Nala had hoped for a quiet day—a chance to train and perhaps dispatch a few greedy bastards. But all her plans shattered as, for the first time in days, she felt it: her sister's panic. It surged through her with a force so overwhelming, it was as if Feyre stood right beside her, screaming in terror.

With a roar that shook the throne room and echoed through the city beyond, Nala's wings snapped open, casting shadows across the stone. Flames flickered along her scales, curling in bursts of crimson and gold as her rage and fear coiled together. The very air trembled with her power. Without a word to her Darkbringers, she stormed out of the throne room, wings outstretched, shadows and fire flicking wildly in her wake.

She didn't wait for permission. She didn't ask for guidance. Nala flew into the forest with a single purpose: to find Feyre and Rhysand. Her heart pounded as she pushed herself harder, faster, slicing through the skies like a storm. Every beat of her wings drove her deeper into the wild, the forest becoming a blur beneath her as she searched relentlessly.

Hours passed, and still, she pushed herself further. Finally, she spotted her sister, standing a bit away from a narrow cave. 

"Fey..." Nala whispered as she landed next to her sister who stared at the cave mouth in horror. The elder Archeron didn't answer and Nala knew why a second later. 

A whip cracked though the air. 

And Nala saw red, fueled by Feyre's emotions as well as her own. Without meaning to Feyre had shown her younger sister just what had led to this, how they had been shut down and how Rhys had winnowed Feyre away in an attempt to save her and the blood trail that Feyre had followed to get here. 

As Feyre slung her bow over her shoulder and pulled two ash arrows to bind together, Nala pulled Cleaver from her belt, glad to have dressed in battle gear that morning. 

Another crack of the whip sounded, and then another. The two sisters looked at one another with sheer determination and with a single nod the moved. 

The two sisters moved as one, slipping into the cave with the ease of shadow and smoke. The narrow passage opened into a wide, curving tunnel. Nala's sharp gaze caught the flicker of movement—two guards patrolling the mouth of the cave, their post sloppy, their awareness dulled by overconfidence. Amateurs.

With a silent nod to Feyre, Nala shifted into position, her steps precise and calculated. Feyre winnowed forward in a blink, and by the time the guards registered her presence, Nala was already there. Her blade sliced through the air, swift and merciless, catching one guard's throat while Feyre dispatched the other. Blood sprayed across the stone, but neither sister hesitated.

They pressed deeper into the cave. Nala moved with a predator's grace, her senses attuned to every sound, every shift in the air. Feyre was beside her, their movements perfectly synchronized. They didn't need words; they'd fought together too many times to need them. When Feyre winnowed ahead, Nala darted into the shadows, ready to cover her sister's blind spots.

Then they saw him.

Rhys hung from the walls of the cave, chains of strange bluish stone holding his arms aloft. His wings—those powerful, beautiful wings—were pierced with ash arrows, seven in total. Blood ran down his back in rivulets, pooling at his feet. Nala's stomach twisted at the sight, but she didn't falter.

"Take the left," Feyre murmured, her voice trembling.

Nala didn't respond. She was already moving.

The guards around Rhys barely had time to react before the sisters struck. Feyre winnowed behind the first, her ash arrow driving deep into his throat. Nala was a blur, her blade carving through flesh with practiced precision. One, two, three bodies fell. Feyre's ash arrows flashed in the firelight, while Nala's blades cut through the air in lethal arcs.

A whip snapped toward Feyre, but before it could land, Nala was there, her blade intercepting it midair. She twisted the weapon from the guard's grasp and drove her blade into his chest. "Keep moving," she barked at Feyre, her voice low but commanding.

They moved as a unit, Feyre winnowing to strike while Nala held the line, cutting down anyone who dared approach her sister. The final two guards at the cave's mouth charged in, their faces twisted with rage and desperation. Nala met them head-on. She ducked under the first swing, her blade slashing upward to sever tendons and bone. The second guard hesitated, and that was all the opening she needed. She lunged, her blade finding its mark.

Silence fell.

Nala turned, blood dripping from her blades, to find Feyre already at Rhys's side. Her sister's hands trembled as she worked to release the chains. Nala crossed the blood-slicked ground to join her, her heart hammering in her chest at the sight of Rhys's broken body. Without a word, she gripped one of the chains, ignoring the strange, icy pain that shot through her arm as she wrenched it free.

