03 THE BREAK OF DAWN

—THEY are plucked off one by one at dawn.

The creatures descend from the tree-tops with screeches of savage glee, talons outstretched and claws poised for striking.

There is not one who escapes the clutches of the dark faeries as they descend upon the panicked horde. Not one who flees back to the land beyond the wall from whence they came. Not one single mortal soul returns to the safety of home, to salvation, to the land of the living.

The sun has not yet risen on the horizon when the escorts begin herding the trespassers into the pitch-black tunnel.

Despite the queen on-high's orders to take them all alive, three men are killed en route for wielding their makeshift weapons against the monsters. They are left to rot at the base of the mountain where the wild animals in the surrounding forest can feast at their leisure. The rest are forcefully rid of their iron pitchforks, shovels, and rusting axes before being dragged further into the abyss.

The fanged and winged faeries jeer and spit in their faces, tormenting their prisoners into delirium. They tear away at the ragged clothing on their backs, sheer their hair to their scalps, leave deep marks upon their fragile skin. Anything to humiliate them further before their inevitable trial and execution.

They are swallowed by the colossal mountain, leaving behind all hope of ever returning home, of ever seeing the sun again.

But the mortals do not stop screaming out for help until they've entered the great hall of the Deceiver. The dark faeries toss their confiscated weapons into a scrap pile in a guarded corner of the room before leading them out into the dim light where they are then scrutinized. There, at the base of the dais in front of them, forced to kneel at her throne, three dozen High Fae. Plenty more surround them around the perimeter of the room, but they do nothing but watch in trepidation for what must be coming. The immortal beings do not flinch at the commotion of their entrance.

The screams stutter to a halt as they realize no one will be saving them; no one is coming. Not for any of them.

They stare, horrified, at the female who lounges upon a raised chair made of bone and black stone. She is giving them a soul-chilling smile as they file in against their will.

She is as the old stories say, many of the mortals think to themselves as they stare at the blazoned hair and glittering teeth. A wicked Witch sent from the pits of despair. She is a walking nightmare. And she plans to kill us all like before.

They are shoved to their knees alongside the High Fae they were sent to rescue.

"Let's begin," the Deceiver says. And the screams begin anew.

—KAZI is lying awake when she is summoned to the throne room at dawn. Sleep is a luxury she can hardly afford anymore, so she lies awake most nights in wait of the next day, the next week, the next month. Time is now her one true companion.

The dark faerie pounds on the door to her chambers just as she debates stoking the hearth for more warmth. The sudden sound spooks her enough to make her clench a hand around the dagger hidden underneath her pillow. The hissing and guttural voice slips through the cracks at the threshold,

"The High Queen requests your presence immediately, Pet."

Her fingers tighten vigilantly around the leather hilt in her hand. The name: demeaning, humiliating, belittling. True.

She does not say anything to the beast, but she can hear him race back down the hall, cackling excitedly. Something wrenches uncomfortably inside her at the sound. Something is very wrong.

Rhysand. Rhysand. Rhysand.

The crescendo of the name urges her to move faster, and she listens obediently, armor finding its way onto her back swiftly. The cinquedeas are already nestled in their sheaths at her thighs—she no longer goes to bed without them, goes anywhere without them. To be unarmed is to be vulnerable. To be unarmed is an invitation.

She hears the door open and close quietly on its hinges as she is forcing her feet into boots.

"Kazimyrah, there's been an incident," the voice rasps deeply. Worry punches her in the chest with an iron fist.

"I gathered," she hisses, her anxiety increasing. The buckle on her shoe will not cooperate with her shaking fingers so she gives up on it with a tempered growl. Standing up to her full height, she turns her heated stare to the form who entered. "The naga who was just here couldn't hide his sick delight."

Nazir steps aside so she can leave the room first. She does not have a mind to close the door and hopes he does so behind her. He obliges her inner wishes and pushes it shut with a loud, hollow click. He catches up to her quickly, cloak swishing silently in the stone hallways.

"Tell me it isn't Rhysand."

