#illyrianbaby

[maslynna]

Prologue.

The sound of waves crashing against the shore enveloped her, the sun warm and baking the tiny grains of sand and bits of broken shell into her skin as she sculpted a fortress fit for a princess.

Her hands were small and dainty, grasping at some driftwood that would serve as her drawbridge.

Two pairs of feet stopped in front of her. "A palace meant for a queen!" Her mother's voice was tender. "Is it big enough to share?"

Maslynna beamed up at her mother, slapping away tendrils of hair that were swishing in the ocean breeze. The sun was directly overhead, and Maslynna could barely make out her mother. Her hair was the exact shade of Maslynna's, braided masterfully over her shoulder.

She smiled down at Maslynna, and she couldn't help the love that poured into her chest. Her safe place. Her rock. Oh, how Maslynna wanted to be just like her when she grew up.

Her mother was kind and patient. She was strong. She was the smartest person Maslynna knew.

"Yes!" Maslynna chirped, her voice bright enough to rival the sun. "You can stay in the west wing. It has a garden for your plants and plenty of storage so you don't have to worry about having to throw away anything because you ran out of space."

Her mother gasped. "All for me?" Her mother knelt and pointed to part of the sandcastle. "This section right here?"

Maslynna tucked her bottom lip between her teeth and nodded, anxiously awaiting her mother's appraisal.

"I love it!" she said, scooping her daughter into her arms. "How did I get so lucky to have such a loving child with a great eye for detail?"

Maslynna tucked her head underneath her mother's chin and inhaled her scent: Rosemary, thyme, with a hint of something citrus. It calmed Maslynna even during the worst of her nightmares or Briallyn's bad moods.

"What about me?" His voice was rich and smooth, not one she had ever heard before, but she knew who it belonged to.

Her father.

She peered up at him, but the sun was casting a large shadow over her father, obscuring any details.

Maslynna giggled. "You'd live with mommy!"

Her mother laughed, the sound warm and musical, echoing off the rolls of the tide. "That sounds lovely."

Gentle hands pulled her up, her toes spreading in the sand as she looked down at her sandcastle. Her home built for her and her family to live in. To make enough memories for a lifetime before starting her own family.

"How about we cool off in the water?" Her father asked, tucking a wild strand of her hair behind her ear. "Last one in sleeps in the barn for a month!"

Squealing, Maslynna took off, kicking up sand as she barreled towards the water. The salty air filled her lungs, arms pumping hard enough she imagined she was one of the gulls about to lift off.

Chancing a look over her shoulder, she saw her mother and father behind her, walking hand-in-hand, a smile radiating off both of them.

When she looked forward again, a wave surged into her, sending her stumbling backward.

"You have to dive into the wave." Her father's hand wrapped around hers. "Try it again, with me. Ready?"

Pushing back the hair plastered on her face, Maslynna nodded, eyeing the next wave rolling towards her.

Her grip tightened on her father as she sucked in a breath and let him lean her into the wave until she dove into the middle of it.

His hands wrapped around her waist to keep her from being pulled with the current, then shoved her past the water's surface and high into the air.

Maslynna shrieked with laughter, the air rushing past chilling her skin while the sunlight worked to warm it. Goosebumps erupted across her arms as her father caught her.

"Again!" She yelled. "Again! Again!"

Her father picked her up and swung her back and forth, counting to five, before tossing her towards her mother, who had met them in the water.

She landed with a splash.

"Mom! Did you see how far I flew?"

"I did!" her mother exclaimed, splashing water at her.

Maslynna grinned wickedly and splashed back until the sun had settled over the horizon; all three of them were drenched, and the saltwater stung their eyes.

"Maslynna, look," her father bellowed, pointing towards a wave rushing towards them. It was larger than any wave she had seen all day. "Remember what I taught you?"

She nodded, determination settling over her features as she turned to face the rogue wave. "Dive into it."

Her vision was blurred by the water in her eyes, but she could feel the pride of her father's gaze on her. She would make him proud by how quickly she had mastered her dives.

"Ready?" Her father's voice boomed over the roaring of the wave.

Maslynna was trembling with anticipation.

"Set," now her mother's voice chimed in from beside her.

"Go!" Maslynna yelled, diving straight into the waves' curl.

The water was cool as it rushed past, twirling and spinning her until she had no idea which way was up.

Maslynna kicked out, her lungs burning for air, but her small legs felt suddenly heavy. Too heavy.

The muffled roar of the ocean bled into a deafening howl. It wasn't the tide anymore. It was the sound of iron cell doors slamming.

