CHAPTER SIX

A DIFFICULT CHOICE

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     THEY STAYED IN the inn for five days, and in those five days, Ren barely slept. He jumped at the slightest sound, and constantly went to glance out of the window despite Azriel and Cassian assuring him that he was safe. He always had one of them with him at all times, and though he was allowed to go out into the village, he found his skin crawling the longer he spent out in the open. The only time he felt at ease was when he was inside the small bookstore. The male who owned it—a demi-Fae named Orlo—knew Ren by name now, and they often spent time talking, with one of Ren's bodyguards on alert outside of the shop. That little shop was where Ren went that morning, as soon as he knew that it was open. He was too anxious to stay inside of the small rented room, so he headed out with little warning to Azriel or Cassian, simply dressing in the bathing room and heading out with his hair still wet. He left Cassian behind scrambling to get out of bed, while Azriel just calmly started securing Truth-Teller to his belt.

It was Azriel who ended up catching up with Ren outside of the boarding house, falling into step beside him without hesitation, hazel eyes scanning the area. Ren thought about telling him there was no point. Ren was constantly checking his surroundings now, taking in every face that he saw, committing them to his memory. Just in case. Ren found himself feeling mild irritation as the silent Illyrian followed at his side. He wasn't irritated with Azriel, but rather the situation. The constant babysitting, the need to watch his surroundings at all times, the incessant fear sitting like a rock in his stomach. It was exhausting, and he was so, so tired. He searched for anything that might distract him during their walk, but he wasn't hungry for any food the vendors were selling, and he had no need for new clothes. Azriel, using his shadows, had already moved all of Ren's meager belongings to their inn room.

It had been clear as soon as he had that Ren would not be staying with Briella any longer. Ren had heard Azriel murmur to Cassian that Briella and Maeve both were with Lachlan as well. No one would be staying in her cozy cabin again until they were certain that it was safe, that no Spring Court sentinels were sniffing around it, looking for a way to weaken the High Lord and his family—all because Ren's presence had led them straight to it. Ren was surprised he hadn't been thrown out of the Night Court entirely, abandoned to fight his own battles, and he could only assume it was the bargain with Amren that kept him there at all.

Ren took in a deep, calming breath. "So," he started, glancing at Azriel out of the corner of his eye. A small part of him preferred when Cassian was guarding him. Cassian was quiet when he thought it would help, but he could somehow sense that Ren didn't like sitting in his own silence. He always filled it up with stories, oftentimes hilarious ones that had Ren smiling, sometimes even laughing. Azriel was different. He was like Ren, in a way—used to the silence, and unable to fill it, because their minds couldn't come up with something to say. But Ren was trying now. Perhaps Azriel would, too. "Do you and Cassian take turns? Or do you draw sticks? Play games, and the loser has to follow me around all day?" Azriel frowned. Ren thought, for a horrifying moment, that Azriel had taken his joke seriously.

"We take turns," Azriel said softly, "but only because I always win, and that wouldn't be fair." Ren smiled, just a little.

"It's the bookstore again, I'm afraid," Ren revealed as he led Azriel around a building that sold what looked like warrior gear. Leathers, boots, swords and shields, jackets with slits in the back for wings. It was a good place to set up such a shop, with the mountains casting a shadow right above them. The bookstore was closer to the outskirts of the village, while the inn they were staying in was near the center. "I'm sure you would rather sharpen that blade of yours." Ren dropped his gaze to Azriel's belt, where his blade, Truth-Teller, was strapped to his hip. Ren had come to the conclusion that the blade was beloved to him; he had never seen the Shadowsinger without it, and often watched as Azriel cleaned or sharpened it with gentle hands.

Azriel laughed softly, surprising Ren enough to raise his gaze. "I don't sharpen it that much," Azriel argued. Ren offered him a small smile.

"Why is it called Truth-Teller?" Ren asked curiously, glancing down at the blade again. He was even more surprised when Azriel reached down and slid it out of his sheath, stopping in the middle of the road and turning to let Ren look at it up close. Ren was surprised to see that, even with the sheath at Azriel's hip, he still kept the blade in its scabbard, as if he didn't want to risk anyone touching the actual blade. The hilt was made of obsidian, the top holding a blue gem the same color as Azriel's siphons, and the scabbard was darker than night, embossed with silver runes. Ren recognized the shape of the runes from Illyrian texts he had seen in Briella's cabin.

