Isabella

She paced the length of the room, fury shaking through her veins. Isabella couldn't think beyond what Nesta had told. What she had been ignorant of. And what– what Nesta speculates. No.No,she couldn't think of it. Not yet. Not when she had tears streaming down her face when she should have been packing.

"You can watch Oliver." It wasn't a question.

"Elain can," Isabella nodded mutely, gnawing at her lip as she wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm coming with you."

Nesta watched her like a hawk. That defensive mask replacing fear and guilt. Her twin had been more closed off ever since Isabella had stated her intentions to leave. She understood it was her way to cope but Isabella still hated that distance.

The distance that will have grown entire leagues by sunrise tomorrow.

"I'll send word when we're settled." She whispers but Nesta shakes her head.

"Focus on leaving. We need to get you packed and away before they come back from the festivities." Isabella roughly wipes the tears from her face, listening to her sister's hasty plan as she strides out of the room still speaking."Rhys will no doubt have left by now so we'll wait till the midnight check in and if that goes wrong then we have tomorrow's midday check in as well."

Isabella follows, feeling the cloud of horror and shame slowly lift as her sister grabs their cloaks. There's hasty words to the housemaid before Nesta is turning to her once more.

"The pyres have just been lit so we have a few hours at least, not enough to waste." Her voice is firm and Isabella is grateful for her taking command in this moment. "Elain should be–"

"Here," They're cut off by their younger sister's troubled voice. "The maid said you needed to speak with me."

Elain turns to Isabella, something sad flickering in her eyes before she announces that Oliver had settled easily and that Isabella's fae had left some 15 minutes ago.

It had something in her stomach churning. She could have done with Rhys being here to help her. Stupid of her to not ask for a different way to communicate with the fae. Except– except one of her bats had left a piece of enchanted parchment for her. A way to communicate privately. She had hidden it away in a small chest under her bed that was filled with mementos of Oliver's childhood, travel clothes, money and whatever else she had stored away 4 years ago when she had first attempted to leave her husband.

Not that she had done.

"Can you watch Oliver for me?" Isabella tugs on her cloak. "I'll only be gone an hour at most."

"Where are you going?" Elain nervously trills, concern bright in her eyes as she glances between us. "I thought you were just going to take Ollie home, or spend the night here?"

"We're getting some things for them." Nesta interrupts before Isabella can say a word. "Things are a little tense with the family so Isabella is going to spend the night."

She fights the urge to frown at her twin, keeping her face carefully blank of any plans to bolt in the middle of the night. It's a bit harder to pull on the naive scared little girl act, especially since her little sister isn't as gullible as Tomas.

Except she is.

Because Elain coos her pitiful remarks and words of support that fall on deaf ears as Isabella begins to worry about leaving her son behind. She's grateful that Rhys took him to his room because if she were to hold him right now she would never let him go.

The walk back to the Mandray homes passes in cold blur as the longest night of the year descends upon them. Her friends would no doubt be celebrating in Velaris right about now. The dances and partying till dawn that she was told about feels like a fanciful dream.

Nesta was mercifully silent during their walk keeping her hood up and head tucked down and it's only when she glances at her twin now that Isabella realises they're wearing their old cloaks. The tattered and damaged ones that would allow them to hide among the villagers.

At least one of them had planned this short trip.

All is silent when they enter her home. The fire has been burnt down to embers and dirty plates left in the sink. A hollow feeling sinks into Isabella's chest. How dead this house feels. How still and suffocating. Had she truly never noticed that before.

Nesta asks her something but she pays her no mind. Moving as if in a trance towards the Solstice decorations that hang on the window. The ones Oliver made with Cassian. The ceramic tiles are painted as bats and stars. She handles them with a delicate care, careful not to snag the fragile ribbons as she pulls them from the frame.

"Isa?" Nesta murmurs.

She turns to her twin, quietly grieving this chapter of her life. Clearing her throat that was clogged with tears that no longer fell. Isabella doesn't have any energy left for tears. Only quiet mourning as she walks through the home she had fought so hard to build and make her own.

