Silver In Her Eyes - Part Seven
Hello All!
Here is the last part (part seven) of what is the first quarter of Silver In Her Eyes. I've hoped you've enjoyed it so far!
I'm taking a break from Silver as life is getting in the way, I don't know when I will be picking this back up. I do hope it won't be too long.
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Silver In Her Eyes - Chapter 7 - writinginthedust - A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas [Archive of Our Own]#
For the first time in her life, Feyre wanted Nesta.
Mor would have once been her first choice but there was an ache at the thought of her friends knowing and conferring, conspiring about her life. She’d saved them, but they hadn’t given her the option to save herself.
Elain was in Spring. Not, as Feyre had first been told to build a relationship with Lucien under Rhys’ cautious eye, but to be used as bribery. To get Lucien to convince Tamlin to ally with the Night Court.
Feyre wouldn’t have wanted her anyway. Elain would have been too distraught, too emotional.
Rhys...
Feyre couldn’t think about Rhys.
This wasn’t a case of love. Rhys loved Feyre. This was because Nesta respected Feyre enough to tell her the truth, she who understood that Feyre had a right to her own life, her own choices.
Something newly uncomfortable now lived in Feyre.
Her eldest sister had been torn from her bed, thrown into the Cauldron and then subjected to war after war in a newly formed body. Then, when all was over and Nesta was a shaking mess drinking and fucking her way through Velaris, Feyre had made decisions on her behalf.
They’d worked out, hadn’t they? In the end?
Like a worm in an apple, doubts niggled in Feyre’s mind.
Nesta came when called.
“I’ll do it in here,” Feyre said, as they stood amongst the too white, too bright marble of the bathroom. “There may be blood. I don’t know if there will be blood, there may be lots of-”
Nesta’s fingers pushed between hers as she rambled, Nesta’s cool dry palm against Feyre’s hot slick one and her sister gave her hand a squeeze. Firm but gentle, saying I am here without words.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Nesta said, her voice quiet. She held no rage anymore, just an infinite sadness.
“I need to do this,” Feyre said. “I swore an oath to protect the people of the Night Court. Love takes many forms.”
If she didn’t try to shift into Illyrian form, then her inevitable last breath would start a chain of disaster and death for everyone, including her son if he survived beyond her. If she lived while Nyx died then part of Feyre would be dead anyway. Of all the sacrifices she’d made, this was the one which tore through her.
As though she was in a dream, Feyre stepped into the bathroom, insider her body and strangely outside it too. Her feet were bare and cold against the stone, the fortresses up in her mind lest Rhys discovered what she was doing and tried to stop her.
Feyre sat on the floor on a sheet with Nesta opposite, waiting and watchful. Before she closed her eyes, she saw Nesta’s mouth move as she uttered a prayer.
Then nothing else. Her own breath, Nyx fluttering inside her, as though he was remembering all the words she had spoken to him the previous evening. She held onto the love she had for him, hoping she could wrap him tight in a blanket of it, to protect him from what might happen next.
That will never go my darling. That love will always be for you.
Feyre nudged her body until her bones cracked and her skin stretched, until wings unfurled on her back and her stomach changed shape, shifting and accommodating the small body within. Feyre expected pain but none came, just a sharp discomfort of talons pressing against an organ and then – nothing. No agony, no tangy scent, or trickle of blood.
Had he disappeared from the world like a whisper? Never existing until one second after conception but now in the reverse. Gone like a raindrop in the ocean.
Her hands hovered before her, too scared to touch her own belly to feel flatness.
“Feyre,” said Nesta, her voice light, hopeful. “Look.”
Feyre’s eyes opened and she glanced down. Her belly was the same, round and protruding, the fabric straining over the burgeoning shape. She pushed down and there it was, the press of Nyx’s foot, at first gentle and then more belligerent, kicking against his own mother’s hand.
I am here.
The pinch of continual pain Feyre had felt throughout the pregnancy and believed normal was now absent, leaving behind only comfort.
A sob from her throat turned into a peel of laughter as Nyx’s kicks grew with enthusiasm at the new space he found himself in. Feyre splayed her palms over her stomach, calling out his name over and over before she called out another.
“Rhys,” she exclaimed with joy, “I need to tell Rhys.” But Nesta must have slipped from the room because when Feyre looked up, her sister was gone.
***
Amren had folded in on herself; hunched over, skin pale. There were more streaks of silver in her hair than black and lines were deeply etched on her face. When Rhys arrived, she was sat in a chair facing a window overlooking the brilliant turquoise sea of Summer, a thick blanket wrapped around her legs despite the heat.
Rhys wondered if her hearing had diminished, that she hadn’t heard his name being announced. Even when he drew closer, she didn’t greet him, her eyes remaining transfixed ahead. Only when he stepped into view did she glance up.
“I’m glad Feyre is safe,” she told him, “I will forever live with the guilt that I couldn’t break the pact. I’m glad you’re safe too.”