"He's alive," Feyre breathed, relief flooding her voice.

"Not for long if we don't move," Nala replied sharply, her gaze darting toward the entrance. She could feel the weight of the forest pressing in around them, the possibility of reinforcements looming.

Feyre winnowed them out of the cave, straight to another cave, one Nala had passed before and far enough away so that they couldn't smell the blood from the bloodbath they had made. 

The two got the massive male into the cave, Rhys had passed out a few miles back, so Nala made sure to help Feyre lower him gently. Her sister's focus shifted to the ash arrows in his wings. "I need to get these out," Feyre murmured.

"I'll hold him steady," Nala said. She crouched beside Rhys, her hands firm on his shoulders. "Do it quickly."

Rhysand grunted again; his hands braced on the floor. The sight of him like that—unable to even muster a sly comment or half-smile—sent a pang through Feyre's chest. She exchanged a glance with Nala, her steadfast companion, who silently padded closer, her golden eyes fixed on the wounded High Lord.

Feyre moved to his wing, studying the cruel way the arrows had pierced through the beautiful membrane. "This is going to hurt," she said quietly, jaw clenched as she assessed the damage. The shafts would have to be carefully cut, not snapped, to avoid leaving any shards behind. She shuddered at the thought of what an ash splinter might do if it became lodged in such delicate flesh.

"Do it," Rhys panted hoarsely, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the ground.

Nala settled by his side, her presence a steadying comfort as she let the male lean on her. Feyre retrieved the knife strapped to her thigh and gently gripped the first arrow. Rhys hissed; his body taut with pain. Feyre paused but at his repeated, "Do it," she set the serrated blade against the shaft and began to saw as gently as she could.

Rhys's breath hitched, uneven and sharp, as his blood dripped onto the floor. Too slow. She was going too slowly. But rushing might cause him more pain—or worse, further damage the sensitive wing.

To distract them both, Feyre said, "Did you know that one summer, when I was seventeen, Elain bought me some paint? We'd had just enough to spend on extra things, and she got me and Nesta presents. She didn't have enough for a full set, but she bought me red, blue, and yellow. I used every drop, stretching them as much as I could, and painted little decorations around our cottage."

Nala pressed a hand against Rhys's arm, offering silent reassurance as Feyre finished cutting through the first shaft. Without warning, she tugged out the arrowhead in one smooth pull. Rhys swore, his body locking up, but the blood gushed for only a moment before stopping. Feyre almost sighed in relief as she moved to the next arrow.

"I painted the table, the cabinets, the doorway..." Her voice softened as she worked. "And we had this old, black dresser in our room—one drawer for each of us. We didn't have much clothing to put in there, anyway." She finished sawing through the second arrow and met Nala's calm gaze. The wolf helped steady the wing as Feyre carefully tugged the arrow free. The blood flowed, then clotted. "I painted flowers for Elain on her drawer—roses, begonias, irises. And for Nesta..." Feyre's voice trailed off as she snapped the last bit of the second arrow away. "I painted flames for her. She was always angry, always burning. I think she and Amren would be fast friends. And Velaris... I think Nesta would like it, despite herself. And Elain—Elain would like it, too. Though she'd probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet. For Nala I painted swirls of shadows, red rubies and seafoam." Feyre looked at her younger sister who had the smallest of blushes on her face along with a small smile, Rhys chuckled the tiniest bit. 

Rhys let out a shaky breath as Feyre began on the third arrow. Nala's steady presence didn't waver as she helped brace the wing. "What did you paint for yourself?" Rhys asked, his voice raw.

Feyre hesitated, finishing the third arrow before saying, "The night sky. I painted stars and the moon and clouds and just endless, dark sky." She cut into the fourth arrow. "I never knew why. I rarely went outside at night—usually, I was too tired from hunting to do anything but sleep. But I wonder..." She tugged the arrow free, the final gush of blood slowing to a stop. "I wonder if some part of me knew what was waiting for me. That I would never be a gentle grower of things or someone who burned like fire—but that I would be quiet and enduring and as faceted as the night."

She glanced at Rhys, whose breath was shallow but steady. Nala gently nudged Feyre's hand with her nose, and Feyre gave her a small smile of thanks. She cleaned the blade quickly before walking to where Rhys was braced on the floor, trembling. His head lifted, pain-filled eyes meeting hers.