"Can you clear out my room?" Isabella keeps her voice as a low whisper. It's as if she's walking in a mausoleum. Terrified of breaking the tense silence that clogs the house. "There's a chest under the bed and my clothes."

Nesta nods, ascending the rickety stairs and Isabella flinches at every creek of the wood.

She wanted Cassian. The thought hit her randomly. She wanted to hear his voice. No, what she wanted was the vibrancy of his soul to fill this space. A house would never be this dead with him in it and she wanted that warmth and light right about now.

But it was only when she was in her son's room that she wanted Azriel's strong presence at her side. Her friend would have known how to push her forward. Cassian would have let feel every emotion and face it head on. Azriel would force her to stay on task. To think pragmatically.

It was his voice that resounded in her head as she began to hastily pack Oliver's belongings. Pack only what is necessary, she could hear him say, you need to travel light. What can be bought when you get there? What don't you need?

She didn't need the moth bitten clothes or the broken wood toys but she wanted to keep that quilt blanket that her new friends– her new family had gifted her. She wanted to take Oliver's favourite books and toys along with the little mementos she had kept from his younger days. In the end it was a sad amount. No doubt more than what Nesta was able to scrounge up for her but still only enough to fill one bag falling apart at the seams.

Not that any of it mattered when the sound of an opening door echoed through the house.

Isabella went still as years worth of conditioning kicked in. It was instinct to press against the wall, hiding herself in the shadows that seemed to swallow her whole.

Her twin wasn't as fortunate.

"The fuck you doing here?" A rough voice demanded and Isabella couldn't stop her sharp inhale.

Nesta remained silent.

"Well?" Grandfather Mandray demanded. Something calm and calculated still within her soul. "Shouldn't you be pandering to that brat you spent so long looking for."

"Don't call him that." Nesta snapped, finally finding her voice.

She found herself moving at the low laugh that echoed in response. Creeping forward on trembling legs Isabella peered around the wall blocking off the staircase. Nesta was straight backed, completely frozen before the fire while Old Grandfather Mandray leered at her from across the room. Outside she could see a figure bustling around. No doubt Mrs Mandray bringing in the clothes that Isabella had left hung out to dry.

Distantly she registered Nesta arguing with her son's grandfather. The harshness of their words were one of the few things that filtered through the fog clouding her brain. That and the occasional threat, the insults thrown at her son and– and the confession. Because that's what Nesta was doing. She was egging the man on, walking circles around him despite her fear.

He may be the eldest Mandray but after years as a witch hunter and having children young he was still strong enough to be a threat to the sisters.

To her son.

This was the man that hurt her son.

Isabella glanced down at her wrist where a cold tingling had begun to spread. She had been right earlier, when she thought the shadows themself were hiding her. For little wisp was nervously winding itself around her fingers. Clearly agitated as the small creature picks up on Isabella's distress.

Or maybe it knew what she intended to do.

Not that it mattered for one second Isabella was watching the man raise his hand to strike her twin and the next he was groaning on the floor.

Nesta stared at her, wide eyed as she glances between Isabella and the heavy hardback book in her hands. Hilariously Isabella is reminded of a conversation she had with Rhys, where she had commented that the book he had bought her son was heavy enough to cause bruises.

Turns out it was heavy enough to draw blood with those sharp corners of the cover.

"Are you insane?" Her twin hissed and from the way Isabella's heart was beating out of her chest she just might be. "Oh fuck. Fuck. We need to leave."

"I can't," Isabella's voice was steady, completely calm in the face of what she had done. "Not after what happened."

"What– Isa you can't be serious." Nesta's eyes were imploring but Isabella didn't budge an inch. Not even when the halls fell silent to allow the echoing noise of Mrs Mandray humming outside continued on. "Don't– just don't–"

"He hurt my son." She snarls, trembling with rage and grief. "Mine. I brought him into this world and it's my job to keep him safe from its horrors."

"That's why you're getting out–"

"It's not enough." She whispers, head tilting as she hears the man groan. "Not payment enough for the pain he has caused."

