Imala Vanserra (neé Valor) once used to be a joyful and lively female until she caught the eye of the young lord Beron Vanserra. He loved her at first, she loved him, and then he became High Lord and his power rose to its full potential and so did his cruelty. For centuries she has lived under his oppressive rule, deep with in the Autumn Court, in the Forest House.
Despite her noble status, she has endured a life of emotional and physical torment at his hands. In the midst of her suffering and after giving birth to six sons, she eventually gave birth to another child that is not Beron’s son — Lucien.
While she loves all her sons, Lucien will forever hold a special place in her heart. That’s why it destroyed a piece of her heart when Lucien was exiled, and ripped away from her. Her resilience, however, will forever remain unbroken — to protect her sons and fight for her freedom.
Rice’s effectiveness as a HL (and how fkn lazy and useless he is)
The Night Court is one of the largest and toughest (I suppose??) territories to deal with in Prythian. So doesn’t it make sense that it would obviously handled by the “strongest” HL existing in Prythian? Of course it does. And not to mention his oh so powerful IC always backing him up.
A little timeline thing:
The fae vs human war happened 500 hundred years prior to the events of acotar. It is said that the previous spring HL (tamlin’s dad) was killed by the end of the war, so we can assume that rice was around his 20s-30s when he took over as HL of NC. I’m gonna skip approximately 100 years including the time he wasn’t HL and was utm. So that’s 400 hundred years of being a HL.
And what has he done? WHAT HAS HE DONE FOR NC? Nothing. Don’t bring up the “change takes time, oh he banned wing clipping in some of the camps🤡” bs. If he can break Keir’s bones infornt of an entire audience made up of Hewn city ppl for simply bad mouthing Feyre and Cassian, a general of his army can clear out an entire village of Illyrians in retribution to his mother’s death, then I’m pretty sure that he along with his clique of the strongest ppl to ever exist can do so much more. He can barely hold up a wing clipping ban.
Making the Illyrian women train means nothing really, if they don’t have proper health care and safe homes to go back to. It means nothing when some Illyrian women don’t want to be fighters and just want to be able to live freely. Oh and what about the Hewn city women? Morrigan herself has said how her cousins are suffering yet no one does anything for them.
His double standards with Velaris vs Illyria and Hewn City is glaringly obvious. He goes around tryna be macho with other HLs but is a pussy when it comes to his own court.
400 hundred years is a lot of time. It is more than enough time for someone that is actually interested in helping their ppl and motivated to bring a good change to their court. But it is too little time for someone like rice, someone that has prejudice against his own ppl, that is lazy and truly doesn’t have any intention of helping anyone tbh.
What gets to me the most about the IC is the hypocrite heroic mask that they use.
Look at the Vanserras. They're awful, they know it, and they don't hide it. The lesser fae and peasants are treated horribly and survive on harsh labor. Everyone knows it. It's laid out for Prythian to see. That family is a strict, cold and competitive chaos. Everyone knows this too. When Prythian is dealing with the Vanserras they know who and what they are dealing with. No need to play pretend.
But the IC? They hide behind this misunderstood heros facade. Like they just want to do the best for Prythian and somewhat their opinions and acts are more important and justifiable than everyone else's. The court of nightmares lives under a generational dictatorship. Children are born and die without seeing the sun. So awful that Amarantha herself took inspiration from it. The Illyrian camps explore women like they are merely sex toys and housekeepers. Little girls lose their ability to fly in an open violation. This most powerful high lord of all time can't control his court, or doesn't want to, because he and Velaris thrives on this. He managed to alter a tradition that has thousands of years (making Feyre high lady) but the rest, like saving children from these cyclical abuses, somehow he can't.
Then he faces Prythian and tells them how powerful and idealistic he is. Personally it feels clear to me that the other High Lords don't buy his shit and still don't trust him.
That's it, I'll say it. Objectively, the night court isn't any better than a place like the Autumn Court. One just bothers to hide it and the other doesn't.