"You saved me," he rasped. "Both of you did." 

"You can explain who they were later," Nala said, as Feyre moved to retrieve a blanket from her pack.

"Ambush," Rhys murmured, his voice fading. "Hybern soldiers with ancient chains...to nullify my power..." His eyes scanned her for signs of injury. "I'm sorry."

Feyre brushed back his dark hair. "Rest," she said softly, though her chest clenched as his eyelids began to droop.

Before consciousness fully claimed him, Rhys murmured, "I was looking for you, too."

Nala settled at his feet, her eyes fixed on the entrance with Cleaver resting on her thighs, as Feyre covered Rhys with the blanket, her hand lingering on his shoulder for a moment. Together, the sisters sat vigil as the High Lord's breathing evened into the deep rhythms of sleep.

***

While Feyre slept beside Rhys, offering what warmth she could, Nala stayed awake her eyes never leaving the cave entrance throughout the night. The beasts prowling the forest beyond were a ceaseless parade of snarls and hissing, their sounds only fading with the gray light before dawn.

Rhys lay motionless as the first watery sunlight painted the stone walls. His skin was clammy when Feyre checked his wounds, her heart sinking at the sight of the barely healed injuries oozing with a slick, oily sheen.

When she pressed her hand to his brow, she swore at the heat radiating from him. Poison. Those arrows had been coated with poison, and it remained in his body, festering. Feyre glanced toward Nala, who sat on the other side of the cave, her knees drawn to her chest.

"We have to do something," Feyre murmured, her voice tight with desperation.

Nala's sharp, dark eyes met hers. "Something, yes. But not the Suriel."

"It's the only way." Feyre tried to keep her voice calm, though her panic gnawed at the edges of her resolve. "The Illyrian camp is too far, and my powers—" They had tried to contact Nala's mates, but Nala too were drained of her magic after her hectic flight and the fight against the Hybern soldiers. She could only hope that some of her darkbringers had enough sense to sound the alarm and were looking for her, or had alerted Amren of her sudden departure the morning before. 

"—are too drained from last night," Nala interrupted, her tone biting. "I know. But Feyre, the Suriel? You know what it demands. What it risks."

Feyre didn't respond, instead looking back to Rhys. His golden skin had paled, his breaths shallow. An hour passed. Then another. Feyre shook him gently, whispering his name, trying to wake him.

"He's slipping away," she said, her voice trembling.

Nala's lips pressed into a thin line, her shoulders stiff with tension. "If you go after the Suriel, you're risking yourself. And if something happens to you—"

"I won't let anything happen," Feyre snapped, her patience fraying. "I don't have a choice. Either we let him die here, or we try."

Nala stood, pacing the confined space of the cave. "You think I'll just sit here and wait? You're my sister. If you're going after it, I'm coming, too."

Feyre opened her mouth to argue, but the look on Nala's face—determined, fierce—silenced her. Feyre nodded, grabbed her cloak, and kissed Rhys's brow, whispering, "Hold on," before stepping into the morning light with Nala close behind.

The forest loomed around them, the air sharp with the scent of pine and frost. Feyre moved quickly, leading them toward the water nearby. She refused to let her hands tremble as she constructed the snare, placing her rich, lovely cloak in the center.

Nala watched with a scowl. "If we don't catch it—"

"We will," Feyre said firmly.

The hours crawled by. The sun climbed higher, but neither Feyre nor Nala moved from their spot near the trap. As desperation clawed at Feyre's throat, she found herself praying silently to the Cauldron, to the Mother.

Then, a creeping silence fell over the woods, rippling toward them like a wave. The birds stopped chirping. The wind stilled.

Nala stiffened beside her, reaching for the knife at her belt.

A crack echoed through the trees, followed by a screech that seemed to hollow out the very air. Feyre nocked an arrow, her hands steady at last. She exchanged a glance with Nala, whose eyes burned with the same fierce determination.

Together, they moved toward the sound, into the depths of the forest, where the Suriel awaited.

***

The Suriel looked as disgusting as Feyre had told Nala and it took all of her self-control to not back away in disgust. Tattered robes barely concealing a body made of not skin, but what looked to be solid, worn bone. Its lipless mouth held too-large teeth, and its fingers - long, spindly - clicked against each other while it weighed the fine clocked Feyre had laid in the center of their snare, as if the cloth had been blown in on a wind. 