Nesta has gone pale. Shaking her head as she slowly backs from the room. Isabella pauses then, observing her sister's fear. She was going to run. Isabella didn't blame her. But she needed her help.

"Take our stuff." She whispers, forcing a soft, calming smile. "Look after Ollie for me."

"You're coming with me." She's never heard her twin sound so unsure.

"Of course," Isabella's voice is so cheery that Nesta flinches. "But I'll need you to send Oliver ahead to Prythian for me."

Nesta is still staring at her and it's really starting to get irritating. Why won't she just take the bags and run back to the manor. It would be better if she helped Isabella get rid of the body when she was done but Isabella will accept whatever help she can get at this point.

Thankfully her sister shakes off her horror long enough to accept the second bag and soon Isabella is alone with the waking man.

She had been afraid of him for so long. It was laughable now. As he crawled across the floor, limp and groaning as if he were no better than a pig snuffling at the floor. How had this man controlled her for so long. How had she let him hurt her son?

It didn't matter anymore, not when she slammed her foot into his side, sending him tumbling to the floor. The second kick to the ribs had the man crying out. A pitiful noise that turned watery and weak she beat at his torso until she heard his ribs crack.

It was tiring kicking the male. Lifting him to his feet long enough to knee him in the gut. It had soon lost it's satisfaction to her.

Maybe she was having a breakdown. She had heard of women who snapped and poisoned their husbands or slit their throats while they slept. Isabella would no doubt be remembered as yet another one of them. Just another female broken and demonised.

But she wasn't hurting him for herself. Or maybe not just for herself.

"I want to hear you say it." She murmurs, crouching down next to his limp body as he moans into the broken wood. "I'll let you go if you say it."

"I– I don't know what... you're talking about." He rasps out, voice thick with blood and agony.

A soft smile spreads across her face, "Yes you do." She murmurs, tone amused and light. "You know exactly what I refer to."

A bitter laugh fell from his lips and Isabella's smile curled into a snarl. Wisp traced it down her arm and onto Mandray's throat, wrapping around it like a vice and tightening until he choked and clawed at his own skin.

It did nothing. You can't fight against a shadow but she took sick pleasure in the way his fingers peeled back the skin at his neck in a desperate attempt to breathe again.

"What did you do to Oliver?" She demands, voice firm and the shadow take the que to release the man. He sputters and coughs. Dramatically wheezing as he hunches over. "Well?"

He laughed. The sound was low and harsh, cold enough that the hairs on her arms stand on end.

"So you're still fucking that fae then, hmmm." He counters but she ignores the taunt, watching as he slumps over onto his side to peer up at her with bright eyes. "A few magic tricks and you think you're a god. How arrogant you are." He sneered, "Elise is outside, she'll come looking any minute now and then you'll be fucked."

His drag up and down her body. Once it would have felt like a brand. A possesive touch that smothers her skin. Now she feels nothing.

"You're no better than those pathetic witches. I'll ensure you'll face the same fate as then." He spit up at her and she reels back, striking out and backhanding him. He smashes into the ground, hands scraping against the splintering wood as Isabella stumbles to her feet.

She's panting now. Her breath comes in heaving bursts as she glares down at the male. She's changed her mind. She doesn't need to know what he did to Oliver. That is no longer his story to tell, it is her sons and it will be his choice to share what he wants.

"You have it all wrong." She murmurs, more to herself than him. "It's not I who shall burn in the pits of hell."

Everything comes in clear clarity as she uses the butt of Tomas' axe to knock out the older man before returning it to the kitchen table. Blood trickles down the side of Mr Mandray's sallow face. It follows the path of his wrinkles and scars, running rivulettes along the organic paths until half of his face is covered in red.

How many times had he left her battered and bruised?

How many times had he left her son scared and alone?

It's that thought alone that gives her the strength to drag his body through the house and through the back door. Wisp is proactive enough to open doors and drown out sounds but he's only one shadow and Isabella isn't going to take any chances.

Not with Mrs Mandray walking back into the house.

