Tag: sarah j maas

Answered Dreams- an ACOTAR playlist

A collection of songs that always remind me of ACOTAR when I listen to them. A number of the songs and artists were recommended to me by you guys, so thank you! Some other songs are fan favourites that I had to include. 

Can be listened to in this order or shuffled, it doesn’t really matter. I tried to put them in some sort of order that made sense with the mood of the story (mainly the feysand arc), but as I said, they just reminded me of ACOTAR.

Enjoy! Let me know if you want me to make an actual playlist on Spotify or something. I don’t use it, but if enough of you wanted it I’d be happy to put it together for you! 

(track list under ‘read more’)

  • Stars- Switchfoot
  • Bitter Pill- Gavin James
  • The Moon- Once (Original Broadway Cast Recording)
  • Answer Me- The Band’s Visit (Original Broadway Cast Recording)
  • Salvation- Gabrielle Aplin
  • Shelter- Dermot Kennedy
  • Perfect- Ed Sheeran
  • Moon- Sleeping at Last
  • Meet Me Where You’re Going- Cloud Cult
  • All Or Nothing At All- Switchfoot
  • Safe & Sound- Taylor Swift
  • You Matter to Me- Waitress (Original Broadway Cast Recording)
  • An Evening I Will Not Forget (Acoustic)- Dermot Kennedy
  • For the Dancing and the Dreaming- Peter Hollens
  • Stokkseyri- Jonsi and Alex
  • Home- Gabrielle Aplin
  • We’re Still Here- Sleeping at Last
  • The Other Side- Ruelle

Starlight and Ashes (six)

tagging: @runesandfaes @acourtofredqueens @havilliardandgalathynius@fiery-feyre @starzablaze @tog-trash @evyfox @rhysands-highladyame233 @high-lady-of-rochambeau @musicmaam @empress-ofbloodshed@illyrianbeauty @literarynonsense @thisisvelaris @wolffrising @rhysand-darling @throne-of-wingspans @hail-and-farewell @lady-katkatdestiny14444 @the-dream-team-of-prythian @avocadobubbbletea @lorcanswife @hxylady @abillionlittlepieces @my-life-is-a-drama-book@akranick-author @lottie289 @mariamuses @leulivy @booklover242@heyme231 @whydoyoucareaboutmyusername @my-ships-will-never-be-sank @rhysisdaddyaf @highladyjel @halcyon-havoc @alexisnm95 @a-canadian-fae @abimomeopectore @herondalesaremycupofale @hxghladyweaver-of-the-wood @rowaelinsmut @booklover41802 **please send me an ask if you would like to be tagged in future chapters**

**Sorry, I know it’s been like ten years. I expected to have more writing time in the summer, but if anything I have less! I’ll try to have chapter seven out as soon as possible. Thanks for sticking with me!

Masterlist

chapter six

Milena

I once asked my parents what life in the Spring Court was like.

I was young, maybe ten years old, but the memory is etched in my mind like an engraving on a stone.

I remember my mother’s expression falling, contentedness merging into distant sorrow. She quickly covered it up, but I still saw and I still remember. She was quick to brush the question away, distracting me with something like candy or a game. I caught Papa’s eye, searching for some sort of explanation. Looking to my mother, he too avoided the question. Alright, I could take a hint. The Spring Court was off-limits, for some unknown reason.

I probably would have forgotten about the incident, but later that night, as Papa was tucking me in, he whispered me a story.

Kneeling next to my bed, the blue faelight casting shadows across his face in an eerie, ghost-like manner, he told me about a male and female–mates–who lived in the Spring Court.

They lived in a cozy little cottage covered in crawling purple clematis, and surrounded on all sides by hedges of sweet wild roses. They had a garden where they grew all the best vegetables, and great big fruit trees. Forget-me-nots lined the path to the front door, which was painted green to match the evergreens. White lace curtains hung in the windows, which were always open to let in the perfume of the flowers.

When it rained, the two would take a stroll down the lane, faces raised to the sky to feel the drops on their cheeks. When it was sunny, they sat together on the porch swing and read each other poetry.

They spent their days tending to the cottage and the garden, sometimes selling their flowers, vegetables, and fruit in the nearby town. They spent their nights whispering plans for the future–what colour to paint the fence, what new flower to grow, what to name their children.

They had neighbours, too. On the left, just a short walk down the road, was a sweet old lady. She baked them all sorts of cookies and squares, and invited them for tea at least once a week. They always obliged.

On the right, quite a bit further down the road, maybe an hour’s walk away, was a male who lived alone. He was kind to the couple, but kept his distance. He always did promise to keep an eye on the female whenever her mate had to go away, though.

The couple lived in their peaceful little cottage for many years. They were happy with their quaint lives, and they were happy with each other.

My papa left after saying those words. He didn’t stick around to answer any of the many questions I had about the story.

Was it a true story? Who were the couple? Are they still alive?

These questions plagued me for nearly a century.

Well, at least I know the answers now.