"It isn't your High Lord." Kazi does not slow her pace, but relief has edged its way into her. Just because Rhysand is not in immediate peril does not mean he is safe. Not that he has ever been safe down here; not that any of them have ever been safe. "Kazi, it's a coup."

The word throws her, but her feet continue carrying her up the next set of stairwells. "A coup? By whom?"

"Lord Nostrus," he says quietly. His hood shifts from side to side to check their surroundings, but the halls are eerily empty. "Faeries from his court, Winter, and Day. He's involved the human Children of the Blessed from the south, as well. They traveled here overnight, and the naga on patrol are gathering them all now."

"How many?" She is almost too afraid to ask. But for her own sanity, she must ask. She must know what awaits her.

A tendril of smoke drifts out of his hood and rises to the nearest sconce of firelight. "My count surpasses fifty."

Kazi's heart stutters, knowing what's coming for them all. Fifty lives. Fifty innocents. Fifty souls. The number swirls around her like poisoned fog. Everywhere she turns for solace in her head is tainted by the past few years of this torture.

"What was he thinking? Foolish." Kazi breathes. She dreads the moment she reaches the grand doors to the throne room, but she does not slow. "What of Anahera?"

Another tendril of smoke. "Captured, along with Nostrus and Brutius."

"And Lord Kallias and Lord Helion? Them?" They cannot lose three High Lords and three Guardians. There will be no recovering. Balance will be lost. The little hope they have will be lost.

"They had no knowledge of the rebellion. They were summoned just as you were...Along with the others."

A rebellion. She wants to scream in fury. The world goes hazy for a moment at the implications. In the past, many had done their best to stage something against the Deceiver, but it had always, always been led by a minor lord or a lowly courtier, never a High Lord, because they knew what it would mean for not just them, but for their entire court, for their entire land.

Amarantha is, no doubt, already planning a most gruesome punishment—if not an execution—for the High Lord of Summer, his cousin, and the many faeries working beneath them. It will be a display of power, a show of what she is capable of. He will be made into an example in front of everyone.

Kazi isn't sure why this surprises her. It was only a matter of time before one of the seven attempted to topple the mountain. Ten years of torment with no powers and no word from Tamlin beyond the wards. She should not be surprised that one had grown restless without their powers.

But she cannot believe that Nostrus had taken that first leap into the deadly storm.

They come up on the main hall, and Kazi's steps border on a desperate run. Nazir catches her arm in a gloved hand before she can reach out to open one of the towering doors. "You know what she will make you do; you know she has been waiting for this. Anahera will not hesitate to kill you if you go through with it. I cannot help you in there."

Kazi's throat bobs, her eyes refusing to meet his somewhere beneath the hood. "I understand what this will do to Hera, and I wouldn't want you to betray the Circle to help me. I will handle this."

Because not handling it is not an option, anymore.

She pushes her weight into the door and enters the room with her head held up. Her stomach almost relieves itself of what little she'd forced herself to eat the night before.

Nazir's numbers are impeccable, as she always expects them to be. The High Fae kneeling upon the ground surpass a full embassy of thirty, and at least twenty Children of the Blessed have also been apprehended and subdued. The mortals kneel separate from the rest, crying over their imminent doom as Amarantha stares them down with ruthless hostility. She is pacing the width of her dais, her nails reaching out to stroke the cheeks of her victims. She will have no mercy on their lives. The scene is horrific, and blood has not even been spilled.

Kazi then notices the pile of iron weapons that has been constructed in a far corner of the room. There are a couple of roughly made swords and daggers, but most of it is just kitchen knives, pitchforks, and fire pokers. All useless against the fae. There was never a chance for them to succeed, never a possibility.

"What did he promise you?" Amarantha hisses to the human nearest her feet when she bores of playing with her food. She swoops down and yanks his head up by the roots of his graying hair. "Did he promise you a place among the fae? Did he promise to care for you in Prythian?"

The mortal human does not answer her, his lips trembling as she pulls him further toward her snarling face.

"Answer me!"