"Feyre Cursebreaker," it said, turning towards the older A4rcheron sister before turning to Nala. "Nala Breaker of many," its voice that was both one and many. 

Feyre lowered her bow. "I have need of you." Nala made sure to keep a steady hold on her dagger as she stared the beast down. They didn't have a lot of time; they had already wasted too much and if this beast proved to be difficult Nala wanted her weapon on hand as a motive of motivation. 

"What fascinating changes a year has wrought on you - on your sister - on the world," it said. 

"I have questions," Feyre said, ignoring it's comment. Nala twirled the blade in her hand as she walked behind Feyre and around so that she was to one to be closest to the creature. 

It smiled, each of those stained, too-large brown teeth visible. "You have two questions." Its eyes followed Nala's movement with what looked like wonder in its eyes. 

"What poison was used on those arrows?" Feyre didn't waste any time, and Nala felt her sister's desperation to get back to Rhys and almost snarled. If Feyre would simply let her toture this creature, then they would already have the answer, but no.

"Bloodbane," it said and every alarm in Nala's mind started blaring. She and Azriel had used small doses of Bloodbane on the Attor. She knew what it did, and Rhys had much more in his blood then they used on the Attor. 

"Where do I find the cure?" Feyre asked and this time Nala snarled at her sister's desperation, it had made her question to fast. And she had asked wrong. 

"What is the cure?" Nala snarled before the creature could answer Feyre. The Suriel looked at the younger Archeron sister and took a deep breath that it truly didn't need. The look in the female's eyes were pure rage and hate and even a creature as strong as the Suriel had the common sense to be cautious of the halfling. It - like many of the creatures in this forest - sensed that ancient power in her blood, the one that made her more than human, more than fae. That made her something entirely new. 

Your blood, cursebreaker," it tore its gaze from Nala and returned it's attention to the older sister.  Give him your blood, Cursebreaker. It is rich with the healing gift of the High Lord of the Dawn. It shall spare him from the bloodbane's wrath." 

 "That's it?" Ferye pushed. "How much blood?" 

 "A few mouthfuls will do." A hollow, dry wind—not at all like the misty, cold veils that usually drifted past—brushed my face. "I helped you before. I have helped you now. And you will free me before I lose my patience, Cursebreaker."

"Thank you for your help," Feyre spoke as she notched an arrow and pointed it at the snare. All while breaching herself to sprint just in case. Nala simply stared the beast down from her spot. 

 The Suriel's stained teeth clacked against each other. "If you wish to speed your mate's healing, in addition to your blood, a pink-flowered weed sprouts by the river. Make him chew it." 

Feyre fired my arrow at the snare before either sister finished hearing its words. The trap sprang free. 

And the word clicked through each female. Mate. 

"What did you say?" 

 The Suriel rose to its full height, towering over them even from across the clearing. Neither had realized that despite the bone, it was muscled— powerful. And while Feyre took a small step backwards, Nala simply called her shadows closer, and unknowingly called a bit of the ancient power forward aswell. 

 "If you wish to ... " The Suriel paused, and grinned, showing nearly all of those brown, thick teeth. "You did not know, then." 

 "Say it," Feyre gritted out.

 "The High Lord of the Night Court is your mate." Feyre didn't know whatever she was breathing or nor, but Nala almost laughed at the irony. "Interesting," the Suriel said.

 The Suriel clenched the robes of its new cloak in its bone-fingers. "Yes." 

"For a long while?" "Yes. Since—" 

 "No. He can tell me—I want to hear it from his lips." 

The Suriel cocked its head. "You are—you are feeling too much, too fast. I cannot read it." 

"How can I possibly be his mate?" Nala rolled her eyes.  

 "He is the most powerful High Lord to ever walk this earth. You are ... new. You are made of all seven High Lords. Unlike anything. Are you two not similar in that? Are you not matched? That is also the reason why your sister needs 3 mates, 1 would never be equal to that power that simmer under her skin. She need one to push her, one to stand by her and one to hold her. Just as you will need the high Lord of Night," Varian, she almost smiled, so he was hers as well after all. 

Feyre looked back towards the river, almost as if she could see the male laying in the cave there. The Suriel looked back at Nala, gave her a small bow before disappearing into the forest.