Eleni Merel, Azriel's mother, was born in the Illyrian war camps. For many years, she worked as a cleaning lady and occasionally cooked for the high-ranking camp lords. One day, she caught the eye of a camp lord who pretended to love her until he found out that she was pregnant. A bastard child with a lady of her rank was shameful for him.
He started to treat her cruelly, subjecting her to both mental and physical abuse. Despite this, Eleni wanted to have the child, a baby boy named Azriel.
From the moment Azriel was born, Eleni loved him deeply and vowed to protect him with all her heart. Until the end of her immortal life. Unfortunately, she couldn't fully fulfil this promise, to her mind a failure that haunts her to this day.
With the help of Azriel, Rhysand, and Cassian, Eleni has now moved into a small hut far from the war camps. Her new home is protected by spells, offering her peace and safety. Azriel frequently visits her, spending time together and assisting her with the upkeep of her small wooden house.
Kallax Eiran Vanserra, second-son of Beron and Imala, had always been closest with his brother Eris, except for the period when Eris and Lucien were an inseparable team. Kallax and Eris, only eight years apart, spent most of their lives together, and so he grew incredibly jealous and angry about his brother’s closeness with Lucien — a thorn in his flash.
Later, when he and his two younger brothers, Geras and Merat, joined the war camps in the Autumn Court, they didn’t return home much with also resulted in the distance between him and Eris.
Nevertheless, is Kallax in many ways very similar to Eris, having always looked up to his older brother and for a long time having idolised him. He loves the hounds, hunting, and nature, but he is a born warrior, not a leader or a High Lord.
Kallax prefers combat over conversation, often speaking with his actions rather than words. His views on females also differ from Eris'. Kallax partly holds more traditional, and often misogynistic, beliefs. But a certain Forest-nymph may change Kallax’s views on females
The Forest Nymph, though, is a well-guarded secret. Kallax is well aware of the consequences of taking a lesser fae as a lover, having witnessed the awful fate of Lucien’s beloved Jesminda.
Summary: Azriel is taken by his father and dumped in Lord Devlon’s Illyrian war camp where he is immediately challenged to fight and encounters Rhysand and Cassian for the first time. Minor physical violence, but nothing crazy.
Freefall
“Hey, don't write yourself off yet. It's only in your head you feel left out or looked down on. Just try your best. Try everything you can. And don't you worry what they tell themselves when you're away.”
- Jimmy Eat World
I’d never flown before, but one shot into the air and I was pretty sure it was the most amazing feeling despite the nausea I could feel rolling through my father’s grip on me. He held me by the neck of my shirt by only one tightly clenched hand as if to say he would take me with him, but he wouldn’t try very hard about it.
Even with my body whipping around on the wind, I loved the sensation. My body came alive at the taste of freedom it had never been allowed and I could feel my wings tensing behind my back to try it for themselves. They stretched outward trying to push and pull on the air as we flew, to see what it would feel like.
My father hadn’t told me where we were going. Only that I wasn’t coming back. I knew, though, as we followed the steep peaks of the mountains ever higher that we were still in Illyrian territory.
Or I assumed so. My geography was lacking from 11 years spent wasting in a cell. A cell I wasn’t ever going back to, if I could take my father at his word.
I didn’t realize until the morning he’d taken me out for the last time - the first time he’d ever personally fetched me - that leaving with no return meant I’d never see my mother again. That thought alone was enough to send sorrow crashing through me and I had to fight back the tears so my father wouldn’t see. I worried that if he caught me crying, he’d see it as a sign of weakness and not take me wherever it was we were flying.
So I concentrated instead on the family I left behind. His family. I’d never see my mother again, but I wouldn’t see my step-mother or brothers anymore either. I wasn’t even sure I’d see my father. I knew he of course would go home eventually, but if I wasn’t going with him, where did that leave me?
Daaaaaaaaaanger.
The voice slid through one ear and out the other, slippery and sneaking.
When the other men in the village had heard my screams and finally found me in time to put the flames out before I died, I was engulfed in more shadow than I was fire. They told me afterward that they had doused me in several more buckets worth of water than was necessary before they realized the fire was out and that the shadows were something else entirely.