For a second she freezes, watching as the matriarch pauses in the doorway. But the woman's shoulders sag and she moves to the kitchen sink. A bitter laugh rumbles out of her chest. How broken that woman is. How destroyed she has been by Mr Mandray that her first instinct when she sees blood is to mop it up and hide the evidence of the men's abuse.

At least she thinks Isabella has been hurt. It'll stop her looking and asking questions for a while.

She doesn't remember dragging the old man onto the wood carts the Mandrays had just taken back here, nor does she remember leading the horse through the forest. It's only when she's before one of the morning pyres that Isabella comes to her senses.

The villagers are bustling around her. Far enough away that they can't see her face or what she's doing but they'll recognise the horse, and if not the horse then the cart.

What was she thinking? Oh dear gods above what had she–

"Isabella?" She whirls around, staring at the kind face peering up at her. "Is everything alright?"

George's worried tone has her shoulders trembling, her teeth gnawing at her lip and all it takes is a single misplaced glance to the lump in the back of the cart for her friend to move. Frozen in place, she can do nothing but watch as shock flares across George's face, his skin whitening as he stares at the man slumped over in the cart.

For a moment she fears he'll scream. That her patient's generosity has reached its end. After all, she had only provided pain tonics and company. But something hardens in his expression, his jaw ticking as his eyes turn cold. He turns to her, analysing her every breath before nodding to himself.

"Time for you to go Miss Isabella." he states, reaching out for her and helping her down from the cart. "I'll take care of it from here."

Shock must have finally set in for Isabella allows him to lead her to the side, setting her down one of the logs that act as seating for the event. In silence he works, shifting a bag of fire starter onto his back before moving to the cart. She doesn't know how George does it but after a few trips between the cart and the pyre he's managed to stack the four large bags high enough to block an outsiders view of the centre most section of the wood stacks.

Her breath catches in her throat, even though this is what she planned when a sack that's clearly more lumpy and heavy than the others is placed in the middle and covered over with the last of the logs.

The cart's empty now.

Like Grandfather Mandray was never there.

George slumps down into the seat beside her and the pair watch that unlight pyre till dawn. He keeps her company as she cries and sniffles. As the tears turn to broken screams that she muffles against her chest. He lets her cry it all out and lets her snarl in rage as she accepts all the grief and hardship that male had brought to her.

He lets a claw at her the skin of her arms when the guilt gets too much, stopping her only when she bleeds. His words of comfort fall on deaf ears. There's nothing that could make any of this better. He raped her son. Abused him for years and she never knew. Or maybe she knew that he hurt him but never wanted to accept the truth.

"It's over now," He whispered against her ear as the revellers made their way towards them. "What's in the past should be left there. It's time to move on."

They always have two rounds of Pyres on the Winter solstice. One at midnight and the other at dawn. To mark the start and end of the festivities. Or the end of the nights and the beginning of a new dawn. She had never particularly cared about all that.

But Isabella had to confess that this year was different.

Indeed, her breathing had finally steadied out by the time she watched her drunk husband stumble towards the pyre with a village girl curled against his side. Her tears had dried and a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

A new beginning. She's ready for it now. Ready to leave.

The pair watch in silence as Tomas, Mr Mandray and a dozen villagers light up their torchers. She found herself straightening up in anticipation as they stride towards the unlit pyres.

No going back now. She thought to herself as they threw the torches onto the wood piles. You will never be that woman again.

And as the cheers broke out in the crowds at the sight of the blazing fires Isabella let herself smile her first smile as a free woman. And when the crowds began to quiet down and the screams of agony echoed from one of the pyres she allowed herself to hug her old friend goodbye before turning from the sight of her husband frantically clawing at the burning logs. The walk to the manor was a short one but Isabella relished in every fleeting image of the broken village.

A new beginning doesn't seem very scary anymore.

A/N: This feels all over the place but I hope you like it.

Sorry for the wait, I've been writing non stop for the past three hours so this hasn't been proofread.

The next chapter will be the batboys finding out that Oliver is in Prythian without his mother... I'm sure you can imagine where they winnow to next and what they find. Any requests for that?