"Yes, yes. He vowed to take us in if we helped him escape," he splutters, his throat wobbling with fright. He is one of the older males within the mass, and yet still has so much life left in him—so much life that will never be lived.

Amarantha's grip does not relent. "Such gullible creatures. So weak and fragile." At every word, his head is pulled further back so that his neck cranes back into painful angles. The bones in his vertebrae pop with every jerk. "He's promised you certain death. I will delight in ending you myself."

There is no other warning, no other prelude to the heinous slash of her jagged nails across his jugular. His body falls before the screams of his fellow mortals can even flare at his back. Kazi can only take comfort in the fact that he went swiftly. That is the only wish she can grant for them.

The Deceiver then turns to face the rest of the room, a corrupt and satisfied smile adorning her face as if waiting for her applause. Her expression seems to lighten as she gazes upon Kazi and Nazir at the door. "Ah, glad you could join us. Please," she urges with a hand, "take your pickings. Plenty to choose from today, Kazimyrah."

The room falls into silence as she walks forward, head held impossibly high to avoid the stares and the judgement. She knows what she will find; and if she sees Serana's frown or Tsavani's silent tears...Kazi fears she may not be able to last the trying hour ahead.

Amarantha has gathered all the High Lords, their guardians, and their most trusted subjects to watch the slaughter, just as Nazir had told her. Rhysand stands in a darkened corner of the room, knuckles lifted to his frowning lips as he watches her sidestep a fallen Child of the Blessed that has most likely fainted from fright. He gives no impression of what he is thinking but she can see his shining apology.

He is forgiven. Every time, he will be forgiven. They are in this together, till the end. Whatever end that may be.

Kazi's eyes find the Witch's once more, finding evil personified. Amarantha likes to get her hands dirty when it is a convenience to her. But she finds a sick delight in making Kazi do her bidding when it fits her new fanciful notion of torture. Kazi now holds the whip that bit her.

She wants, more than anything, to return to that dungeon. Anything but this.

Her heart hammers against her ribs as she looks over the small army of mortals. She knows she will not be choosing anything. She may have the choice of who dies first at her hand but that is as far as her privilege spans. Most—if not all—of the traitors in the room will feel the touch of her blades. The only thing she can really choose is how they will leave this world.

Mercifully, she tells herself and pulls one of her cinquedeas from its sheath. She leaves the other one untouched in its scabbard as she always does.

Her hand connects with a frail older woman's shoulder—one of the oldest in the bunch. The human sucks in a rattling breath, but she keeps her eyes forward with dignity.

She will make it quick, she will not flinch, and she will not back down.

But this first one is always the hardest.

"Always the predator," Amarantha glides over, bloodied hand coming up to twirl a lock of Kazi's black hair. She tugs down with enough force to threaten her out of doing anything foolish. "Singling out the weakest prey like a perfect hunter." She winds her hair tighter and tighter into a fist until Kazi's ear is skimming the Deceiver's lips. "If only she didn't hesitate."

And the cinquedea plunges into the woman's chest cavity, perfectly centered in her heart. Amarantha's hand releases her head and shoves her to the next mortal. "Good. Again."

There is no stopping it.

She tries to imagine their faces are the Witch's, that they have red-gold hair and eyes of the deepest cold. But it is impossible to keep the painting in her head when they beg and plead for her clemency.

The more she hears them, the more 'Please' and 'mercy' no longer sound like real words.

Kazi goes as fast as possible, so the humans will only have a short memory of her brutality. She can offer them that small grace while pretending she is lusting for their death. Each time her blades hit a new target, she feels another jab in her soul. Each kill is a scar on her mind and spirit.

Finally, she reaches the end of the pack. The mortal, the one who fainted earlier, lies breathing upon the ground at her feet. Her chest rises and falls with steady life, with a steady heartbeat. Perhaps this is the best way for her to go, unaware of the bloody monster standing above her. Painfully oblivious to what awaits her. Perhaps it is the most merciful end for her, but it will be Kazi's own ruin.