In his panic, my father threw me back in my cell the second I left the healers. I didn’t hear from anyone for a week.
Those nights were a torment I knew I’d never forget. I could live a thousand years never seeing my father or his two legitimate sons again, but the agony of feeling my hands scar over in sharp, stabbing pains while the voices spoke was a permanent scar.
I didn’t know what they were. I wasn’t even always sure what they said. I fought hearing them almost as much as I clung to them for life. My only friends in the darkness were also my greatest fear.
Down, a voice hissed in my ear as we passed over a clearing and suddenly dropped into a sharp descent into a valley overlooking a steep and narrow cliff. My father released his hold on me before we were even fifteen feet off the ground. The last time he would ever touch me.
Instantly we were met by an Illyrian of impressive size, a hulking mass of muscle and jaw line and a look about his face that said he smelled something vicious.
“He’s yours,” my father said and the Illyrian nodded before looking at me. I flushed immediately at the look in his eye, a look that tore me apart limb for limb, thought for thought. The shadows stretched tighter over me in response as if to shield me and I received another not so gentle warning that I was not in friendly company.
I got up only to be met with the toe of the Illyrian male’s boot slamming my chest back down.
“Shadowsinger,” he said and grunted. I didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. “Get in the ring.” He pointed over his shoulder to where a half-dozen other males were hitting, biting, kicking, and all manner of ungodliness so near to the edge of that perilous cliff, it was a wonder they didn’t fall off as they fell. Even at a distance, I could tell they were a mess of blood and gore.
Bile rose up in my throat. He wanted me to go in there?
He allowed me to stand, but I whirled around to face my father, my shadows clearing enough for a pleading look to show through. He stared at me with nothing more than disinterest on his face before turning and shooting into the sky.
Another parent I would never say goodbye to.
“Let’s go,” the Illyrian male, who I guessed was the war lord of the camp, yelled in my ear as he shoved me roughly. “Let’s see what you can do with your pretty little shadows.”
“Who are you?” I asked, walking toward the fighting rings as my stomach wound tighter and tighter in knots.
“Your father didn’t tell you?” I shook my head and he shouted. “Answer me!” A slap met my face and I stumbled a few steps in shock, half running as I went to get to the rings and further away from him faster.
“He didn’t tell me anything,” I said. “Just that I wasn’t going back.”
He said nothing until we met the rings. Action stopped within them at once and I suddenly was struck by the number of male heads turning in my direction. All at once, the shadows swam passing in front of my eyes in a dark filter as they whispered all sorts of information about the camp: ages, heights, hair color, eye color, sweat, build, bruises, cuts. Their entire lives were laid out before me in an instant. I mentally swatted them away in my blind panic.
“I’m Lord Devlon,” the Illyrian said, sounding semi-awed, like he’d only just noticed my companions while they retreated. But then, “Your father is a disgusting piece of shit from another camp who fucks whores and has bastard sons like you on the side.”
Snickers rang around the clearing.
“I don’t want you here,” he continued, revulsion overtaking whatever inspiration he’d had momentarily before. “But for a Shadowsinger, I’ll grant your father the favor of relieving him of the burden of you.” He snapped his fingers and pointed at the empty ring next to us, a clear message to move inside or be prepared to face my death.
I might have faced it regardless. I had no way of knowing. Even the shadows sat silently by to let me make up my own mind and it was odd not to hear them, I’d grown so used to their ceaseless chatter. Countless faces stared me down and I was terrified of what some of them might do to me.
But when I looked at Lord Devlon, his wings flared out wide behind him in silent demand of why I would hesitate and a sudden image flashed through my mind of those same huge wings flaring behind my step-brothers the morning they’d opened my cell to light me on fire.
My fists clenched. I might die today, but I would have died had I stayed behind. I had nothing to lose but my life and that already felt forfeit.
So I moved forward, lowered a rope lining the ring, and stepped into the pitch ready to meet my maker.
Lord Devlon snapped his fingers again and shouted. “Cassian!”