The letter Mr. Hobkins gave me turned out to be more telling than I could have expected. Addressed to my mother, it was a letter from a woman named Rhiannon Moss. In her letter, Rhiannon reminisced about the years she knew my mother and her mate. How they lived down the road, how they came over for tea once a week. Rhiannon expressed her sorrow that she never got to meet mum’s child–me, I should hope. I don’t know what I’d do if I found out my mother had kept a sibling from me.

It all lines up with the little I know of my parents’ past. They left the Spring Court when Mum found out she was pregnant, so this Rhiannon lady of course never would have met me.

The more I read of Rhiannon’s letter, the more confused I became, although I was finally getting some answers. Why did my parents keep this from me?

Even more confusing, is what Rhiannon says about the male who lives down the road (the single male from Papa’s story, I presume). Apparently, he went crazed with anger shortly after my parents left. His sister had to come live with him because he could hardly look after himself. But two weeks ago (since the letter was sent, four weeks ago from now), his sister passed away, and he disappeared.

That’s why Rhiannon wrote the letter, she says. To warn Mum about him, in case he came to find her for whatever reason.

All this new information is making my head swim.

Rean, who has sat with me the whole time, letting me read and process, silently hands me a cup of sweetened tea.

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” it comes out as a sigh, “I just can’t make sense of it all.”

Luna, who had been pacing the room since Rean and I arrived with the letter, sits next to me on the sofa and takes the letter from my hand. The parchment is crumpled where I had clutched it so tightly. “Can I read it?”

I nod, bringing the cup of tea to my lips and taking a cautious sip of the hot drink.

Luna reads, I sip, Rean puts his hand on my knee. Corin comes back with a tray of food, which he places on the low round table before sitting on the sofa opposite the one the rest of us are on. Rean goes right for the food, but eating is the last thing on my mind right now.

I knew I didn’t know much about my parents’ pasts, but now I wonder if I ever knew them at all.

“I wonder what happened to their neighbour.” Luna looks up from the letter.

“Rhiannon?”

“No, the other one. Emrick Maddox.”

I drop my cup.

“Say that name again.”

“Mila, are you alright?” Rean kneels in front of me, at first to clean up the mess I made, and now to worriedly search my face for answers.

“The other neighbour’s name was Emrick Maddox.”

“Have you heard that name before?” Luna puts a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“It’s the last thing my father said before– before he died. I had no idea what it meant. I guess I had forgotten until now, or didn’t notice when I was reading the letter. How could I have missed it?”

“Do you think he’s the one who did this?” Luna’s face suddenly becomes focused, her dark brows narrowing in anger and protectiveness. My friend, always ready to seek revenge for me.

“Wait, did what?” Rean looks lost. I didn’t even realize I hadn’t told him that Luna and I don’t believe what the authorities told us about the fire. I see the exact moment he understands. “You don’t think the fire was an accident.”

“It all matches up, Rean. Why else would my father say his name? It had to have been a warning.” My mind is reeling. I finally have some answers, a theory that makes sense. I have to pace the room to try and keep up with my thoughts. “And now we know from Rhiannon’s letter that Emrick has been missing, so it’s entirely possible that he set my house on fire and killed my parents.”

“But what’s his motive?” Corin, who has been silent until now, speaks up. “Why would Emrick even want to kill your parents?”

I stop in my tracks. The high from seconds ago has all but disappeared, replaced with the empty hopeless feeling of not knowing.

“Rhiannon wrote the letter as a warning, Corin. Emrick went crazy when Mila’s parents left the Spring Court.” Luna hands him the letter.

I’m having trouble keeping all of this straight. What would I do if I didn’t have some level-headed people with me?

“It has to be Emrick. I’m sure of it. And he’s still out there. Who knows what else he’ll do?”

Rean, looking determined, stands from the couch. He joins, taking my hand in his. He squeezes once. “We’ll find him.”

Luna comes and takes my other hand. Corin stands behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

This is my family. Fierce, protective, loving.

My parents would have loved Rean and Corin too, as they loved Luna.

I feel their presence in the room. A ghost of Papa’s hand on my shoulder, Mum’s on my cheek.

I can’t help the tears that fall, but I feel no sadness. All I can feel is the immense love of my friends, my parents, and my mate.

We can do this. We can track down Emrick and avenge the deaths of my Mum and Papa. This is why Papa warned me, why the letter was brought to us.

“I think we need to pay Rhiannon a visit. If we are going to find Emrick, we need to know more about him and my parents.”

SJM ship playlist

(some of these I know to be fandom favourites, but most I just happened to notice from my normal playlist and thought fit the ships well)

Feysand: Perfect- Ed Sheeran

Nessian: Bitter Pill- Gavin James

Elucien: All Or Nothing At All- Switchfoot

Elriel: Meet Me Where You’re Going- Cloud Cult

Rowaelin: Bonfire Heart- James Blunt

Lysaedion: Yellow Light- Of Monsters and Men

Manorian: Kings and Queens- Thirty Seconds to Mars

Chaorene: Mountain and the Sea- Ingrid Michaelson 

Nestaq: Gathering Stories- Jonsi

Starlight and Ashes (five)

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Masterlist

Chapter Five

Milena

I can’t say it’s the worst meal I’ve ever had. Everyone is welcoming enough, and the conversation is good, but I can’t help but feel out of place. It almost doesn’t feel real that I’m even here. I keep thinking that any moment I’ll snap out of some daydream and be back in my home above the bakery, sitting down to supper with my parents. But the focus of the dinner talk comes back to me, and I know that this is real.

