But Lucien took Rhys’s hand. That silent offer of not only transportation.
Before that dark wind swept in, Lucien looked back.
Not to me, I realized—to someone behind me.
Pale and thin, Elain stood atop the stairs.
Their gazes locked and held.
But Elain said nothing. Did not so much as take one step downward.
Lucien inclined his head in a bow, the movement hiding the gleam in his eye—the longing and sadness.
And when Lucien turned to signal to Rhys to go … He did not glance back at Elain.
Did not see the half step she took toward the stairs—as if she’d speak to him. Stop him.
Then Rhys was gone, and Lucien with him.
When I turned to offer Elain breakfast, she’d already walked away.
I waited in the foyer for Rhys to return.
In the dining room to my left, Nesta silently practiced building those invisible walls in her mind—no sign of Amren since her hunt last night. When I asked if she was making any progress, my sister had only said, “Amren thinks I’m getting close enough to begin trying on something tangible.”
And that was that. I left her to it, not bothering to ask if Amren had also come close to figuring out some sort of spell in the Book to repair that wall.
In silence, I counted the minutes, one by one.
Then a familiar dark wind swirled through the foyer, and I loosed a too-tight breath as Rhys appeared in the middle of the hall carpet. No indication of any sort of trouble, no sign of hurt or harm, but I slid my arms around his waist, needing to feel him, smell him. “Did everything go well?”
Rhys brushed a kiss to the top of my head. “As well as can be expected. He’s now on the continent, heading eastward.”
He marked Nesta studying at the dining table. “How’s our new seer holding up?”
I pulled back to explain that I’d left Elain to her own thoughts, but Nesta said, “Don’t call her that.”
Rhys gave me an incredulous look, but Nesta just went back to flipping through a book, her face going vacant—while she practiced with whatever wall-building exercises Amren had ordered. I poked him in the ribs. Don’t provoke her.
A corner of his mouth lifted—the expression full of wicked delight. Can I provoke you instead?
I clamped my lips to keep from smiling—
The front door blew open and Amren stormed in.
Rhys was instantly facing her. “What.”
Gone was the slick amusement, the relaxed posture.
Amren’s pale face remained calm, but her eyes … They swirled with rage.
“Hybern has attacked the Summer Court. They lay siege to Adriata as we speak.”
CHAPTER
35
Hybern had made its grand move at last. And we had not anticipated it.
I knew Azriel would take the blame upon himself. One look at the shadowsinger as he prowled through the front door of the town house minutes later, Cassian on his heels, told me that he already did.
We stood in the foyer, Nesta lingering at the dining table behind me.
“Has Tarquin called for aid?” Cassian asked Amren.
None of us dared question how she knew.
Amren’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know. I got the message, and—nothing else.”
Cassian nodded once and turned to Rhys. “Did the Summer Court have a mobile fighting force readied when you were there?”
“No,” Rhys said. “His armada was scattered along the coast.” A glance at Azriel.
“Half is in Adriata—the other dispersed,” the shadowsinger supplied. “His terrestrial army was moved to the Spring Court border … after Feyre. The closest legion is perhaps three days’ march away. Very few can winnow.”
“How many ships?” Rhys asked.
“Twenty in Adriata, fully armed.”
A calculating look at Amren. “Numbers on Hybern?”
“I don’t know. Many. It—I think they are overwhelmed.”
“What was the exact message?” Pure, unrelenting command laced every word.
Amren’s eyes glittered like fresh silver. “It was a warning. From Varian. To prepare our own defenses.”
Utter silence.
“Prince Varian sent you a warning?” Cassian asked a bit quietly.
Amren glared at him. “It is a thing that friends do.”
More silence.
I met Rhys’s stare, sensed the weight and dread and anger simmering behind the cool features. “We cannot leave Tarquin to face them alone,” I said. Perhaps Hybern had sent the Ravens yesterday to distract us from looking beyond our own borders. To have our focus on Hybern, not our own shores.
Rhys’s attention cut to Cassian. “Keir and his Darkbringer army are nowhere near ready to march. How soon can the Illyrian legions fly?”
Rhys immediately winnowed Cassian into the war-camps to give the orders himself. Azriel had vanished with them, going ahead to scout Adriata, taking his most trusted spies with him.
Nausea had churned in my gut as Cassian and Azriel tapped the Siphons atop their hands and that scaled armor unfurled across their body. As seven Siphons appeared on each. As the shadowsinger’s scarred hands checked the buckles on his knife belts and his quiver, while Rhys summoned extra Illyrian blades for Cassian—two at his back, one at each side.
Then they were gone—stone-faced and steady. Ready for bloodshed.
Mor arrived moments later, heavily armed, her hair braided back and every inch of her thrumming with impatience.
But Mor and I waited—for the order to go. To join them. Cassian had positioned the Illyrian legions closer to the southern border the weeks I’d been away, but even so, they wouldn’t be able to fly without a few hours of preparation. And it would require Rhys to winnow them in. All of them. To Adriata.
“Will you fight?”
Nesta was now standing a few steps up the staircase of the town house, watching as Mor and I readied. Soon—Azriel or Rhys would contact us soon with the all-clear to winnow to Adriata.
“We’ll fight if it’s required,” I said, checking once more that the belt of knives was secure at my hips.
Mor wore Illyrian leathers as well, but the blades on her were different. Slimmer, lighter, some of their tips slightly curved. Like lightning given flesh. Seraphim blades, she told me. Gifted to her by Prince Drakon himself during the War.
“What do you know of battle?”
I couldn’t tell if my sister’s tone was insulting or merely inquisitive.
“We know plenty,” Mor said tightly, arranging her long braid between the blades crossed over her back. Elain and Nesta would remain here, with Amren watching over them. And watching over Velaris, along with a small legion of Illyrians Cassian had ordered to camp in the mountains above the city. Mor had passed Amren on her way in, the small female apparently heading to the butcher to fill up on provisions before she’d return to stay here—for however long we’d be in Adriata. If we returned at all.
I met Nesta’s gaze again. Only wary distance greeted me. “We’ll send word when we can.”
A rumble of midnight thunder brushed against the walls of my mind. A silent signal, speared over land and mountains. As if Rhys’s concentration was now wholly focused elsewhere—and he did not dare break it.
My heart stumbled a beat. I gripped Mor’s arm, the leather scales cutting into my palm. “They’ve arrived. Let’s go.”
Mor turned to my sister, and I had never seen her seem so … warriorlike. I’d known it lurked beneath the surface, but here was the Morrigan. The female who had fought in the War. Who knew how to end lives with blade and magic.
“It’s nothing we can’t handle,” Mor said to Nesta with a cocky smile, and then we were gone.
Black wind roared and tore at me, and I clung to Mor as she winnowed us through the courts, her breath a ragged beat in my ear—