A smirking, smug Illyrian bastard from across the ring stepped up eagerly and let himself in. He wasted no time at all before he glided easily to me like fire on wind and laid into me. I had no idea of the force coming at me. A sickening crunch sent waves of pain across my cheek.
“Alright, Shadowsinger?” Cassian said, grinning ear to ear. The gang of boys lining the ring struck up a fresh chorus of snickers. Cassian sent another punch soaking into my face without hesitation or remorse. There wasn’t a tremendous amount of force behind it, but my bones were so malnourished it didn’t matter. I felt like my whole head might explode at the softest touch.
Shadows leapt over me in a fight for my listening ear, but I shoved them away, tried desperately to ignore them. I couldn’t deal with their voices if I needed to concentrate so I could make it out alive.
That was when I knew I wanted to live after all. The moment his fist collided with my skin and the adrenaline of the fight pumped into my veins, I knew I wanted every breathe I could get. The boy inside of me with fire gnawing through skin down to the bone wanted it too.
Just a chance to live. I could have that here, maybe. If I could figure out how to survive first.
Another blow came, this time to my gut and I fell backward onto the hard ground. Cassian whooped as he walked a lap around the ring, riling the boys up. As I sat, my eyes landed on a taller, leaner boy, the only one not jeering. He stood casually appraising me from the side, a cold hard look on his face, hands in his pockets, and tremendous wings behind him that even at rest I thought might already be larger than Lord Devlon’s.
“What’s wrong, Shadowsinger?” Cassian spat, adjusting a cloth wrapping on his hands. Whispers rang through my ears, my mind and I tried to shake them out, but they wouldn’t budge. Like a buzzing, they intensified and I had to put my hands over my ears to make any sense of it.
Cassian laughed. I undoubtedly looked moronic, but I didn’t care. I closed my eyes and allowed the voices to fill me up and when at last they realized I would listen, I heard what they were saying.
His knee. His knee, his knee, his KNEE!
I looked up and sure enough, Cassian’s right knee was bleeding through his fighting leathers. Cassian held his hands out as if to ask what I would do next. So taking a deep breathe I didn’t have, I stood and faced him.
He smirked, cocking an eyebrow in interest, and strode purposefully for me. His hand reared back, aiming high, but just before he could land it once more on my face, I kicked out and slammed into that bleeding knee. He howled and fell into a kneel at a twisted position, but was up in no to time at all and before I knew it, I was on my stomach writhing in pain and blood from where he’d broken me.
Hands grabbed me from behind and I was airborne. My head spun and when I finally looked up, Lord Devlon was glaring over me at the very edge of the cliff. I could see Cassian and the taller boy talking quietly together while the other boys re-entered their rings, though none resumed their matches.
“Not very impressive for a Shadowsinger,” Lord Devlon said. “Let’s see if you can fly better than you fight.” He took a step back and snapped his fingers, pointing beyond me to where the cliff dropped off just inches from my shoulder.
Down. Far. Trap, trap, trap!
“N-no,” I stuttered, my mouth going dry. I had never flown before, never been taught. My wings ached for the feel of freedom in the skies, but if he made me jump, I’d fall without any training until I crashed below and died. “I can’t. I never…”
In the distance, I saw Cassian’s face freeze as if even he thought this might be a bad idea. The tall boy kept his cold mask, but shifted a little closer to the cliff’s edge some thirty feet away, the movement almost imperceptible had I not focused my attention on it.
Pooooower, the voices whispered looking at the boy. But Lord Devlon dragged me back.
The war lord shrugged. “Pity,” he said and kicked me over the edge.
I plummeted. Wind rushed over me so hard and fast, even the voices were drowned out in the noise of it. My heart rose up into my throat and I felt my pants become suddenly wet. I’d pissed myself in fear.
Rocks. Blood. DEATH.
The voices spelled everything miles below me out, screaming to be heard over that roar of the wind. My wings flapped frantically behind me trying to make some sense of what the muscles were meant to do, but in the tangle of falling, they were useless to me. So I closed my eyes and stopped fighting, ready to let the worst happen.
