The next morning Azriel is gone, but I find a pair of wool socks with an emerald ribbon sitting on the bench at the end of my bed. I smile and slip them on, humming at their warmth before tying my hair up with the emerald ribbon. "Cozy feet; priceless." I send the words over the bond along with the image of my feet encased in warmth. I get a soft rumble in return and I smirk before heading downstairs for breakfast. I find Feyre in the foyer waiting for Rhys to get back from leaving Lucien on the continent along with Nesta in the dining room. After piling a plate full of delicacies, I settle beside Feyre since Nesta's body language screams 'leave me alone' even more than normal.

"Rhys says that you're coming to the meeting of the High Lords with us." She says softly while stealing a pastry off my pile. I nod slowly since I don't know what she thinks of it yet. "I'm glad to have you with us. We can use all the allies we can get." She sighs. My shoulders lax slightly and my wings ruffle with the movement. I almost don't have to think about them now. It's second nature to move with them, to hold their weight.

"Has Rhys decided what purpose I'm supposed to serve in his court?" I ask and she sighs.

"Yes, but I'll let him tell you. The decision won't be...popular with everyone." Her face is pensive and it's clear that they've already talked this through.

"Something to look forward to, then." I return and she smiles while swiping another pastry off the pile as I do the same.

"Thank you, by the way." She murmurs and I look to her bright blue-grey eyes so much like her sisters. "For protecting Nesta and me." My head shakes.

"You don't need to thank me," I tell her evenly. "If I'm going to be here, be a part of this, then we never need to thank each other for things like that. It's a given." She considers me for a few moments, then she nods.

"What Rhys did to them, I hope you know it wasn't only for me. It wasn't only for this city." Her voice is soft now and my lips turn up at the sentiment. I nod.

"I know," I answer just as dark wind swirls into the foyer and Feyre hops up to slide into Rhys' arms.

"Did everything go well?" She asks while breathing him in. The way they move together is something else. Like two dancers, perfectly in sync with every step or sway.

"As well as can be expected. He's now on the continent, heading eastward." The he will be Lucien, the red-haired male that I'd rarely seen speak, much less spoken to myself. "How's our new seer holding up?" Rhys asks and I shake my head when I see the ire flash through Nesta's eyes.

"Don't call her that." She hisses, but then her attention is wholly on the book in front of her. I look at my pile of goodies to pick another while Rhys and Feyre have a moment, but my head snaps up when Amren bursts through the door.

"What." Rhys is first and I can feel my shadows whispering as they burst to life around me. Amren's silver eyes shine bright with rage like a cold fire.

"Hybern has attacked the Summer Court. They lay siege to Adriata as we speak." Shock ripples through the room before everyone is moving. Rhys sends for Cassian, Azriel, and Mor who arrive in minutes.

"Has Tarquin called for aid?" Cassian asks instantly and Amren's jaw tightens.

"I don't know. I got the message, and—nothing else." She answers and Cassian turns to Rhys, becoming the general that he so often hides behind playful banter.

"Did the Summer Court have a mobile fighting force when you were there?"

"No, his armada was scattered along the coast." He looks to Azriel while I draw a little closer to the shadowsinger. Blame is written across his face and I can feel guilt on his side of the bond at missing this. He shifts towards me before answering Rhys in a flat tone.

"Half is in Adriata—the other dispersed. His terrestrial army was moved to the Spring Court border...after Feyre. The closest legion is perhaps three days' march away. Very few can winnow."

"How many ships?"

"Twenty in Adriata, fully armed." He answers and Rhys looks to Amren with a weighted gaze.

"Numbers on Hybern?" Her head shakes.

"I don't know. Many. It—I think they are overwhelmed."

"What was the exact message?" Rhys asks and I can feel the power and command laced into his every word. Amren's eyes flash, but she answers.

"It was a warning. From Varian. To prepare our own defenses." Silence engulfs the room and it takes all I have in me to not ask what that means. Who he is to her.

"Prince Varian sent you a warning?" Cassian asks surprisingly quietly. Amren simmers at the insinuation and glares at the general.

"It is a thing that friends do." She answers coolly, but there's danger lurking under the smooth tone. My eyes go to Feyre and Rhys as she faces him with steel in her expression. I know what she's going to say before the words are out of her mouth.

"We cannot leave Tarquin to face them alone." She tells Rhys evenly and I nod once in agreement. Rhys pauses for only a moment with his eyes on his mate, then his eyes cut to Cassian.

"Keir and his Darkbringer army are nowhere near ready to march. How soon can the Illyrian legions fly?"

* * *

Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel immediately prepare to go. Feyre and I stand side by side as their armor crawls over their bodies with siphons appearing all over them. It's hard not to reach for Azriel, but I'm not sure if it would help. It's not like wishing him luck or telling him to be careful will do anything. All we give each other is one final steady gaze filled with a thousand words that we have yet to say, then they're gone.