“I hear that you’ve been reading all the books in the library, Mila,” Christine, Rean’s cousin comments as she passes her father the green beans. Cassian is as much the legendary warrior I expected him to be–based on stories every child in Velaris has heard a dozen times over–and I can see it in his daughter as well. I know my every move is being analyzed by her stormy blue eyes, every word turned over for hints and clues. When Rean and I had first arrived in the House dining room, admittedly a few minutes late, she was the first to rush up and greet me. I could only be grateful that she shook my hand rather than hugging me, as both Feyre and Cassian had done.

“Rean’s been showing me all his favourites.” I take a sip of wine, hoping to ease my tension. I wish that Luna could have made it to the meal, just so I could have something familiar to anchor me. Though she seemed excited about the invitation, she sent a message saying that something came up and she couldn’t make it. Rean’s twin, Corin, also was regretful to miss the meal, but had somewhere important to be, or something. “I haven’t seen any of you around while I’ve been here. Who all lives in the House of Wind?”

“At the moment,” Hana, another of Rean’s cousins, speaks up, “just Corin, Rean, Christine, and I. Valeria and Julian are back at the Illyrian camps for another few months.”

“Valeria and Julian are friends from Illyria,” Rean explains when he notices my confusion. “They’re younger by a couple years and still have to finish their training. Corin and I officially finished a decade ago, and Christine did last year. We all still spend a lot of time in Illyria, though.”

“Well, except me.” Hana throws a golden red braid over her shoulder and smiles. I like Hana right away. She is a stark contrast to Christine, all smiles and jokes and bright eyes. I don’t dislike Christine or anything, I just feel like prey under her all-seeing gaze. Hana feels… safer. But first impressions aren’t everything, I remind myself.

I’m more intimidated by the older males and females at the table than anyone else, but not because they’re trying to be intimidating. Quite the opposite, really. I am sitting in the presence of legends and warriors, yet it doesn’t feel like it at all as they make jokes and tease each other like school children.

“I’m just saying, Rhysie,” Cassian drawls to the High Lord, “you’re not the young male you used to be.” I hadn’t been paying attention to the exchange that led up to this particular statement, but I don’t think I have to have been in order to understand the dynamic. It is certainly not what I ever would have imagined from the most powerful fae in the Night Court, but I can’t say I’m disappointed.

“We’re the same age, Cassie,” Rhysand retorts. I have a feeling this is a common exchange based on the expressions of everyone around me that say not this again. I feel a certain level of pity for Feyre and Nesta, who have been dealing with this for centuries. I send a silent prayer to the Mother to give me as much patience as them as Cassian and Rhysand continue in their squabble.

Rean told me to call everyone by their first names, but it still feels wrong. My mother would have made sure I called everyone by their proper title. Surely she would have scolded me for being so laid back with the leaders of our Court.

Movement out of the corner of my eye pulls my attention from the meal. On a gust of cool wind, a winged male enters from the open balcony, another form in his arms. Not just any form, I realize with relief, but Luna. And the male I recognize as Corin, since he looks almost exactly like Rean. The only difference I can tell is that Corin’s hair is purposely unruly, while Rean’s is always smoothed out as much as he can manage (to little avail, but he tries).

Next to me, Rean rises from his seat. I stand as well, rushing to embrace my friend. Something in her eyes makes me worry, but her returned embrace tells me that she’s fine.

“I thought you couldn’t come.”

“I was freed up at the last minute,” she shrugs.

“Well, I’m glad.” Everyone shifts around the table to make room for the two late-comers. Luna on my other side, and Corin next to Rean. Having Luna here instantly calms me down, and the rest of the meal seems to fly by in enjoyable banter. Somehow, we got on the topic of chocolate. There seems to be a danger of me being kicked out of the Court now, given everyone’s reactions to the discovery that I don’t have much of a taste for the stuff. Rean looked as if I had slapped him across the face. Noted: never bring up a distaste for chocolate to the leaders of the Night Court.

Bellies and hearts full by the end of the night, the number of diners at the table dwindles to just four: Corin, Luna, Rean, and I. Draining the last sip of wine from his glass, Rean stands and offers to fly Luna back to her apartment. But Corin, to my surprise but not disappointment, suggests she spend the night at the House of Wind, claiming that it’s getting late anyway. Luna of course doesn’t protest to spending another few hours in the luxurious House. I can’t say I would turn down the soft bed topped with a down duvet and feather pillow, the courtyard blooming with every type of flower, and certainly not the seemingly endless library, all at my fingertips.