Out of nowhere, I felt a body grab me and then we were lost on a cloud of smoke and air compressing us into a tiny space before we reappeared back on the top of the cliffside. The body holding me let go and I fell with a dull thud.
“Rhysand, you fuck!”
Lord Devlon charged the tall boy who’d gotten me, pulling out a whip as he went, and sent a wicked lash against his - Rhysand’s - face. “Off, now,” he said and Rhysand seemed to know what he meant because he instantly began removing his shirt. “You know the rules. Just because you’re-”
“I know, dearest Devlon,” Rhysand said. I couldn’t believe he had the nerve to talk to the war lord down like that, but he did it with ease. “And you know the High Lord will have you slaughtered for denying him a Shadowsinger.”
Lord Devlon snarled and it was a wonder the boy didn’t cower. “Be that as it may, no magic. Not ever. Not from you. It’s a dirty cheat coming from you, and besides… you know the danger. Leave the winnowing at home and fly fast enough to get him next time or I don’t care who’s son you are - you’re dead.”
My eyes snapped to Rhysand and caught him staring at me as the shadows tightened in realization. Was he the heir to the High Lord of the Night Court? Cauldron boil me and -
A wicked snap hit the air. A fresh line of blood flowed freely down Rhysand’s back after the whip made contact. Twice more it cracked and then Devlon left. Rhys picked up his shirt and as he bent over, I saw countless scars lining his skin between the folds of his wings. I gasped.
He heard my utterance and gave me a derisive snort before walking away. Cassian went with him. “You’re such a stupid prick,” Cassian said before shoving him.
I tried to push myself up, but my lungs still ached from the free fall and Cassian’s earlier punches. I could smell the blood all over my face and was glad I had no mirror to see it. The sun was setting. It would be dark soon and cold. Two things I knew well. So I laid my head back down and let myself fade away, content to just go numb for the night.
A voice spoke in my ear. Two voices. One told me to listen and the other -
“Come Shadowsinger,” it said and it was soft and feminine. I opened my eyes blinking wearily and though it was dark, I could make out a woman’s face in the moonlight. “You’re with us now,” she said.
She turned and started to walk away, stopping after a few feet when I didn’t follow. “Well come on! Or do you want to roll over in your sleep and tumble off that cliff again?”
With a groan, I pulled myself up and followed. When I tried to ask questions, she shooshed me harshly. She led me to a small keep within the camp. The door swung open and I was met with a million details at once from both the shadows and my own observances.
A fire roared in the hearth, warm and wonderful, though I never thought I could truly escape the cold I’d grown up with. Plush couches and pillows invited me to sit atop them and sink in. Candles flickered from all corners of the room providing a pleasant, welcome atmosphere. And sitting amongst it all were Cassian and Rhysand.
The woman smiled at me, running her fingers through my hair before she turned to the boys and gave them a stern look, warning flashing through her eyes. Her features seemed gentle, but her eyes spun a wild tale of mischief that the mighty wings at her back reinforced. She left and I gulped, but the shadows didn’t panic for once, so neither did I.
No sooner had I taken one step did Cassian speak. “What do the shadows say? Do they tell you to kill people?”
Rhysand rolled his eyes, closing the book on his lap with a light snap. “What?” I asked.
“And do you ever speak above the level of a church mouse?” he continued. His voice was deep and rich. “Even after I’d knocked you out flat in the ring, you still spoke to Devlon like he was going to take you shopping, not kick you off a mile-high cliff to your death.”
“Nice, Cass,” Rhysand said exasperated and pointed to his cohort. “This is Cassian, the Illyrian who kicked your ass today, but you already knew that.” He pointed to himself. “And I’m Rhysand, the Illyrian who saved your ass. And you are?”
“Azriel,” I said simply.
“Well Azriel, you don’t look so well.”
“You look like cow shit,” Cassian said. The nod Rhys gave affirmed this was an accurate statement, but his eyes were a little heavier when he asked his next question, as if the answer he knew I would give was a painful truth for any Illyrian to stomach.
“Can you fly?”