Which is worse? her mind demands. To take the lives of the innocent as they sleep, or look them in the eye as you cut them down?

But in the end, it does not matter.

Kazi kneels by her head and brushes the hair from her face, leaving a trail of red along her freckled cheeks and nose. So young, so unfortunate. Leaving no room for error, Kazi's clenches her hand around her blade as it finds a home in between the woman's ribs with a slick slice.

The silence of the room is deafening, and she dares not turn to look at her fellow fae who just witnessed the utter travesty she's committed. She knows how they are looking at her, how they see her now.

Horror.

Disgust.

Disappointment.

Terror.

She has always been something to fear, but now she is terrifying death in traitorous skin. She has become a Deceiver of her very own.

Blessedly, Amarantha allows her a respite to find her head once more. She faces the back wall and tries to ignore the constant drip of blood down her fingers. Her hands shake as she wipes her sullied blade across her pants to clean it off, but her leathers are so soaked that it comes away worse than before. Tears are called to her eyes as she takes a deep breath. The wet, iron smell sickens her to the point of nausea.

The back wall sees her break, sees her resist the urge to take the knife and turn it on herself. It sees her fall apart at every crevice that's been lashed into her.

But it also sees her build herself back up again.

By the time she turns around to face the crowded room with hardened resolve, Amarantha's already commanded Rhysand into Nostrus' mind. The High Lord of the Summer Court cries out in agony as he tries to grab at his infiltrated temples.

Anahera is restrained by three dark faeries next to them, her face twisting up in rage and unbridled violence. Her screams filter out into the room at ground-shaking volumes as she tries to shake her captors off. She tries to get her hands up and around their necks to no avail. One dark faerie already lies prone at her knees, its throat ripped to shreds from ear to ear. Kazi knows that the female will not stop raging until her High Lord is safe.

Rhysand pulls out of Nostrus' mind and steps nearer to Amarantha to relay all that he's seen. "A rebellion against your crown. They were going to use the mortals as a distraction and escape through the tunnels only to recuperate in the courts and wage war on the mountain."

There is a moment where Kazi feels a legitimate drop of fury. Foolish, such a foolish plan. Born of desperation and selfishness. She cannot believe she's just slaughtered a small village of humans for a brainless and half-assed plan. The anger is overwhelming and the blood on her skin feels like boiling water.

Killing Nostrus will bring her no joy but there is a part of her that will not hate it. Amarantha—though she loathed to admit it—had been right in one regard: the High Lord brought the mortals to their death.

And Kazi will not forgive that.

Nostrus has not looked up since having his mind invaded. Brutius, his cousin, kneels by his side with a beaten face of his own. Anahera continues to thrash and writhe in her captors' grips, managing to knock one back with a slam of her head. But another naga is already prepared to take his place. She is the only sound in the room; the other High Lords and their embassies can only watch on in dread. They all know what is coming.

No one undermines the Queen of Prythian and lives.

"Do you know what happens to traitors?" Amarantha asks in a voice softer than velvet. It is an act—everything is an act with her.

Nostrus looks up, panting. His dark skin has taken on a sickly pallor and his white hair is falling in disarray across his face. "They lie and scheme for years, exploiting kindness until they strike. I don't know why you need to ask me...when you are the perfect example, Deceiver."

He reels back and spits at her feet, nearly missing her polished heels.

She is glowering. "How unseemly," she mutters in distaste. "I gave you everything. I gave you a place in my court, I gave you safety, I gave you a chance to live peacefully under my rule. Every day, I give! And still, you would see me off the throne I now rightfully sit on. But because I am a merciful queen..." No one protests, though they all agree silently that she lies through her sharpened teeth. "I will give you one last thing."

Nostrus shakes his head adamantly. "I want nothing from you!"

Amarantha looks over her shoulder to find Kazi, gleaming eyes full of vice and anticipation. She hesitates, knowing this will be the test that blackens her soul. But then the Witch's eyes flicker to Rhysand with intent.

The warning is clear.