The water bubbled around her, the temperature no longer cool but boiling. It felt almost familiar.

Just as quickly as the water turned scalding, it shocked her body as it turned icy.

Miraculously, she had broken the surface, lungs rejoicing as she gulped down breath after breath, the water rough and crashing over her unrelentingly.

"Mom!" She shouted. "Dad!"

The sky no longer housed the sun; the skyline was an inky black that blended in with the water, disorienting her.

A wave pushed her down, her legs kicking to drive her back up, arms breaking the surface, reaching for anything to anchor herself to.

"Mommy! Daddy!" She screamed, the water sloshing into her mouth, causing her to sputter and choke. "Help me!"

Another crash of waves beat down on her; the liquid that slid down her throat was thick and bitter, tasting sharply of rust, copper, and the distinct taste of soured meat.

She opened her eyes beneath the churn, but the ocean had curled into an unyielding, pitch-black abyss. There was no sand. No shore. No sun to chase.

Her small reprieves from being pulled under had her screaming for help and scanning the water for any sign of her mother and father.

"Mom!" She yelled, and for a heartbeat she thought she heard her mother calling to her in the distance.

She spun to where she had heard her mother, but could see nothing but ancient jagged mountains surrounding the water.

She began to swim hard in that direction, certain her mother was fighting the waves just as desperately to reach her.

She kicked her legs fast, her muscles exhausted and aching in protest with each paddle.

The water began to calm until it was placid, the only ripples on the surface coming from Maslynna's desperate attempts to reach her mother.

She could see the shoreline but could not make out anything other than sparse, twisted trees adorned in nothing but moss, scattered around crumbling ancient ruins.

With renewed determination, she pressed her arms and legs harder, urging them to take her to the shore. What may have been minutes stretched into what felt like hours, and she did not think she had gotten any closer to the shore.

"Mommy!" she cried, hot tears streaking down her face. "Daddy! Help me, please!"

But she knew deep down they were not coming. That she was alone in this place.

The water was dark enough that it should have been able to reflect the night sky off of its surface, but instead the darkness of this place swallowed any light except for glimpses of moonlight between wispy clouds.

Her muscles spasmed as she kicked forward again, her body suddenly too heavy to stay afloat.

Her head went under, and with what was left of her energy, she wiggled towards the surface, hoping it was just enough for one more breath. It wasn't. The tainted water filled the space where air should have been.

Her lungs began to burn, and she kicked and kicked but was unable to get herself back above water. She clawed upwards, fingers stretching toward the pale shimmer of the surface. It looked close enough to touch. It wasn't.

Her chest convulsed. The urge to breathe became unbearable.

Mommy.

The thought drifted through her mind as her arms slowed.

Daddy.

No answering voice called her back. Her vision began to shrink.

No familiar hands wrapped around her waist and lifted her high above the waves.

No one came.

Her arms drifted to her sides. The water no longer felt cold. It didn't feel like anything. Darkness crept inward from the edges of her vision until only a small circle of moonlight remained above her.

Then that vanished too.

[maslynna]

Chapter 0013

Azriel had seen war. Had gutted men with his bare hands. Heard the final rasp of breath leave a body more times than he could count.

But nothing—nothing—had ever sounded like Feyre's screaming.

It was primal and splintering. The kind that hollowed you out from the inside. He stood just outside the bedchamber, shadows coiling wildly at his feet like they, too, sensed what was coming. The scent of blood filled the air, thick and metallic, clinging to the walls like death.

Elain opened the door. Azriel and Cassian entered, taking their places on either side of Rhysand.

His brothers’ faces were pale. Blank. Their hands clenched and unclenched at their sides.

Madja’s voice snapped through the chaos. “She’s losing too much blood, and I can feel the babe’s heart in distress.”

Azriel’s knees shook at her words as he reached for Rhys’s trembling frame.

“There’s nothing we can do,” the healer said, voice bleak. “Cutting the babe out of her will kill her.”

The tension in the room crackled as Nesta and Madja exchanged words, Rhysand shooting Feyre’s sister a look.

“An incision along the abdomen, even one carefully made, is an enormous risk. It’s never been successful.” She dried her hands on her apron, as if she had given up. “And even with Feyre’s healing abilities, the blood loss has weakened her—”

And then Feyre’s voice, barely a whisper, “Do it.”

Rhysand stepped to the bed, his voice laced with pain. “Feyre—”

“The babe likely won’t survive,” Madja said, softer now. “It’s too small yet. We risk both of you.”

“All of you,” Cassian added quietly, face twisted in helpless fury.