All the things I never had before, and yet I feel it will never be enough.

____________

Rean

Mila clutches my arm. She holds tight wherever we go, and the streets of Velaris are no exception. Even when we enter shops to browse, she stays close at my side. I don’t mind, but I worry about her. She hasn’t spoken much at all about Starfall, not that I’ve asked much anyway. I just don’t want her to bottle everything up, for the fear that she might overflow.

We walk aimlessly through the streets, taking the day away from the House of Wind to go wherever we are taken. We each hold bags on our free arms, filled with candy and trinkets we’ve bought along the way. We have no final destination or goal to worry about.

I lead Milena left at the next street, admiring the trees that line the path in front of the shops and houses.

Mila lets go of my arm, stopping suddenly.

I realize the mistake I have made.

Across the tree-lined street, like a blot of ink on a letter, are the grey, ashy ruins of Mila’s home.

She stares, but her expression reveals no emotion.

Slowly, she sits on the stone curb, pulling her legs under her. Slowly, I sit next to her.

We stare.

We don’t speak for a long while. What can I say?

“When I was a child,” Mila starts, “I was convinced my mother was a healer. The greatest healer in Prythian, even.” She pulls a ring from her finger and fiddles with it as she speaks. “I thought this because every time I got hurt–a splinter in my finger, a scrape on my knee–my mother could instantly make me feel better. She would sit me down on the kitchen table, wipe the tears from my eyes, and tell me to sit very still so she could make the hurt go away.

“Hold still, buttercup, or the magic won’t work,” was what she would always say. Then she would take the injured finger or knee or elbow in her hand and bring it to her lips, leaving the softest of kisses. And it worked every time. I would hop off the table and run back outside to play, the injury forgotten.

“When I got a little older and emotional hurt was more common than physical, she would do the same little healing ritual to cheer me up. Sitting me down on my bed or hers, she would place that same soft kiss on my forehead, and whisper, “I love you, buttercup.” And while it didn’t always work instantly, as some hurts were very deep, I would always feel even just a little bit better than before.

“Of course I know now that she wasn’t a healer, and actually carried very little magic in her blood. I know that it was all in my head. But to a child, a comforting mother is the most powerful healer in Prythian. There was nothing she couldn’t fix.

I long for one of my mother’s healing kisses now more than ever. I need her to make me feel better. But I know that I’ll have to find another way. My mother isn’t here to kiss away my hurt, and it’s that feeling of… finality that makes me hurt the most.” Tears threaten to fall from her green eyes, but she blinks them away. She sniffs once.

It’s my turn to talk. I take a deep breath.

“There used to be another member of our group–our ‘Inner Circle 2.0’. He trained with Corin, Christine, and I at the Illyrian camps. His name was Isaias, and the four of us were inseparable.” Isaias’s laughing face is forever burned into my memory, and I see him now. The deep dimples, the nearly closed hazel eyes, the crooked teeth. I hear his laugh.

“He… struggled a bit with the training. When it came time for the Rite, he insisted on participating with the rest of us. We weren’t about to keep him from doing it, though we all wanted to, and in the end…”

His laugh. His smile. His face.

“In the end he didn’t make it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not telling you this to turn this into some sort of pity-party. I’m telling you because I know some of what you’re feeling right now. I want you to know that it will get easier. The hurt will fade. It may never go away, but eventually you might go a day without noticing the pain. A week. It will always be a part of you, but with time, you’ll be able to live with it.”

Mila meets my eyes. “Thank you,” she whispers thickly.

“Milena!”

Mila and I both turn to the direction of the voice, coming from the house next to what is now the ruins of Mila’s home. A white-haired male in a blue apron is walking across the street to where Mila and I sit. I assume Mila knows who he is, as she stands up and hugs him in greeting. In a tight-knit community like this one, neighbours are as close as family. Evident by the sign I now notice above his building, this neighbour is a florist. The sign reads El and Al’s Floral Arrangements.

“Mr. Hobkins, I’m glad to see you again.” Mila pulls back from her embrace of the florist, and takes a step closer to me. “This is Rean. I’ve been staying with him in the House of Wind.”

Mr. Hobkins extends a hand for me to shake. “Well I’ll be! We all wondered where you’d gone off to. How’d you end up there, of all places?”

She chuckles nervously, running a hand through her golden hair. “It’s a bit of a long story. I think I’ll stay there for a while though, til things get sorted out.”

Mr. Hobkins looks me in the eye, his brown eyes less warm than they had been a moment ago. “You make sure she’s alright, boy. You look after her.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, leave him be, Mr. Hobkins. Rean’s been nothing but kind. He’s, uh… he’s my mate.” The word coming from her makes my heart skip a beat. Mr Hobkins, on the other hand, looks ready to cry for joy. He pulls Mila in for another hug. Then, to my surprise, pulls me into a warm embrace as well.

“I almost forgot,” he says, dabbing a tear from the corner of his eye, “in all this excitement it slipped my mind entirely. I’m not as young as I used to be, you know. My memory’s not quite so good.”

“What is it?”