Kazi straightens her back and tries to wipe her cinquedeas one last time unsuccessfully. She walks despondently over to the High Lord of Summer, cautiously avoiding Anahera's growing snarls and shrieks of animosity.

Kazi's hand lands on Nostrus' shoulder in just the same way she'd grabbed the elder mortal. Her heart constricts as Anahera curses her name.

"I will never forgive you! Kazimyrah, do you hear me?! I will kill you!" The fae holding her down grunt as she struggles beneath their weight. "Kazimyrah! The Mother looks down upon you and your crimes!"

Kazi grips her short swords tighter. The Mother will understand, the Mother will have to. And if she does not...Kazi will deserve every hell unleashed upon her.

"I will give you the chance to beg for your life," Amarantha says as her final offer, her evil grin inviting him to do just that.

Kazi places the blade to his back, placing enough pressure so he can feel its cold tip through his coat and tunic. Just enough so that he understands what it will mean if he does not beg. She wants him to grovel, she wants him to give in and plead for his life like a babe. She does not want to kill him.

But he does not beg, he does not plead, and he does not grovel.

"I would rather die."

"No!" Anahera roars.

And Kazi sinks the blade through his ribs and heart; the tip of her cinquedea pokes through the skin of his chest. His shoulder falls limp beneath her hand and she has to grip the fabric of his coat to keep him upright. Pulling the long knife from his back, she watches as his body crumples down and down until he is laying in his own blood.

Brutius is next in the line, and he stares her down, pressing his own chest into her blade while he stares down his fallen cousin. He kills himself in the end, though it is no comfort to her. She will remember the life leaving his eyes. Like a window shattering, like a tunnel caving in.

She only has a moment to recover from the two before she is being tackled into the pool of ruby liquid at her feet. Kazi feels a splash of blood on her cheek before a fist connects to it with bone-shattering force. The strength slams the back of her head into the marble below and she sees her beloved stars in the blackened haze in her peripherals. She almost wants to be hit again so that she can drown in the darkness and see the stars forevermore.

But she has to fight. Fighting is living.

There is a subtle tug at one of her thighs where she'd left her untouched blade. Kazi's eyes widen as she realizes what's happened. Her legs come up and toss Anahera over her head with a solid kick to avoid the slash of her own dagger now turned against her. Kazi scrambles in the blood around Brutius for her lost cinquedea, giving the guardian of the Summer Court precious time to gain her footing and continue the assault.

Vaguely, Kazi can hear Amarantha halt the naga from interfering.

Unarmed, Kazi stands and manages to deflect a clumsy attack from the Guardian with her forearm. The blade still manages to skim her cuirass and it leaves a deep gouge in its craftsmanship where her heart lies below. Anahera growls and retreats for a moment to attempt another, more calculated hit. But Anahera is not practiced with a dagger and fling her arm out too wide, too slow. Kazi ducks away from the swing and kicks at the incoming wrist, her unbuckled boot flying off the same instant the cinquedea goes flying across the throne room.

Anahera's eyes gleam with rage and flexes her hand before leaping to tackle her once more. Kazi goes down again and loses her breath as a broad shoulder pushes down on her lungs. They've landed next to Brutius's prone form, his shattered eyes staring them down.

"Ana..." she rasps. Anahera's hand has found its way to her throat, her lungs exploding in pain. The female's mouth curls. "Ana."

Her hand is wiping through the red muck desperately, trying to find purchase on anything. She's almost lost all consciousness when she finds the cinquedea wedged beneath Brutius's shoulder.

She brings her hand up and around until it presses into Anahera's back, the same place it pierced Nostrus. She tilts it down until the tip embeds itself into her skin. The pressure on her neck faintly releases and she drags in a breath with difficulty. "Think of Tarquin. He will need you. There will be no other guardian to take your place down here."

Kazi can barely think with the swimming shadows in her eyes. She almost sobs with remembrance. The shadows are welcoming, so welcoming. But she has a job to do.

"Tarquin needs you to protect him here. I don't want to kill you." Kazi utters. Her blade digs deeper as the other guardian has yet to back down. "But I will. I will do it.