“Thank you,” he said, setting into the chair placed beside her. “Though it’s not how I wanted things to go.” His words grew clipped, “I’m not pleased that Nes-”
There was a noise from Amren. “It’s done now,” she held up her hand, cutting him off. “Look to the future and be happy.”
Rhys bit the inside of his cheek, drawing blood into his mouth. “Yes, well," he gritted out, "I came to see how you are, and ask when you’d be returning to Velaris. We miss you.”
Amren’s laugh was brittle and her chest rattled. “Who’s left to miss me? Don’t you have everyone scattered about?”
Rhys’ turned to look at Amren, irritated that she refused to look back at him, that she stared straight ahead at the landscape beyond. “They will return. The battle may be over but I need to win the war.”
“Well, you will. With your allies and Illyrian soldiers. And the Made weapons of course - if you decide to share them.”
His heart leapt in his chest; he didn’t recall discussing the blades with Amren. “How do you know about those?”
“I still have ears in Night.”
“Cassian then,” Rhys said, curling his lip. “He’s become very loose lipped in recent weeks.”
“No. Not Cassian.”
“Who?”
Amren waved her hand again, discarding his question. She closed her eyes and settled back down into her chair, drawing her blanket closer to her chest. “Doesn’t matter. I may be weak but I’m not without any power.”
Rhys breathed air in through his nose willing his jaw to loosen. Pressing Amren and coming close to losing his temper with her in Summer of all Courts was a sure way to break some allies. It had taken long enough to secure Tamlin and, in the end, he was only swayed by Lucien’s pleas.
Lucien himself had to be cowed by Elain’s doe eyed presence when Rhys carted her before him.
“Come back to the city,” he said, keeping his voice jovial, “bring those astute ears back home.”
Amren shook her head. “My bones hurt and Night is too dark, too cold. Varian ensures I’m well looked after and Summer is providing the restorative effect I need. I crave the light.”
“Plenty of light in the House of Wind.” The sun glinted across the waves in their view. “You’ll find it emptier these days. You could move Varian in.”
Amren turned her head to look at him, slow and cautious, eyes narrowed. “And where have all the occupants gone?”
So, her ears only went so far. That was good to know. Now it was Rhys’ turn to wave his hand. “That doesn’t matter. Say you’ll return.”
Amren took a breath in, her hands curling on the armrest of her chair belying the tension even though she casually rested her head back and closed her eyes. Rhys noted four missing fingers. “No, I don’t want to.”
The hold on his temper was loosening. “You’re a member of the Night Court,” he spat, “a sworn member of the Inner Circle and my second in command, so I command you to come back.”
“You think demands will call me back?” She laughed. “I know why you want me back and its nothing to do with missing me. Feyre will live, as will Nyx - thank the Mother - but the death pact between you and her leaves them vulnerable. Feyre could still be a target for enemies who want to wipe you out.”
"You’re wrong,” Rhys said, knowing Amren saw through his lie. “I’m moving to the final stage of our plan. We will destroy Keir and his allies. He’s secured less Illyrian camps then he thinks and though he has Beron, Eris is now ours.”
Amren raised an eyebrow. “And you think the male who would betray his father wouldn’t betray you?”
“He won’t. He had demands. Demands which can now be met.”
A frown creased over Amren’s face making her look as ancient as she was. An eye opened, a glint of silver glaring at him. “If you mean Nesta, I would advise you exhibit caution in handing her over like some winning prize. No one knows what she can do-”
“What she could do. She’s a candle burnt to the end.” He tucked what Amren had said away. Only Mor knew Eris’ request regarding Nesta. Between this and Amren knowing about the Made weapons, Rhys would have to look closer at his cousin.
Amren shook her head. “If that is the case, then let her live in peace. She once wanted a cottage outside the city where she could be alone. Allow her to have that life. Allow Cassian to have it with her.”
“No,” Rhys said, shaking his head. “I can’t.”
“Can’t? Or won’t? It would lose you Eris, is that what you think? We can convince him to take a different route, one that doesn’t involve trading the future of another.”
Rhys clutched his fist to his chest. “Is that what you think of me? That I would treat my mate’s sister in such a way? It would be dangerous for Nesta to live outside the city. If something were to happen, how could I look Feyre in the eye and tell her harm had befallen her sister?”
Footsteps sounded across the marble floor. Rhys could see Varian approach, either to remove Rhys or take Amren away.
Amren looked past Rhys; her face softening a fraction as she saw who was coming towards her. When she looked back to Rhys, it had hardened again and for a moment she was the Amren of before – young and sharp and dangerous.
“It’s easy of course,” she said with a false sweetness, “clutch her hands, put on your most pathetic expression and tell her there is no danger and never will be. After all, you’re the most brilliant High Lord, the most trustworthy. She’ll believe you in everything.”
Varian breezed past Rhys without acknowledgement, his hands going to two handles on the back of Amren’s chair Rhys hadn’t previously noticed.
Varian said nothing, neither did Amren, as they left the room leaving Rhys alone with the endless bright blue sky.
