Varian’s face twisted with anguish. But he made no further move to stop her.
She turned to me. And spoke the words into my head—the spell I must think and feel and do. I nodded.
“When I am free,” Amren said to us, “do not run. It will attract my attention.”
She lifted a steady hand toward my arm.
“I am glad we met, Feyre.”
I smiled at her, bowing my head. “Me too, Amren. Me too.”
Amren grabbed my wrist. And swung herself into the Cauldron.
I fought. I fought with every breath to get through the spell, my arm half-submerged in the Cauldron as Amren went under the dark water that had filled it. I said the words with my tongue, said them with my heart and blood and bones. Screamed them.
Her hand vanished from my arm, melting away like dew under the morning sun.
The spell ended, shuddering out of me, and I snapped back, losing my hold on the Cauldron. Varian caught me before I fell, and gripped me hard as we gazed at the black mass of the Cauldron, the still surface.
He breathed, “Is she—”
It started far, far beneath us. As if she had gone to the earth’s core.
I let Varian haul me a few steps away as the ripple thundered up through the ground, spearing for us, the Cauldron.
We had only enough time to throw ourselves behind the nearest rock when it hit us.
The Cauldron shattered into three pieces, peeling apart like a blossoming flower—and then she came.
She exploded from that mortal shell, light blinding us. Light and fire.
She was roaring—in victory and rage and pain.
And I could have sworn I saw great, burning wings, each feather a simmering ember, spread wide. Could have sworn a crown of incandescent light floated just above her flaming hair.
She paused. The thing that was inside Amren paused.
Looked at us—at the battlefield and all of our friends, our family still fighting on it.
As if to say, I remember you.
And then she was gone.
She spread those wings, flame and light rippling to encompass her, no more than a burning behemoth that swept down upon Hybern’s armies.
They began running.
Amren came down on them like a hammer, raining fire and brimstone.
She swept through them, burning them, drinking in their death. Some died at the mere whisper of her passing.
I heard Rhys bellowing—and the sound was the same as hers. Victory and rage and pain. And warning. A warning not to run from her.
Bit by bit, she destroyed that endless Hybern army. Bit by bit, she wiped away their taint, their threat. The suffering they had brought.
She shattered through that Hybern commander, poised to strike Helion a deathblow. Shattered through that commander as if he were made of glass. She left only ashes behind.
But that power—it was fading. Vanishing ember by ember.
Yet Amren went to the sea, where my father and Vassa’s army battled alongside Miryam’s people. Entire boats full of Hybern soldiers fell still after she passed.
As if she had inhaled the life right out of them. Even while her own life sputtered out.
Amren reached the final boat—the very last ship of our enemy—and was no more than a flame on the breeze.
And when that ship, too, fell silent …
There was only light. Bright, clean light, dancing on the waves.
CHAPTER
76
Tears slid down Varian’s blood-flecked skin as we watched that spot on the sea where Amren had vanished.
Below, beyond, our forces were beginning to cry out with victory—with joy.
Up on the rock … utter quiet.
I looked at last toward the broken thirds of the Cauldron.
Perhaps I had done it. In unbinding her, I had unbound the Cauldron. Or perhaps Amren in her unleashed power … even that had been too great for the Cauldron.
“We should go,” I said to Varian. The others would be looking for us.
I had to get my father. Had to bury him. Help Cassian.
Had to see who else was among the dead—or living.
Hollow—I was so tired and hollow.
I managed to stand. To take one step before I felt it.
The … thing in the Cauldron. Or lack of it.
It was lack and substance, absence and presence. And … it was leaking into the world.
I dared a step toward it. And what I beheld in those ruins of the Cauldron …
It was a void. But also not a void—a growth.
It did not belong here. Belong anywhere.
There were hands at my face, turning me, touching me. “Are you hurt, are you—”
Rhys’s face was battered—bloody. His hands were still tipped in talons, his canines still elongated. Barely out of that beast form. “You—you freed her—”
He was stammering. Shaking. I wasn’t entirely sure how he was even standing.
I didn’t know where to begin. How to explain.
I let him into my mind, his presence gentle—and as exhausted as I was, I let him see my father. Nesta and Cassian. The king. And Amren.
All of it.
Including that thing behind us. That hole.
Rhys folded me into his arms—just for a moment.
“We have a problem,” Varian murmured, pointing behind us.
We followed the line of his finger. To where that fissure in the world within the shards of the Cauldron … It was growing.
The Cauldron could never be destroyed, we had been warned. Because our very world was bound to it.
If the Cauldron were destroyed … we would be, too.
“What have I done,” I breathed. I had saved our friends—only to damn us all.
Made. Made and un-Made.
I had broken it. I could remake it again.
I ran for the Book, flinging open the pages.
But the gold was engraved with symbols only one being on this earth knew how to read, and she was gone. I hurled the damn thing into the void inside the Cauldron.
It vanished and did not appear again.
“Well, that’s one way to try,” Rhys said.
I whirled at the humor, but his face was hard. Grim.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whispered.
Rhys studied the ruins. “Amren said you were a conduit.” I nodded. “So be one again.”
“What?”
He looked at me like I was the insane one as he said, “Remake the Cauldron. Forge it anew.”
“With what power?”
“My own.”
“You’re—you’re drained, Rhys. So am I. We all are.”
“Try. Humor me.”
I blinked, that edge of panic dulling a bit. Yes—yes, with him, with my mate …
I thought through the spell Amren had shown me. If I changed one small thing … It was a gamble. But it might work.
“Better than nothing,” I said, blowing out a breath.
“That’s the spirit.” Humor danced in his eyes.
The dead lay around us for miles, cries of the wounded and grieving starting to rise up, but … We had stopped Hybern. Stopped the king.
Perhaps in this … in this we would be lucky, too.
I reached for him—with my hand, my mind.
His shields were up—solid walls he’d erected during battle. I brushed a hand along one, but it remained. Rhys smiled down at me, kissed me once. “Remind me to never get on Nesta’s bad side.”
That he could even joke—no, it was a form of enduring. For both of us. Because the alternative to laughter … Varian’s devastated face, watching us silently, was the alternative. And with this thing before us, this final task …
So I managed a laugh.
And I was still smiling, just a bit, when I again laid my hand on the broken shards of the Cauldron.
It was a hole. Airless. No life could exist here. No light.