“Do it,” Feyre said, voice louder. A mother’s command.

Azriel’s throat burned. The sheer, brutal force of a mother’s love gripped his chest, made his bones ache. The ultimate sacrifice—choosing her child’s life over her own.

His gut twisted at the thought of Feyre dying. At Rhysand, dying with her. His High Lord and High Lady. His friends. His family.

Madja came up to the High Lord and said lowly, “Go into her mind to take away the pain.”

Rhys nodded, slipping into her thoughts, Feyre’s face softening, her expression smoothed as if asleep.

And so Madja began working.

Azriel held his breath as Madja lifted the knives in her hands, slicing across Feyre’s abdomen.

He couldn’t look. He turned his face into his arm, trying to block out the wet, sickening sounds, the gasps, the choking silence.

Madja worked quickly. In one heartbeat, she held the scalpel, and in another beat, she was handing a silent babe to Mor.

Azriel couldn’t take his eyes off the babe. Wouldn’t until he saw a twitch of its wings, a scrunch of a nose.

There wasn’t a dry eye in the room as Mor cradled the bundle in her arms. Too small. Too silent. Too still.

And then Madja muttered a curse under her breath, and Rhys was screaming, a sound Azriel had never heard from his High Lord, but a sound he was all too familiar with on the battlefield. 

Grief.

He and Cassian lunged for their brother, Siphons blazing as they hauled him away from the bed so Madja could try and save Feyre. 

He swallowed bile down. His entire body shaking. He could feel Cassian trembling beside him, both of them anchoring a male who no longer seemed to know what to do with his grief.

Azriel had never hated himself more than keeping his dying friend from his wife.

So this is what helplessness feels like, Azriel thought. Not on a battlefield. Not in torture. Here.

Nesta approached the bed, donned in the Mask with the Harp in her hands. She held a hand up to Rhysand, eyes blazing with a magic Azriel had never known before.

And then she plucked a string.

In a breath, she was across the bed, laying over Feyre, whispering into her sweat-damp hair.

“I give it back,” she whispered, over and over, like a prayer. Like a spell.

Azriel stood frozen as small tendrils of light floated from Nesta, one toward Feyre, the other to the babe in Mor’s arms.

Rhysand rushed for the bed as Feyre’s eyes fluttered open.

“I love you, too,” she said to Nesta.

A heartbeat later, the most beautiful sound Azriel had ever heard cracked through the room.

The babe in Mor’s arms let out a piercing wail as she carried him over to his mother.

Cassian let out a shaky breath. Azriel stood frozen, chest tight, throat closed. 

He didn’t cry. He couldn’t cry. 

But the sight in front of him, Feyre alive, the babe screaming, nearly brought him to his knees.

His shadows slid over his boots, curling against his calves.

A silent comfort.

One he couldn’t bring himself to ask for.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

The scent of blood had faded. The shadows calmed.

And Feyre was alive.

She lay in bed now, pale and exhausted, but breathing. Rhys sat beside her, one hand wrapped around hers, the other gently cradling her face.

Cassian stood near the foot of the bed, holding the tiny bundle of swaddled life—Nyx—against his armored chest like the babe was made of glass.

The room was quiet, save for the occasional sleepy grunt of the newborn.

Nesta appeared in the doorway, eyes red, face still streaked with dried tears.

Cassian must have seen the question in her eyes, because he moved to transfer Nyx into Azriel’s arms.

Azriel didn’t move at first. He stared at the tiny form. Then, reluctantly, extended his arms. Cassian passed Nyx to him, and Azriel nearly winced at the weight of it. The fragility. His scars burned beneath his gloves.

The baby squirmed then let out a soft, contented sigh.

Azriel held him stiffly, awkwardly, like a weapon he didn’t know how to wield. And yet, something bloomed in his chest. Warm and aching. Near the place that tugged when—

No.

Az swallowed hard. He looked at Feyre, whose eyes were on him now. Tired, but clear.

“I need to tell you something,” he said quietly, careful not to jostle Nyx. “Both of you.”

Rhys’s eyes narrowed faintly. He shifted, alert. “Go on.”

Azriel’s voice was low and steady. “There was a spy. A female shadowsinger working under Briallyn. I’ve known about her for some time.” He paused. “Her name is Maslynna. I thought she was the enemy. I was wrong.”

Rhys’s face gave nothing away. “Explain.”

Azriel looked down at the baby again. “She asked me to help her. I—I didn’t believe her. Not at first. But I think she was being used—controlled. She wasn’t serving Briallyn willingly.”

Rhysand stood from the bed, hands tucked deep in his pockets. “You waited until now to tell us?” His tone was cold.

Azriel nodded, rocking the slumbering babe in his arms. “I had no proof. Only instinct.”

Rhysand took a step towards Azriel. “Why are you telling us this now?”

“With Briallyn dead…” Azriel began, but his voice trailed off.

Feyre smiled softly. “You want to go get her.”

Azriel stopped his rocking and nodded ever so slightly. 

“And you want to bring her here?” Rhys asked. “To Velaris—after this?” He said, motioning to Feyre and his son.

Azriel’s throat worked. “I do.”

Rhysand exhaled deeply. “Reports are saying Nesta’s power reverberated all the way to the continent. The castle is in near ruins. What makes you so sure she’s even alive?” His tone wasn’t meant to be cruel, but wary and guarded.

Azriel shrugged and looked back at the babe in his arms. “I just know.”

He didn’t notice the look Feyre and Rhysand shared.

At their silence, Azriel looked up and saw they were communicating mind-to-mind. His heart felt heavy at the tick in Rhysand’s jaw. He knew he should have told Rhys the first time he saw her. But he still didn’t believe he had made a mistake by keeping it hidden.

Rhysand shook his head softly. “It’s Feyre’s call,” he said after a moment.

Feyre turned her gaze to him, soft but steady. “Go,” she said, arms extending out for Nyx. “She’s not safe on the continent. Bring her here. If she means to harm us, we’ll know. But if she doesn’t… then she deserves a second chance.”

Azriel exhaled. The knot in his chest loosened, just slightly.

He stepped forward and carefully handed Nyx to Feyre. The baby made a sleepy sound and nuzzled into his mother’s chest.

Azriel looked between them.

“Thank you,” he said, making his way to the door to leave.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

The wind bit at his skin, the cold sharper than steel.

Azriel flew like a phantom through the night, so fast the stars blurred above him.

He didn’t look back.

Didn’t think of Rhys. Or Feyre. Or the child he’d cradled in his arms only hours ago.

Only her.

The place where the wards had snapped the moment Briallyn died. Where the pull in his chest had turned violent, like a tether yanked taut, demanding: go, go, go.

And now—there.

The castle rose on the horizon, a dark wound on the earth.

Smoke curled from shattered towers. Firelight flickered against broken stone. The wards had fractured like glass, jagged, dangerous, and dying.

He could taste blood in the wind.

Azriel’s wings tucked in. His shadows sharpened. And he descended into the ruins of hell.

The castle groaned, the structure weakened and threatening to collapse in on itself.

His boots echoed down crumbling halls as the wind screamed through shattered windows. Firelight danced across blood-slicked stone, but still, nothing from his shadows. No trace of her. Only that aching throb deep in his chest.

He had started his search from the top of the castle and worked his way down. His shadows whispered the throne room was the only room on this level accessible, and there was company. 

His shadows seemed on edge, coiling around him. Azriel unsheathed Truth Teller and stepped into the shadows.

A middle-aged man dressed in armor stalked towards a woman, sword drawn as he cornered her. Azriel was too far away to make out what the man had said, but as his sword cut at the woman’s fabric and exposed her chest to him, Azriel knew the man's intentions.

Jakobe, his shadows sang, Briallyn’s general.

Disgust settled deep in Azriel’s stomach. He had lived through enough battles to see how some men took advantage of the helpless, finding and stealing pleasure in the chaos of collapse.

Go, Azriel thought to his shadows. Do it.

The shadows vibrated in glee as they swept towards the general, his lips pressed to her neck as his hands groped her chest as the woman pleaded, tears streaking down her soot-covered face. 

From the mortal's perspective, the general had stumbled and slipped, but it had been enough time for the woman to slip away and flee. 

Azriel turned to continue his search as the castle groaned, deeper, the walls shaking as another part collapsed. He knew his shadows could handle holding the general off until the woman was safe, but he needed to find Maslynna before the rest of the castle tumbled down.

Fists shaking, Azriel was starting to lose his composure. He had searched the entire castle but the dungeons. All entrances were blocked, and he couldn't risk blowing out the debris with his magic without bringing down the rest of the castle.

Opting to search the kitchen for a secret entrance, he turned the corner and froze.

A figure leaned against the wall at the far end of the corridor, one hand clutching his ribs. 

Azriel approached slowly, shadows curling low around his boots.

The old man looked up, face pale, blood staining the side of his tunic. His mouth twitched into something like a smile. “I knew you’d come.”

Azriel didn’t draw a weapon. He only asked, voice quiet but sharp with urgency. “Where is she?”

The old man’s throat bobbed. “Still in solitary. When the castle fell,” the man clutched his chest as he was overcome with a coughing fit, blood splattering against his fist. “I tried to reach her, but the lower wing collapsed.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed. “Is she alive?”

The old man swallowed. “I think so.” The mortal human pushed off the wall, wobbling slightly. “I can take you. The main corridor’s blocked, but there’s a tunnel behind the armory.”

Azriel gave a slight nod. “Lead.”

They moved fast.

Down narrow halls choked with dust and ash. Through a passage that reeked of sulfur and spilled magic. Azriel kept close behind, eyes scanning every corner, every shift in stone.

His guide didn’t speak again until they reached a broken stairwell.

“She’s down here,” he said quietly, voice barely audible as he passed a set of keys to Azriel. “There used to be wards. She couldn’t use her shadows. Could barely speak. I think Briallyn may have drugged her with faebane as well. She didn’t want her seen.”

Azriel’s stomach twisted in rage.

He helped the man climb down slowly, then slipped past him once they reached the lower hall.

The stones here were darker. Older. The walls wept with moisture and rot. Only one door remained intact: iron bound, half buried in rubble.

Azriel stepped toward it. His shadows stopped him. But something else, something deeper, tugged him forward. He unlocked the door as he reached for the handle, Siphons glowing faintly in the gloom.

Inside, the world stood still.

The cell was dark and cold. The kind of cold that can steal a life in the night.

A chill swept down his spine as he stepped inside, eyes sweeping the shadows until they caught on a figure in the far corner.

Maslynna.

She lay half-slumped against the wall, legs tangled beneath her, arms limp in her lap. Her hair was matted with blood. Her eyes were barely open.

She was nothing but skin and bone, and Azriel wasn’t sure he wasn’t looking at her corpse.

His shadows stirred, but not out of alarm. They curled toward her gently, brushing against her skin, relaying that she was alive, but barely.

He crossed the cell in three steps and set to work on removing the chains binding her hands and feet, Azriel noticing for the first time the scars that marred her pallor arms. Azriel gritted his teeth, hands shaking as he fumbled with the locks.

He had done this. He had left her to be tortured and nearly starved to death because he refused to hear her out. To believe her.

Her head lifted at the sensation, and Azriel could have collapsed in relief.

“Azriel?” Her voice was raw and hoarse.

“She’s dead,” he said, his voice smoother than how he felt. 

Maslynna gasped and scrambled, arms and legs flailing to get up. But he knew she was too weak, too malnourished, if the trays of rotten food just out of her reach were any indication of how she was treated down here.

Another pang of guilt nestled into his chest, squeezing his lungs and heart.

She stared up at him, but her eyes were unfocused, and she swayed where she sat. “Are you sure?”

He stood; the Siphons on his gauntlets glowed softly, their light reflecting the deep bruises along her wrists. Her gaze flicked to his palm.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

Her lip trembled.

Slowly, painfully, she raised her hand and slid it into his.

Their fingers closed, and Azriel helped her to stand, a sigh leaving her lips as she shifted her weight to lean onto him.

But then she saw a movement from the shadows.

Kian stood in the doorway, bloodied and worn, watching her with eyes full of things unspoken.

Maslynna reached out her free hand toward him, palm shaking.

“Kian,” she whispered.

He didn’t move forward. Just offered a crooked smile.

“You don’t need me,” he said. “Your life’s not here anymore. It never was.”

She shook her head weakly. “Come with me.”

He stepped back a pace. “You have to go. Live. Be safe. Be free, Maslynna.”

A tear slipped down her cheek. “What about you? Will you be safe?”

The old man smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “Of course I will.”

She whispered, “Thank you.”

Kian gave her one last nod as a matching tear raced down his face.

And Azriel, still holding her hand, winnowed them out.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ 

Hiya! So this concludes book 1 of the Bound series. I hope you guys enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)

Prologue for book 2, Bound by Dreams, will be published at 08:45 this morning, so if you are interested in following along with Maslynna's journey to the Night Court, be sure to head over there! I have a few chapters written for book 2 already, but it'll be a bit before I start posting regularly. I can send out an announcement when I have a better idea.

Thank you all so much for sticking with me through this, and I hope you all have a great day!

Bound by Dreams masterlist.

[runesandfaes]

My best friend drew Rhys for me, like, a teenage Rhysand. I LOVE THE TATTOO SO MUCH OMG.

Find her on instagram: randomer_0