Mor arrives soon after and I leave to get dressed in my Illyrian leathers with my daggers strapped all the way around me. My shadows are writhing around me as if they know more bloodshed is coming and they look forward to the prospect. My blood is thrumming as I secure the straps all over me and descend the stairs to Feyre at Mor's side. I take the time as we wait to braid my hair so it lies over my shoulder with Azriel's ribbon tied at the end.

"Will you fight?" Nesta asks with her eyes looking between Feyre and me.

"We'll fight if it's required." Feyre answers for us both and I nod in agreement. We have to go. If we can help, we have to try.

"What do you know of battle?" Nesta asks again, but when she glances at me, I can see the memory of my body covered in blood flashing in the blue-grey depths.

"We know plenty," Mor responds tightly and tosses her own braid behind her back before stepping forward and checking my straps. I can see the apology in her eyes that we never spoke before now.

"Afterward," I murmur and she half-smiles, then nods. Meanwhile, Nesta and Feyre are staring off beside us.

"We'll send word when we can." She tells her sister before the three of us stiffen when we feel a wave crest over our minds. "They've arrived. Let's go." Feyre says and I watch as a cold mask slides over her face, a warrior's mask. Mor looks at Nesta with the same mask, then smiles.

"It's nothing we can't handle." She bids before we're gone. Mor winnows us farther than I've ever gone before while conscious. Black wind and shadows slide past us, tugging at me as if beckoning me to their depths before we burst into suffocating heat and blinding light. A few blinks clear my vision before I can see the battle.

It's chaos.

Sides are blending, blood fills the beaches, and battle has broken out in the skies and on the sea. My eyes can't help but look for the flashing red and gold of Azriel, but there are far too many to detect just him. "Those are Tarquin's ships," Mor says and points to the white sails stark against the blue sky. "No one else has come. No other courts." She murmurs.

"We're here," I whisper back and her brown eye snap to mine, then she nods.

"Rhys' power is either already nearly spent or...they've got something working against it. More of that faebane?"

"Hybern would be stupid not to use it," Mor says as her fingers curl and unfurl at her sides. Her eyes are glassy as she stares at the fighting before us and I glance to Feyre who also looks a bit concerned.

"Mor?" She prods softly and the female sighs.

"I knew it was coming. Another war, at some point. I knew battles would come for this war. But...I forgot how terrible it is. The sounds. The smells." We all look out on the fight and I take a deep breath full of the stench of gore, blood, as well as the sound of screaming. Part of me pulls back at the combination, but the other part, a larger part, keens at the savage music.

"We're to go to the palace. Soldiers have reached its northern side and their defenses are surrounded." Mor instructs and I note the singing of her steel as she draws it, then Feyre's blade, but I pause before drawing the twin blades on my hips. "We stick close—you don't get out of sight." She instructs with her eyes dancing between the both of us. I wonder if our presence reassures or weighs on her. We're both rookies compared to her, after all. "If you can't bring yourself to make the kill," Mor adds without judgment with eyes on Feyre. "then shield me from behind."

"I can do it—the...killing," Feyre answers. My shadows curl around me almost blocking out the heat beating down on my wings from the sun. Mor scans us both before taking a small breath.

"Don't stop, and don't linger. We press forward until I say we retreat. Leave the wounded to the healers." I take a deep breath to steady myself and to steady the rising storm in my gut that I now know is my magic waiting to strike.

"Let's go." Feyre says and Mor swallows before winnowing us to the palace. Whispers assail me and they're hard to sort through as we pause.

"Many lie upstairs. Fear. We smell it. More from downstairs where they have left the lesser to rot." I sort through and look to the ladies at my sides.

"People are upstairs, but there are more downstairs," I tell them and Mor nods.

"They're barricading themselves into the upper levels," She murmurs and my teeth grit at the fact.

"Bastards." Feyre shares my sentiment.

"This way," Mor says and jerks her chin to the stairs. "They're three levels down, and climbing. Fifty of them." We head towards the stairs and I'm surprised when I push to the front that Mor lets me go first. When we come upon the first group of soldiers, I don't look back to my friends as I unleash my magic and myself upon them. The screams echo around me as their fears flash in front of my eyes before Illyrian steel slices across their throats.

Seeing Mor and Feyre kill is something else entirely. Artful, graceful, merciless. When we enter the room with the people trapped inside, we all slaughter those killing, then linger over those doing worse. I could have spent hours with them, but there isn't time. Feyre gifts the other fae a few weapons to exact their revenge and we hear the soldiers screaming before we've left the floor. Mor allows me to lead, draped in shadows with towering wings behind me; a vision of lovely death even if the way that I end them is as close as I can get to the horrors I see flash through their head.

Silver and blue marks friends and the three of us see them being overwhelmed as we descend another floor. The closest looks to us, then pales with white terror. "Don't be afraid," Mor says and Feyre reaches out a hand for darkness to engulf the room. Shadows part for me as we all whirl through the room cutting down Hybern soldiers left and right. I don't use my magic here. It's too risky for the others so close, but my steel still sings as I tear through skin and bone. When we're done, Feyre pulls back the shadows and none of us look to the carnage.

"Where else?"