Silence filled the room. Cassian stared at me without judgement. “No,” I said.
“Fuck,” Cassian said. “I can’t imagine not knowing how to fly. That’s like not knowing how to masterbate.”
“Yeah,” I said, staring a little open-mouthed at him. “You must have a lot of experience in that department to know.”
Rhys smirked setting me a tad more at ease. “I’m only going to do this once,” he said all amusement gone. He clicked his fingers at me the way Devlon had and at once, the scent of blood vanished. I ran my hands over my face and they came away clean. The rest of me was tidy as well upon further inspection. And the various groans and pains throughout my body were almost entirely gone. Almost.
“If I took it all away, they’d know,” Rhys explained. “And while it’s good to get extra attention in a place like this, two strikes in less than 24 hours would be a damn-near death sentence for me.”
“How did you do that?” I asked, looking myself over. I could tell the shadows were pleased as they glided effortlessly over me, as if the blood had somehow been in the way. “Are you really the son of the High Lord of the Night Court?”
Little wisps of darkness curled off every square inch of Rhysand’s person. His head rolled back as though this were a luxury he seldom enjoyed and his teeth were a full and brilliant display equal parts power and arrogance as he smiled. “The one and only,” he proudly stated.
“Show off,” muttered Cassian.
“Thank you,” I said. “For helping me.”
“Rule number one,” Cassian said getting up stand next to Rhys. “Never say thank you. And never say sorry, while you’re at it. The camp is ruthless and you’ll be back off the side of that cliff in no time at all if you think niceties are going to get you anywhere.”
“Rule number two,” Rhys cut in. “Do everything they tell you. And I mean everything. I don’t care if every bone in your body is broken and your dick’s in two places at once. They tell you to move? You move. They tell you fly? You fly. You might still die in the end, but at least you’ll have a shot at surviving if you obey. You’re lucky Devlon didn’t strike you down on the spot for hesitating today.”
I nodded, considering everything they were saying. It was the first time anyone had offered me genuine help, but my skin still cried out with the pain from Cassian’s attack and the smug way he’d gloated afterward. As if in reply to my skepticism, a dark filter passed over my eyes giving me a new possibility.
Trust. Ally. FRIEND.
The filter passed and I blinked.
“What do they say?” Cassian asked again.
“I don’t always know.”
“Fuck, you really are a mess, aren’t you?” he chuckled. “Do you ever talk back?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I opened my mouth only to find I had nothing to say. Why hadn’t I talked back before? I’d never considered the possibility in three years worth of fear and anxiety since the shadows first found me.
“I don’t know,” I shrugged and I realized I would have to figure the shadows out if I wanted to make a life for myself. They were just as much a part of me now as being Illyrian was.
Rhysand gripped my shoulders and spun me around roughly. “Third door on the right,” he said. “Get some sleep and be grateful for it. It’s likely the only good night you’re going to have for a long time coming.” If only he knew how wrong he was. Any night here was already a thousand times better than the ones I’d spent in my father’s keep. “I know you’re completely incompetent, but remember what we said tomorrow. You’re going to have to try. Cassian and I can only get you so far in training.”
“And even then, I won’t hesitate to grind your sorry ass into a bloody pulp,” Cassian said behind us. I looked at Rhys to see if he would give another eye roll that said Cassian was dramatic, but I only found a hard grimace staring down at me.
“Go sleep,” he said, kicking me forward.
I went into the room and fell onto the bed waiting for me, not caring that I hadn’t showered in weeks and my pants smelled like stale piss. I didn’t know what to make of Rhysand’s cold exterior, or Cassian and his endless theatrics, but what I did know was that the covers being pulled up over me were warm and there was a window on the wall letting in the moonlight.
If I fought hard enough, I could win a life here. I could make myself stronger and prove my father wrong, make my real mother proud. I could find a reason to live because for the first time ever, there was hope. Hope of something better out there. I just didn’t know what exactly that was yet.
I fell asleep fast and hard almost the moment my head hit the pillow, but not before the shadows had a chance to send one last thought curling into my ears:
