A faint smile played on my mouth. “There is now.”

And it was time for the world to know it.

I caught Cassian’s gaze, finding pride glimmering there—and relief.

“Take me home,” I ordered him, my chin high and unwavering. Then to Azriel, “Take us both home.” I said to the Autumn Court’s scions, “We’ll see you on the battlefield.”

Let them decide whether it was better to be fighting beside us or against us.

I turned to Cassian, who opened his arms and tucked me in tight before launching us skyward in a blast of wings and power. Beside us, Azriel and Lucien did the same.

When Eris and the others were nothing but specks of black on white below, when we were sailing high and fast, Cassian observed, “I don’t know who looks more uncomfortable: Az or Lucien Vanserra.”

I chuckled, glancing over my shoulder to where the shadowsinger carried my friend, both of them making a point not to speak, look, or talk. “Vanserra?”

“You never knew his family name?”

I met those laughing, fierce hazel eyes.

Cassian’s smile softened. “Hello, Feyre.”

My throat tightened to the point of pain, and I threw my arms around his neck, embracing him tightly.

“I missed you, too,” Cassian murmured, squeezing me.

We flew until we reached the border of the sacred, eighth territory. And when Cassian set us down in a snowy field before the ancient wood, I took one look at the blond female in Illyrian leathers pacing between the gnarled trees and launched into a sprint.

Mor held me as tightly as I gripped her.

“Where is he?” I asked, refusing to let go, to lift my head from her shoulder.

“He—it’s a long story. Far away, but racing home. Right now.” Mor pulled back enough to scan my face. Her mouth tightened at the lingering injuries, and she gently scraped away flecks of dried blood caked on my ear. “He picked up on you—the bond—minutes ago. The three of us were closest. I winnowed in Cassian, but with Eris and the others there …” Guilt dimmed her eyes. “Relations with the Winter Court are strained—we thought if I was out here on the border, it might keep Kallias’s forces from looking south. At least long enough to get you.” And to avoid an interaction with Eris that Mor was perhaps not ready for.

I shook my head at the shame still shadowing her usually bright features. “I understand.” I embraced her again. “I understand.”

Mor’s answering squeeze was rib-crushing.

Azriel and Lucien landed, plumes of snow spraying in the former’s wake. Mor and I released each other at last, my friend’s face going grave as she sized up Lucien. Snow and blood and dirt coated him—coated us both.

Cassian explained to Mor, “He fought against Eris and the other two.”

Mor’s throat bobbed, noting the blood staining Cassian’s hands—realizing it wasn’t his own. Scenting it, no doubt, as she blurted, “Eris. Did you—”

“He remains alive,” Azriel answered, shadows curling around the clawed tips of his wings, so stark against the snow beneath our boots. “So do the others.”

Lucien was glancing between all of them, wary and quiet. What he knew of Mor’s history with his eldest brother … I’d never asked. Never wanted to.

Mor tossed her mass of golden waves over a shoulder. “Then let’s go home.”

“Which one?” I asked carefully.

Mor swept her attention over Lucien once more. I almost pitied Lucien for the weight in her gaze, the utter judgment. The stare of the Morrigan—whose gift was pure truth.

Whatever she beheld in Lucien was enough for her to say, “The town house. You have someone waiting there for you.”

CHAPTER

14

I had not let myself imagine it: the moment I’d again stand in the wood-paneled foyer of the town house. When I’d hear the song of the gulls soaring high above Velaris, smell the brine of the Sidra River that wended through the heart of the city, feel the warmth of the sunshine streaming through the windows upon my back.

Mor had winnowed us all, and now stood behind me, panting softly, as we watched Lucien survey our surroundings.

His metal eye whirred, while the other warily scanned the rooms flanking the foyer: the dining room and sitting room overlooking the little front yard and street; then the stairs to the second level; then the hallway beside it that led to the kitchen and courtyard garden.

Then finally to the shut front door. To the city waiting beyond.

Cassian took up a place against the banister, crossing his arms with an arrogance I knew meant trouble. Azriel remained beside me, shadows wreathing his knuckles. As if battling High Lords’ sons was how they usually spent their days.

I wondered if Lucien knew that his first words here would either damn or save him. I wondered what my role in it would be.

No—it was my call.

High Lady. I—outranked them, my friends. It was my call to make whether Lucien was allowed to keep his freedom.

But their watchful silence was indication enough: let him decide his own fate.

At last, Lucien looked at me. At us.

He said, “There are children laughing in the streets.”

I blinked. He said it with such … quiet surprise. As if he hadn’t heard the sound in a long, long time.

I opened my mouth to reply, but someone else spoke for me.

“That they do so at all after Hybern’s attack is testament to how hard the people of Velaris have worked to rebuild.”

I whirled, finding Amren emerging from wherever she’d been sitting in the other room, the plush furniture hiding her small body.

She appeared exactly as she had the last time I’d seen her: standing in this very foyer, warning us to be careful in Hybern. Her chin-length, jet-black hair gleamed in the sunlight, her silver, unearthly eyes unusually bright as they met mine.

The delicate female bowed her head. As much of a gesture of obedience as a fifteen-thousand-year-old creature would make to a newly minted High Lady. And friend. “I see you brought home a new pet,” she said, nose crinkling with distaste.

Something like fear had entered Lucien’s eye, as if he, too, beheld the monster that lurked beneath that beautiful face.

Indeed, it seemed he had heard of her already. Before I could introduce him, Lucien bowed at the waist. Deeply. Cassian let out an amused grunt, and I shot him a warning glare.

Amren smiled slightly. “Already trained, I see.”

Lucien slowly straightened, as if he were standing before the open maw of some great plains-cat he did not wish to startle with sudden movements.

“Amren, this is Lucien … Vanserra.”

Lucien stiffened. “I don’t use my family’s name.” He clarified to Amren with another incline of his head, “Lucien will do.”

I suspected he’d ceased using that name the moment his lover’s heart had stopped beating.

Amren was studying that metal eye. “Clever work,” she said, then surveyed me. “Looks like someone clawed you up, girl.”

The wound in my arm, at least, had healed, though a nasty red mark remained. I assumed my face wasn’t much better. Before I could answer her, Lucien asked, “What is this place?”