He reaches into the pocket of his apron, producing from it a letter marked with a green seal. “This letter was meant for your house, but ended up at mine. I thought you’d like to have it, so as soon as I saw you sitting out here, I ran and got it. I’ve had it since the day of the accident.” The florist tears up again, but I know this time it’s not for joy. He must have been very close with Mila’s parents.

Mila inspects the letter. I’m not sure if it’s the letter or Mr. Hobkins, but there is a faint scent of roses in the air. I have a feeling it’s the former, since I didn’t notice the scent before he took the letter out.

“It’s addressed to my mother, but I don’t recognize the sender. Do you know who Rhiannon Moss is?”

“I haven’t a clue,” the florist shrugs. “I figured you’d want to read whatever was in it though. And I suppose I should leave you to it. Don’t be a stranger, Milena. Come visit me and El anytime.”

Mila pulls her attention from the writing on the envelope. “Thank you so much, Mr. Hobkins.”

“I think I should open this at the House of Wind,” she says once he’s back inside. “I feel like whatever is in this letter might give a clue to what happened to my parents.”

Feyre, Lucien, and the Great Comet of the Spring Court–Act II

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Prologue * Act I * Act II

Act II

Lucien

I write a letter to Tamlin, though I know he won’t answer. He hasn’t answered my letters in months.

Dear old friend,

How is Hybern? Do you make progress with the king? I wish I was there, with death at my heels, making a difference in the world.

I hear that Cassian is recovering. He will be alright, the good man.

And Feyre is in the Spring Court. I have not yet seen her, but I hear your bride-to-be is full of life. I should visit. I hear she has grown more beautiful, more clever. I greatly envy you and your happiness.

This will be my last letter to him if he chooses not to answer again.

____________

Feyre

I can’t stop thinking about Rhysand and our night at the ball. What am I to tell Tamlin? Do I tell him at all?

I must write him a letter, I decide. I sit down at the desk in my room and begin to write.

Dear Tamlin,

What more can I write after what has happened? What do I do if I love him, but also love another? I must be a terrible person to be unfaithful.

Maybe if I look at the candle in the mirror again, it will give me a sign. Elain said it would show me my future, so it’s worth a try.

I arrange my mirrors as Elain did, and holding my candle, peer into my reflection.

I see nothing but the candle. No coffin, no man–standing or lying. No visions of the future. I feel so lost. What am I to do?

I need to take my mind off of it. I notice an unread letter on my desk. A letter, I find, that is from the Lady of Autumn.

I open it and hold it to the candlelight.

Dear Feyre,

I’m in deep despair at the misunderstanding there is between us.

Whatever my husband’s feelings might be, I beg you to believe that I cannot stop thinking about you, and that I want to know you. My husband is a tired old man, and you must forgive him. Please, come see us again.

I take out a fresh piece of parchment, and begin my reply.

My Lady,

What do I write? They were so awful to me, but do they deserve another chance? I would do it for Tamlin, but am I even meant to be with him? So many terrible questions.

A letter from Rhysand appears in front of me. So many letters in a single night, I think I might go crazy. I open his letter anyway.

Feyre darling, I must love you or die.

Feyre darling, if you love me, say yes, and I will come and steal you away, steal you to the dark.

Feyre darling, I want nothing more.

Just say yes.

Yes, I love him. I’ve decided it. How else could I have his letter in my hand? I read it again, savouring each word. I read it twenty times, thirty times, forty times. Each and every word. Yes, I love him.

I fall asleep with his letter in my hand.

____________

“Feyre, tell me isn’t true.” I wake at my sister’s voice. “It can’t be that you love him, it can’t be. Feyre–”

“Elain, you’re back!” I embrace my sister. But noticing the look on her face, I know why she has woken me. “Elain! You’ve read the letter!”

She nods, unable to look me in the eye.

“Oh, I’m glad, I can’t hide it any longer! Now you know we love one another. Oh Elain, he writes and writes! If you only knew how happy I am… you don’t know what love is!”

“And what of Tamlin?”

“I don’t understand…”

“Are you refusing him?”

“Oh, You don’t understand anything, Elain! Don’t talk nonsense, just listen!”

“No, I don’t understand, Feyre! You’ve only known him three days!”

Has it only been three days? It feels like I’ve loved him for a hundred years. It feels like I’ve never loved anyone before–not like this. I have no will, my life is his. I’ll do anything he wants me to. “What can I do, Elain? Why can’t you understand that I love him?”

“I won’t let it come to that, Feyre. I’ll tell Ianthe. I won’t let you ruin everything for us.” She bursts into tears, which only fuels my anger.

“What do you mean, for cauldron’s sake? If you tell her you will be my enemy! Do you want me to be miserable by tearing us apart?” I take her hands in mine. “Please, Elain,” I beg, “don’t tell anyone! I have confided in you, you can’t betray me like this!”

She pulls her hands from mine and reaches for the letters. “What has he said to you?” Her brows furrow as she scans the letters. She looks furious. “Why doesn’t he come here and properly ask for your hand? Why this secrecy? Have you thought of what he may be trying to hide, Feyre?”

“I don’t know his reasons, and I don’t care to. Elain, I can’t doubt him.”

She sighs. “Does he love you?”

“Does he love me? Well, you’ve read his letters! Of course he loves me, you can see it in every word.” I take the letters from her, cradling them against my heart.

“Feyre,” she pleads, “think of this family. Think of Tamlin.”

“Tamlin said I was free to refuse him,” I counter.

“But you haven’t refused him,” she pauses, “or have you?”

“Perhaps I have. Perhaps it’s all over between me and Tamlin.” I sigh and look at her with my best doe eyes. “Would you think so badly of me?”

“I won’t fall for your tone, Feyre,” she snaps, “I don’t trust him! And I’m afraid you’re going to your ruin!”

“Then I’ll go to my ruin!” I shout, “Yes, I will! As soon as possible! It’s not your business, so leave me alone. Just leave me alone!” Elain flinches at my words, but I don’t stop. “I hate you, Elain! I hate you, and you are my enemy forever!” She bursts into sobs and runs from the room, the door left wide open behind her.

Without a moment to reflect, I write the letter to the Lady of Autumn I’d been unable to write all morning.

All our misunderstandings are at an end. Forget everything, and forgive me.

But I can’t be Tamlin’s wife.

____________

Cassian

The plan to take Feyre to the Night Court had all been arranged and the preparations made.

This was how it would go:

Feyre would be on her balcony at sunset, and Rhys, Az, and I would swoop in and take her away. We would fly to the edge of the Night Court, where a priestess will be waiting to make them get wed. Then we fly the rest of the way to Velaris, where Rhys and Feyre will live the rest of their days in happiness.

We are all gathered at the Spring Court Inn, drinking and waiting for sunset. Rhys paces the floor, his shirt unbuttoned and wings out. He walks to and fro, to and fro, to and fro. It’s making me dizzy. Or maybe that’s just the alcohol.

“Rhys, are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Shut up, Cassian, of course it is. I love her and she loves me.”

“Then why are you pacing?”

The door to the inn opens, Rhys’ attention going to whoever walks in. When I see the look on his face, I turn to see who it is too.

Lucien Vanserra. I roll my eyes and go back to my drink.

“Rhysand,” he says. Then, noticing the luggage and papers strewn about, “leaving Spring so soon? Where are you off to?”

“Ah, Fox-boy,” Rhysand drawls, and I chuckle at the nickname. “Tonight, I go away on an adventure. I doubt we will be seeing each other for a while. I have found a new love, and I’m taking her away with me. I’ll send you a letter from Velaris.”

“Ha!” Lucien laughs. “But Rhysand, are you not already married?”

“You watch your tongue,” I snap.

“But it’s true, isn’t it? You’re married to Amarantha.”

“What would you know of marriages, Vanserra?”

Lucien doesn’t answer.

“And it doesn’t matter, anyway,” Rhys, continues, “because I will make sure that no one else knows about my past. I trust that you will keep this to yourself.”

“It’s time to go, Rhys,” I say, standing up. It is nearly sunset, and Azriel will be waiting outside.

“Goodbye, Fox-boy! Raise a glass for me!” Rhys calls back as we leave the inn.

As I expected Azriel is outside the inn, waiting at the nearby treeline. He is cloaked in shadow, his wings looming behind him.

“Let’s go,” Rhys says before summoning his wings and taking off. Azriel and I follow.

When we reached the gate of the Manor, I whistled. The whistle was heard by a servant, who, after being bribed, agreed to open the gate for us. Az and I stayed by the gate, Rhysand followed the servant into the courtyard and up to the house.

“You will not enter this house, scoundrel!” Ianthe appears in the doorway.

“Rhysand,” I call, “come back! We’ve been betrayed!”

Azriel, Rhysand, and I flee, back to the safety of the inn.

____________

Feyre

“You shameless, good-for-nothing girl,” Ianthe spits. She paces my room, furious with me. Elain stands in the doorway, unable to look at me. “Have you lost your mind? Running away with the High Lord of the Night Court from the house of your betrothed… you vile, shameless girl!”

I open my mouth to speak, but she cuts me off. “Don’t you say one word! There is nothing you could say to save yourself from what you have done.”

My body begins to shake with noiseless, convulsive sobs. Everything is ruined. Ianthe brings her hand to my arm, but I jerk away. “Don’t touch me! Just let me be!”

She is growing more agitated with every moment. “What are we to tell your father? The other High Lords? Tamlin? What do we tell your betrothed?”

“I have no betrothed,” I declare, “I have refused him.”

“Feyre,” Elain cries, “just stop!” She reaches out to me as Ianthe did, and I give her the same treatment.

“Don’t touch me!”

“If he had succeeded in carrying you off, don’t you think Tamlin would have found him?” Elain asks. ”Rhysand is a monster!”

“He is better than any of you!” I say. “Why did you have to interfere, Elain?” She tries to speak, but I don’t want to hear it. “Just go away! Everyone go away.” Ianthe too tries to speak again, but I cry out. “Go away! You all hate and despise me!” and I throw myself down on my bed.

“Feyre!” Ianthe shouts, but I do not respond. She finally gives in and leaves, Elain following behind her.

I do not sleep that night. I sit at the window, waiting for Rhysand, but he never comes.

____________

Lucien

I knock hesitantly on the door of the manor. Ianthe did not sound happy in the letter she sent, asking me to come see her immediately. I have a feeling something terrible has happened, but I can’t figure out what. Perhaps Tamlin is being delayed again, and won’t be coming home as soon as we had hoped.

A servant opens the door and directs me to the drawing room, where Ianthe is waiting. She paces the floor, wringing her hands, her eyebrows drawn. She notices I’ve arrived, and walk toward me, pulling me into a quick embrace. “Lucien,” she says, “I’m sorry it’s late. I haven’t seen you around in many days, where have you been?”

“I have been… studying.”

“Lucien, we need your help–Tamlin and the entire Court need your help. There is ruin at the door.”

“Ianthe, what is–”

“Feyre has broken with Tamlin.”

“What?”

“Feyre has tried to run away.”

“It can’t be! She would never–”

“She has tried to run away with Rhysand.”

I sit down, unable to believe my ears. Rhysand, that prick, wasn’t joking when he said he was in love with Feyre. Ianthe sits next to me.

“Tamlin will kill him, and surely start a war. We must get Rhysand to return to the Night Court before Tamlin comes home.”

“I’ll go talk to him at once.”

But where would I find Rhysand? I check the inn, but it is empty. Perhaps at the bar.

All is going on as usual when I arrive. Everyone is gossiping in small groups, and in my search, I hear snippets of what they are saying. “Have you heard of Rhysand’s abduction?” “Is it true?” “Feyre is ruined!”

“Nonsense,” I snap, “nothing has happened! Everything is fine.” They do nothing but lower their voices when I pass closely by.

I find Rhysand at the end of the bar, muttering Feyre’s name under his breath. He looks like death. “Rhysand,” I clap him on the shoulder. “Come, I must speak to you.” I lead him to a private room. He follows with his usual confident step, but his face betrays anxiety. I close the door and address him without looking at him. “You prepared to take Feyre away to the Night Court, is that so?”

“I don’t consider myself bound to answer questions put to me in that tone,” he says indignantly. Classic Rhysand, ever the arrogant fool. I don’t have the time to deal with him like this. The well-being of my friend is in serious jeopardy because of his selfish, stupid actions.

My face, already pale, becomes distorted by fury. I seize him by the collar and push him against the wall. “Listen to me, Rhysand! When I tell you I must talk to you–”

“Come now, fox-boy, this is stupid!” I only push him harder. We both know he could stop me in an instant without so much as a thought.

“You’re a scoundrel and a blackguard, and I don’t know what deprives me of the pleasure of smashing your head in right now.”

“We both know you couldn’t if you tried.” He pushes me away now, but doesn’t make an attempt to leave. I recompose myself, but I’m still seething. He is not going off the hook for this, not on my watch.

“First, do you have any letters of hers?” He reluctantly pulls a package of letters out of his pocket and hands them over. His name is scrawled across the top of each one in the neat handwriting of a rich merchant’s daughter, the stack tied together neatly with a black ribbon. “Second, tonight, you must leave the Spring Court.” He nods. “Third, you must never breathe a word of what has happened between you and Feyre.” He sits down now, and sighs deeply.

“Lucien, she’s my mate.”

I pace the room several times in silence. He watches me.

“You must understand, Rhysand, that there is such a thing as other people, and their happiness and peace. And that you are ruining a whole life for the sake of… amusing yourself.”

“I’m not just amusing myself, Lucien. She wanted to come with me. She doesn’t want to stay here”

“Just promise me you’ll leave. You can’t be here when Tamlin returns, and he will return.”

He sighs, but nods. Satisfied, I leave him.

____________

Elain

Dear Tamlin,

Feyre is very ill. The whole house is in a state of alarm and commotion.

I don’t know if Ianthe has written to you yet, but Feyre has been unfaithful. If not for Ianthe, she would be in the Night Court right now with Rhysand, who has attempted to kidnap her. Rhysand and his ‘entourage’ have returned to the Night Court without her, thankfully.

But unfortunately, Feyre, seemingly heartbroken, poisoned herself in the night. She woke me in the middle of the night and told me what she had done. The healers came with the antidote, and now she is out of danger, but still so weak.

Please return to the Spring Court at once.

We wait for Tamlin to return with dread. He will surely challenge Rhysand to a duel, and get himself killed, and all will be ruined.

____________

Lucien

Tamlin is back in the Spring Court, and the first thing he does is not visit Feyre, who is dreadfully ill, but visits me. He appeared in my doorway, stone-faced and emotionless. I brought him into the library to sit.

“Well,” he says after settling,  “how are you?”

I don’t answer. He knows how I am. Or at least he would, if he read my letters. “You look grim,” I remark.

“I’ve been away too long, but I am well. It’s good to see you.”

We sit in silence for a few long moments. The ticking clock on the wall is the only sound.

“Forgive me for troubling you, old friend. I received a refusal from Feyre, and I have heard reports of Rhysand having… asked for her hand, or something of that kind. Is this true?”

“Something of that kind.”

He avoids meeting my eyes, and reaches into his coat pocket. “Here are her letters. Please give them to her.” He begins to stand up to leave.

“Feyre is ill. She has been at death’s door.”

“I much regret her illness.” He smiles like my father–coldly, maliciously. “Well,” he continues to the door, “forgive me for bothering you.”

“You told me once,” I call after him, “that all people should be given the chance to be forgiven.”

“But I didn’t say that I could forgive.” He puts his hand on the doorknob. “I can’t. If you wished to remain my friend, you would be on my side, and never speak of that again.”

I know I can’t be on his side in this. I am on nobody’s side.

“Well, goodbye.” He spares me a final glance before closing the door behind him.

I remain seated until I can no longer hear the roaring in my ears.

I decide that I am going to visit Feyre. She must feel so lonely, so despised. She deserves to have someone comfort her. I put on my heavy coat and go to the manor, where she will be staying at just until she gets better. Then she will be returned to her home in the Mortal Lands, or so Ianthe has said.

I find Feyre standing in the middle of the art gallery, with a pale, yet steady face. When I appeared in the doorway, she grew flustered, and I hurried to her. It looked like she was about to give me her hand, but instead she stopped, leaving her too-thin arms hanging at her sides.

“Lucien Vanserra,” she says distantly, her face remaining blank.

“Just Lucien.”

“Tamlin was your friend,” she says, seemingly to herself. “He once told me that I should turn to you.”

I sniff, holding back tears. What has happened to the charming, clever girl I once saw? Until now, I had blamed her for what had happened. Despised her for hurting Tamlin. But now, and especially after my visit with Tam, I can only pity her.

“He is here now, isn’t he?”

I nod.

“Please… tell him to forgive me. For everything.”

“I will tell him,” I assure her. “Just answer me one thing.” She meets my eyes now, and I’m taken aback by how clear and understanding her grey eyes are, considering her demeanor. “Did you love him? Did you love Rhysand?”

“I did… I do.” She begins to cry, and my heart overflows with pity for this poor mortal girl.

“We won’t talk about him anymore. Just promise me something, Feyre. Promise me that you will consider me your friend, and if you ever need help, or just someone to talk to, you’ll think of me.”

She smiles, just a bit, for the first time since I arrived. “Why are you being so kind to me? I’m not worth it. I am an ungrateful, lying piece of–”

“Stop, Feyre. Don’t speak about yourself like that. This isn’t the end of your happiness, you have a whole life in front of you.”

“No, Lucien. All is over for me.”

All over? Is this all it takes for your life to be made meaningless? It is far from fair. Feyre deserves to get to still live a full, happy life, unlike the life I’ve lived.

“If,” I start, then stop myself, then start again. “If I were not… myself, but the brightest, handsomest, best male in Prythian, and if I were free, then I would marry you myself.”

She begins to weep. Not tears of sadness, I can see from her face, but tears of gratitude. Tears of thanks. She nods, and leaves the room smiling. Restraining my own tears that threaten to fall, I too turn and leave the room. I leave the gallery, the hall, the marble floors, the stone steps, all of it, behind me.

Where can I go now? I can’t stay in Spring, I can’t go back to Autumn. All of Prythian, all of life itself, feels pitiful–prude, even–compared the the final, grateful last glance Feyre gave me through her tears.

Night has fallen, and the air outside is cool. A breeze rustles the leaves in the trees, carrying with it a faint perfume of roses from Tamlin’s garden.

I look up at the dark, starry sky.

And there, I see it. In the middle of the sky, surrounded and sprinkled on all sides by stars, a great comet–a brilliant comet, shooting through the dark.

It is said that the comet was followed by a war that brought untold horrors, and the end of the world as we know it. But for me, the comet brings no tears. No, I gaze joyfully at this bright, amazing star, which, tracing its path across the sky, seems to have stopped just for me. Like an arrow piercing my heart.

It seems to me that this comet feels me; feels my softened and uplifted soul, and my newly melted heart, now blossoming into a new and sweeter life.

____________

Dear Feyre,

I hear you have been reunited with the High Lord of the Night Court, and that you are happily mated. I’m glad that you have found happiness with him, and I congratulate you on your position as High Lady.

I have found happiness too. As you know, I left Prythian behind me to travel the world, and I’m now living with some people you may know—Jurian and Vassa. For the first time in many years, I am truly and utterly happy.

I of course have heard news of a brewing war, and I want you to know that I will aid in any way I can. I will support you, Feyre, though I didn’t before when I should have.

I want to ask you to forgive me for trying to keep you and Rhysand apart. I of all people should know what that can do to a person.

Forever your friend,

Lucien