"It can pull the truth from anyone the blade touches," Azriel explained softly. "As Rhysand's spy, it has been of great use to me." Ren reached out tentatively to touch the scabbard, fascinated, but Azriel pulled it away from him, though not unkindly. Ren dropped his hand, watching as Azriel placed it back in the sheath. "It was the first thing that ever truly became mine. I'm a bit protective of it." That was all the explanation he gave Ren as to why he wouldn't let him touch it, and Ren found it reasonable enough. He shrugged, and they continued walking.

"I never pegged you as a torturer," Ren said eventually, though he made sure to keep his voice low and quiet. The villagers, all either demi-Fae or some other creature, were already giving Azriel a wide berth because of his large wings, and the shadows that slithered around his hands, head, and legs. They didn't need to know a spy and torturer was in their midst. "Is that why you have to sharpen it so often? Too much slicing?" Azriel shot him a flat look that showed him that Ren's light humor wasn't appreciated.

"I rarely use it for...that," Azriel said quietly, though he hesitated at using the word, stumbling over his own tongue until he settled on something more vague. "It saw more blood during the War than in the Court of Nightmare's dungeons. With Rhys's abilities, torture is rarely needed. Not when he can slide into their minds so easily. But sometimes..." Azriel slowly cocked his head to the side, and his eyes darkened. "Sometimes they deserve more." Ren blinked. He opened his mouth to ask what type of creatures Azriel had fun torturing, what type deserved it, but stopped when Azriel nodded. His eyes were no longer dark. "Your beloved bookstore awaits."

"So it does," Ren said, seeing that they were finally upon it. He started toward the door, already propped open with a rock to let in some cold air, and then he glanced at Azriel over his shoulder. "You can leave me in here for a few hours. Go and do something more useful. I'm sure no one will bother me." Azriel cast him one of those flat looks again.

"Someone told your...former husband...where you were, and told them fast enough that they managed to track your location the second Cassian and I took you out for some fun." Azriel's lips curled around the words 'former husband' in a way Ren had never seen before, and Ren could see deeply-buried rage in him then. It made his eyes go dark again, made his shadows slither around him faster. It was gone within a blink of an eye. Azriel had such tight control over it that Ren wasn't even startled; he was just mildly impressed. "I would bet anything that sentinels from the Spring Court are still in these lands, waiting for you to be alone, and I have no doubt spies are watching you right now. It's what I would do." A chill went down Ren's spine, and he glanced around himself nervously. Azriel softened his voice. "Forgive us, Ren, if you are feeling suffocated—but neither of us are letting you out of our sight. Not until—"

"Not until what?" Ren asked softly. Azriel had cut himself off so abruptly that Ren was sure he had planned on saying something specific. He had wondered why they were staying in that inn all alone, and perhaps this was why. They were debating, somewhere. Briella, Lachlan, and Rhysand—perhaps even Mor, Amren, and Maeve—were all debating where to put him, what to do with him, and Azriel knew. Azriel just stared at him, not planning to answer Ren's question—ordered not to, no doubt—and Ren huffed. "Fine, then. Keep your secrets, spy master."

Azriel huffed as well when Ren turned on his heel and went into the bookstore, though his was from amusement rather than exasperation. Ren ignored him, feeling a little slighted that no one had told him whatever plans were forming. He tried to shake it off of him, focusing on the bookstore instead. It was a small place, but the shelves were stacked to bursting, and was kept so warm that Ren felt the urge to shed his coat. He fought it and wove through the shelves until he found Orlo. Orlo had a kind face, and his skin was the color of fresh snow, tinted purple around his joins and eyes. His hair was just as white, and his eyes were pitch black, no whites or pupils to be seen. When he saw Ren, he grinned, and showed rows of razor-sharp teeth. The tips of his fingers were black claws, though Ren had never seen him so much as scrape a piece of paper in any of the books. Ren didn't know what species he was aside from half High Fae, and hadn't asked.

"My favorite customer," Orlo said happily. His voice came out like a serpent's hiss. It had startled Cassian when he had first heard it, but Ren had just smiled. He did the same now. His smile dimmed, however, when Orlo looked over Ren's shoulder and seemed to curl away from his own counter, hissing low. Ren turned. Azriel had followed him inside. He and Cassian usually stood outside. Azriel had his wings tucked in tight behind his back so as not to knock over any books, but he still posed a menacing picture. Ren turned back toward Orlo and reached over the counter, patting the back of his hand comfortingly.

"It's alright," Ren told him quietly, though he was sure Azriel could hear him perfectly. "He's just protecting me, that's all." Orlo's eyes flickered to him then, and they widened in slight alarm.

"Are you in danger?" Orlo asked, concerned. Ren smiled tightly and pulled his hand back. He could do nothing but shrug. Orlo seemed to want to press the issue, but they simply weren't close enough to justify it. Instead, Orlo gave a stiff nod and continued his work. He was logging in a new shipment of books. Ren murmured to him that he would peruse the shelves, then moved past him. He could hear Azriel follow behind him. Ren perused the shelves for a new read at first, trying to ignore Azriel's looming presence, but when Azriel just kept step with him, Ren huffed and turned around. Whatever he was going to say melted away when he saw Azriel perusing the shelves as well, following Ren's own tastes to find something for himself.

"You called him my former husband," Ren blurted out, when Azriel looked at him curiously, wondering why he had turned around. Ren didn't want to admit he had been mildly annoyed at being shadowed inside of the store, not now that it seemed like Azriel was just shopping, so he jumped to the next thing on his mind. Azriel arched an eyebrow, and Ren swallowed. "Outside. You called Jerrod my former husband. You know we're still married?"

"You left him, didn't you?" Azriel murmured, plucking a book off the shelf. It was covered in blue velvet, and the title was written in golden thread. "As far as I'm concerned, you've divorced him already." Ren snorted, though little amusement could be found in his tone.

"For the Night Court, maybe. For the Dawn Court, definitely. But the Spring Court..." Ren sighed sadly as he faced the shelves again. "I need his consent. Both parties have to agree to a divorce for the High Lord to recognize it, and then there's the priestesses to contend with. It's archaic, but..." Ren shrugged. "Jerrod once talked of changing it, you know. Back when things were still...good." It grew difficult for him to speak for a moment, and he swallowed. "He would talk of his mother, and say she deserved better, and would talk of freeing her when he became High Lord once his father stepped down. The irony of it all is hilarious, if you squint." Ren reached out to pluck the book from Azriel's hands, reading the title with blind eyes. "I don't think he even realized he was turning into his father. I don't know if that makes it worse."

"He knew exactly what he was doing," Azriel said softly, even as he continued taking books off the shelves. A book wrapped in maroon velvet joined the blue one in Ren's hands. "They always know who they're copying when they decide to be cruel." Ren eyed him curiously, wondering how he would know that when he had never met Jerrod before. Azriel answered his silent question by pulling one of his gloves off, pulling the fabric free with his teeth. It was only then that Ren even realized he had never asked about Azriel's hands. He did now, and he tried to hold in a gasp when he saw the way the scars had healed. No sign of magical healing was in the scars; if anything, natural healing was halted.

"What happened to you?" Ren blurted out. He put the two novels under one arm and automatically reached for Azriel's hand with his free one, healing magic already sparkling like light at his fingertips. He could do nothing for the scars now, not really, but the urge to heal and soothe was in his blood. Much to his surprise, Azriel let Ren take his hand, let him reach his magic into the scar tissue. He sensed aches there, around his knuckles and his wrist. Ren doubted it had anything to do with the scars—the tissue was already fully healed, the scars only left to look horrific—but Ren healed the aches regardless. Azriel let out a small sound of surprise.

"You didn't have to do that," Azriel said once Ren dropped his hand. "I was only letting you see that the scars cause me no pain, that's all." Ren just stared at him incredulously, the thought of not easing Azriel's joint paint never occurring to him. Azriel sighed when he saw that and started pulling his glove back on. "And my brothers did that; they wanted to see how my Illyrian healing fared against oil and fire. They knew it would hurt me. They knew it was cruel. They didn't care. That is my point. They always know, Ren." Ren swallowed thickly and avoided his gaze for a moment. He chose to study the books instead.

"What are these?" Ren asked softly, holding up the books toward Azriel. "You do know I'm not your servant? You can hold these yourself." A smile lifted the corner of Azriel's mouth. It was a soft thing, though full of amusement. Ren frowned at him, even more confused.

"Rhysand says you must read them," Azriel revealed, his hazel eyes dancing. "If you are a true book lover, that is. His words directly, not mine." Ren frowned even harder at him. Azriel merely motioned at his own temple, and Ren's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"He told you that just now?" Ren asked for clarification. Azriel nodded. He seemed to be searching for another book. Ren glanced down at the two in his hands. A small, annoyed scowl pulled at his mouth. "Has he been watching me through you?" Azriel gave a mild shrug, picking up a black velvet book now. "You know, the least he can do is address me himself if he has something to say. With a—" With a note, perhaps, was what Ren was going to say. He was interrupted by a sudden presence in his mind. It felt like a slight pressure, and then black claws were running gentle through the clouds that made up his shield. It didn't feel threatening. More like a soft knock on an invisible door. Ren cocked his head to the side, unsure of how to proceed. He hesitantly pictured a small opening in his mental shield, clouds parting to reveal the highest room in a tall tower. A room where another mind could enter and exist if they wished, but a room that would not allow access to the rest of his mind.

Is this you giving me permission, petal? a voice immediately asked, so smoothly that Ren was reminded of midnight-colored silk. Ren wasn't expecting his voice to sound like that, and the books fell from his hands. Ren jumped when they hit the floor near his feet, gasping out loud. Dark laughter filled his head. Ren hadn't thought it was possible to portray laughter in another's mind, but there Rhysand's was.

For now, Ren responded, sending the words down to Rhysand. He could sense a connection between their minds now that Rhysand was in his, a thread that he followed. He felt Rhysand's shock then, reverberating down the thread Rhysand had made. Ren blinked, then tugged on the mental thread, and suddenly he was seeing through Rhysand's eyes. He was in a dark room, sitting at a black marble table. Lachlan was pacing, ranting about a threat, and—

Ren was shoved out, so hard that he gasped again. He blinked wildly, then scowled. Rhysand had been the one to drag him into his damn mind, and now he was shoving him out? Rhysand had been the one to invite himself into Ren's mind in the first place. Ren's temper flared, perhaps for a petty reason, and he started to collect curse words in his head to throw at Rhysand's own mental barrier, but Rhysand's voice made him pause.

How did you do that? Rhysand asked him. Ren blinked again.

Do what? Ren demanded. You're the one who let me in.

And then Rhysand was gone. Ren could feel him leave out of that tower room, felt him slide back out of those clouds, and then the thread was gone. Though Ren could feel an echo of it still there. Ren scowled, shook his head, then glanced over at Azriel. He had collected Ren's fallen books, and was now watching him curiously.

"Rhysand is annoying," Ren said, stomping past Azriel to get to the counter. Azriel only chuckled behind him.

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It was a few days later when Ren found himself waking with a start, sensing something off. He usually slept in one of the beds in the inn, and Cassian and Azriel shared the other one, though one was normally on watch while the other two slept. But when he opened his eyes, he saw the other bed was empty, and neither of the Illyrian males were standing by the window. Ren pushed himself up and ran his hand through his hair. It had grown a bit more in the past few days, falling into his eyes more often than not. He was about to call out to Cassian or Azriel when he felt a presence in the doorway. He knew who it was before he could even open his mouth to speak.

"Good morning, petal," Rhysand drawled, a smile curling at his mouth. He was leaning his shoulder against the wall, his back to the room's door. His arms were crossed comfortably over his chest. He wasn't wearing Illyrian leathers, nor was he wearing the comfortable, casual clothing Ren often saw him in when he was visiting Briella. He was wearing clothes fit for royalty, a long-sleeved doublet covering his torso, the fabric glittering like the night sky under the light. With it was a pair of dark trousers and boots, and a crown of black obsidian was resting in his hair. The amethysts in the crown matched the color of his eyes.

"Oh," Ren breathed, turning to face him fully. "You actually look like the High Lord's son. I was beginning to think you never would." Rhysand's smirk grew into a wider smile. Ren swung his legs out of the bed. He had gone to bed shirtless, though thankfully he had on a loose pair of cotton pants. "Should I kneel, since you're wearing a crown?"

"Oh, only if you want to," Rhysand said in a low voice. The way he said it made it sound like an innuendo of some kind, and Ren found himself blushing. He quickly looked away, pretending to look for a shirt. He, Cassian, and Azriel living together in a small inn room hadn't left it the tidiest of places. Their things were mixed together everywhere. He couldn't see any of his shirts anywhere. He did, however, see the books Rhysand had recommended stacked on the nightstand. He looked away before Rhysand noticed, but he had already followed Ren's gaze. A smug smile curled at his lips. "You bought them."

"I'm sure Azriel already told you I did," Ren said, irritated. He found a clean shirt of Cassian's and hastily pulled it on. It was far too large on him, but it did enough to make him feel covered. "Did you enjoy spying on me?"

"I was not spying. Azriel is the spy. I was just checking in. Am I not allowed that? As your dear friend?" Rhysand asked, widening his eyes in an innocent gesture. Ren snorted. It occurred to him, vaguely, that he should've been showing Rhysand much more respect, especially when he was dressed like this, wearing a crown. He was wearing that crown for a reason. But no one was in the room with them, and Ren didn't particularly want to.

"Is that what you are?" Ren asked, arching an eyebrow. "My dear friend?" Rhysand blinked at him.

"I helped you sneak into the Dawn Court, didn't I?" Rhysand asked. Ren shrugged his shoulders. He even jerked his chin up stubbornly.

"I could have done that on my own," Ren pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I know," Rhysand said with a laugh. He pushed off the wall then, and Ren eyed him as he strolled forward. Ren could sense Rhysand's power then; it felt like a rumble deep in the earth. It was like Rhysand was barely containing it inside of himself, and only doing so for Ren's benefit. Ren frowned at him.

"You don't have to hold back," Ren muttered. He even had the nerve to roll his eyes. Rhysand seemed to enjoy that immensely, if the light in his eyes was any indication. "I've been around plenty of powerful heirs, you know. It won't scare me, if that's what you're worried about."

"Oh, someone thinks highly of himself," Rhysand said, laughter clear in his voice. He shoved his hands into his pants pockets as he stopped a foot from where Ren stood. "Who said I was hiding my powers away for your benefit? Perhaps I don't want to frighten the civilians in this village. Not everyone can stomach as much power as you can." Ren blinked. He hadn't even thought of that, but of course, it was true. Some people—especially humans—physically couldn't handle when someone let all their power show. Ren had witnessed a weaker fae vomit once, when Thesan lost his temper and had let healing light flare out of him at full power. Even sensing it could make some feel ill.

"Why are you here?" Ren asked curiously, his arms dropping from his chest. He stretched his hearing out, wondering if Cassian and Azriel were waiting in the hall, but Ren couldn't sense them. He blinked and focused on Rhysand again. At Ren's question, Rhysand's expression sobered a bit, growing more serious. Ren sobered as well. "The debate over what to do with me has ended, I take it?" Rhysand nodded, pressing his lips together in a tense line. Ren took in a deep, calming breath. "If your father wants me gone, I'll go back to the Dawn Court."

"Your mother was in contact with mine yesterday," Rhysand revealed. "They found Spring Court spies in the Dawn Court. They were killed, but not before they saw you with me. That was how they knew you were in the Night Court." Rhysand swallowed, and guilt passed over his expression. "I should have been more careful. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Ren said gently, daring to reach forward to touch Rhysand's hand. At the last second, he pulled back, choosing to clench his hands into fists instead. "It wasn't your fault. But what does that mean? I can't go to the Dawn Court?"

"Jerrod has every right to walk into the Dawn Court and take you, according to Spring Court law. I wouldn't recommend it," Rhysand said flatly. Ren threw his hands in the air in exasperation.

"Then where am I going?" Ren demanded, his voice coming out sharp. "Send me to the mortal lands, if that's what it takes, just—"

"Ren," Rhysand said softly, and it was enough to make Ren calm a bit, make him take in more deep breaths. He closed his eyes to center himself. When he opened them again, he found Rhysand staring at him with a frown. "You are being allowed to remain in the Night Court, but not in any open villages. My father has...approved for you to be moved into the Court of Nightmares." Rhysand clenched his jaw. "But it is not a kind place. They rip apart anyone they consider weak, spit on softness. I wouldn't worry so much about it if...if my father wasn't insisting you incorporate yourself into the court itself. He wants no talk of him protecting someone not even from his own court. So you will have to play a part." Ren frowned deeply at him.

"Play a part?" Ren echoed, his voice a whisper. Rhysand nodded.

"We all play a part in the Court of Nightmares," Rhysand admitted, reaching up to adjust his crown. "It is not a place for dreams. It is a cold place, so we must act cold, even when we aren't. It's the only way to survive there. My father is already having Azriel spread rumors with his shadows about a new addition to my entourage, so no one will think twice when you start appearing." Ren released a trembling breath.

"Is there nowhere else?" Ren asked softly. Even more guilt twisted Rhysand's expression.

"There is," Rhysand whispered, brutally honest. "But we're forbidden from taking you there. Not until you prove yourself."

"Prove myself?" Ren felt a little foolish as he once again echoed Rhysand's words. It took him a moment to truly process what was happening, to truly understand why he was being sent to the Court of Nightmares. His head felt dizzy. "Me acting cold, like a monster, in the Court of Nightmares, is that..." Ren shook his head. "I'm being tested. Aren't I?"

"We all are," Rhysand admitted. He adjusted his crown again. It seemed like he wanted desperately to remove it. Ren understood, then, why Rhysand was dressed this way. Rhysand had been ordered to bring Ren back to the Court of Nightmares—if Ren agreed. "My father deems anyone who cannot defend themselves as useless, and he seems to be under the impression that you are too weak for this Court. We've told him of your power, but he wants proof. He wants to see that you are worth all this. And if you can face the cruelest monsters our Court has to offer by surviving in the Court of Nightmares, then you will be." It was such flawed logic that Ren wanted to laugh. He almost did until Rhysand smiled gently at him and said, "It is your choice, of course. But my father has ordered me to escort you out of the Night Court if the answer is no."

"Not much of a choice," Ren said quietly, "is it?" Rhysand didn't respond, though the expression on his face told him enough. Ren ran his hand through his hair and turned to pace, his mind too full of thoughts. He had three clear choices in front of him, and none of them were exactly good. He could choose to go to the Court of Nightmares, and risk becoming a monster himself in the process, if he even survived it. He could choose to go back to the Dawn Court, and wait until Jerrod inevitably came to claim him. Or he could leave on his own and become a wanderer, and risk dying anyway.

"Am I allowed to kill if I'm threatened?" Ren asked suddenly, whirling on his heel to face Rhysand. He took a moment to enjoy the shock that filtered across Rhysand's face. But when Rhysand's shock turned into silence, he huffed in impatience. "Well? It's a place of monsters—a literal court of nightmares—so am I allowed to kill anyone who tries to hurt me?"

"It's expected, actually," Rhysand said after a moment. Ren had expected him to look amused at the question. Instead, he looked a bit troubled. "Though I would ask you to spare the noble families. That would do more harm than good. Though...maiming nobles could be excused, within reason."

"Then yes," Ren said. He was being impulsive, perhaps, but what other choice did he have? He shook his head. "I will go to the Court of Nightmares, and I will play the part Lachlan wants me to. I have plenty of anger to help me along, if it comes to that." Ren turned away, scanning the room for his belongings. It would be easier to bring it with him if it was all gathered in one place. "Besides, I survived Jerrod. How evil can the Court of Nightmares be, compared to that?"

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Ren is so close to losing his mind. Maybe going to the CoN will be cathartic for him; he can kill a few assholes lmao. Ren developing a reputation as being absolutely psychotic is very dear to me. He can do whatever he wants xx

edited: 5.4.24