off the pillars, the glass, the rock. The thought of these people, of Keir, in Velaris...tainting it with their presence, their hatred and small-mindedness, their disdain and cruelty...Rhys did not refuse. Did not shoot down the suggestion.
'You can't be serious.' Rhys only watched Keir as he answered down the bond 'I anticipated this—and I took precautions.' Rhysand said to Keir, "There would be conditions." Mor opened her mouth, but Azriel laid a scarred hand atop hers. She snatched her hand back as if she'd been burned—burned as he had been. Azriel's mask of cold didn't so much as waver at the rejection. Though Eris chuckled softly. Enough to make Azriel's hazel eyes glaze with rage as he settled them upon the High Lord's son. Eris only inclined his head to the shadow singer.
"I want unrestricted access," Keir said to Rhys. "You will not get it," Rhys said. "There will be limited stays, limited numbers allowed in. To be decided later." Mor turned pleading eyes to Rhys. Her city—the place that she loved so much. Feyre could almost hear it, the crack she knew was about to sound amongst their own circle. Keir looked to Mor at last—noted the despair and anger. And smiled. He had no real desire to get out of here. Only a desire to take something he'd undoubtedly gleaned that his daughter cherished.
"Done." Rhys didn't so much as smile. Mor was only staring and staring at him, that beseeching expression crumpling her face. "There is one more thing," Feyre added, squaring her shoulders. "One more request." Keir deigned to acknowledge her. "Oh?" He asked mildly intrigued but somehow still dismissive, as if a child tugged on his pant leg. "I have need of the Ouroboros mirror," she said, willing ice into her veins. "Immediately."
Interest and surprise flared in Keir's brown eyes. Mor's eyes. "Who told you that I have it?" he asked quietly. "Does it matter? I want it." Feyre countered, sometimes she was glad for the way they acted in the Night court. There was no fake pleasantries or political dances. They simply commanded and were obeyed. "Do you even know what the Ouroboros is?" Keir sneered "Consider your tone, Keir," Rhys warned.
Keir leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the table. "The mirror ..." He laughed under his breath. "Consider it my mating present." He added with sweet venom, "If you can take it." Not a threat to face him, but— "What do you mean?" Keir rose to his feet, smirking like a cat with a canary in its mouth. "To take the Ouroboros, to claim it, you must first look into it." He headed for the doors, not waiting to be dismissed. "And everyone who has attempted to do so has either gone mad or been broken beyond repair. Even a High Lord or two, if legend is true." A shrug.
"So it is yours, if you dare to face it." Keir paused at the threshold as the doors opened on a phantom wind. He said to Rhys, perhaps the closest he'd come to asking for permission to leave, "Lord Thanatos is having ... difficulties with his daughter again. He requires my assistance." Rhys only waved a hand, as if he hadn't just yielded our city to the male. Keir jerked his chin at Eris. "I will wish to speak with you—soon." Once he was done gloating over his victory tonight.