Something shifts in the Guardian of the Summer Court's gaze. Distant murkiness clouds her irises, and Kazi knows that a foreign body has entered her mind from across the room. The hand around Kazi's neck disappears and she drags in a shaky breath.

"I don't want to kill you," she repeats, staring into the broken eyes of her fellow Divine.

"You already have," Anahera hisses, snatching her hand back and lifting herself from her kneeling position on Kazi's chest.

Kazi lays there in the cooling blood, collecting the pieces of her shattered heart among the mess. She does not want to see the horrified faces of the other High Lords or the saddened ones of the guardians, or the gratified expression on Amarantha's.

She can hear Anahera cry over Nostrus's body, pleading for his heart to start beating again. Amarantha will not have her killed, Kazi knows this. This is a punishment worse than death for a guardian, to live beyond their High Lord. To fail in their most base duty.

Kazi can also hear the Witch ordering the dark faeries to kill the remaining lordlings who had been in on the plot. Kazi has no room in her broken heart to feel relieved that she is excused from the task. She doesn't even have the capacity to feel disgust as the dark faeries use gruesome measures to end their lives. She can only feel an emptiness.

Soon, the room is cleared of all living courtiers, and another swarm of dark faeries are ushered in to clean the bloodbath. They clean around her and leave her to her drowning sorrow. Amarantha does not stick around and Kazi cannot feel grateful even for that.

Slow, blissful moments of nothingness go by before a hand comes to rest on her shoulder. She opens her eyes to see Rhysand kneeling next to her, black trousers now just as soaked as her whole body. His face holds nothing as the naga circulate around them, but his hand holds everything she needs. She reaches up with her other bloody hand and clenches the cuff of his wrist.

"It hurts," she whispers.

His fingers discreetly trail to her neck to check the bruising where Anahera's fingers had dug in to choke her, but Kazi stops him with a sore shake of her head.

"Not that."

Rhysand's violet eyes train on her own with an understanding that she wants to bask in forever. She rests her head back down to the ground with a thud, ignoring the stench of iron that invades her nose. She might as well get used to it, for it seems she will never be rid of it.

Her High Lord sits with her for a while longer, allowing her the time she needs to pick herself up from her own despair. She imagines he would spend the whole day with her there in the sick if she needed it. He would not push her.

"Are the bodies gone?" she asks, not trusting herself to look around and check for herself.

Rhysand's head lifts to survey the room around them, carefully taking in the carnage. "They're gone. But there's still—"

"I'm covered in it, the blood won't bother me," she declares.

He goes to help her up, but she brushes his hands away and pushes herself up to her feet unsteadily. No one else will pick up her pieces.

Her hand circles the hilt of her cinquedea, and she doesn't even try to clean it before stuffing it into her thigh harnesses. Something tells her it will always be stained with the remnants of this day.

She does not look about for where her other one went along with her boot; she does not want to see the massacre she's constructed almost single-handedly. Thankfully, Rhysand flicks his hand, and the two objects appear in his palms. He kneels at her feet and gently sheaths the blade then helps her foot into the shoe. He buckles it successfully before standing up.

"I need to bathe," she mentions quietly as she finally finds her balance. She dares not look down at herself, either; she can already feel the viscera covering her body beginning to dry.

Rhysand leans down to speak with her in an equally quiet voice. "I have a private bathhouse. Come."

She follows him out of the throne room and makes little effort to stop the trail of blood she makes. Her boots squeak along the halls and that alone almost sends her down another spiral. Her skin itches with drying blood and she feels suffocated by the acidic fumes of murder.

Kazi shudders and mourns her sanity while Rhysand draws a bath for her. He works as diligently as possible, and she can see the way his hands clench whenever they aren't actively turning a knob or grabbing a towel. She wants to know what he is thinking, what he wants to say to her. But that is not something she is brave enough to ask.

Instead, she says, "Thank you, for helping with Anahera."

His head droops slightly as he tests the pool of water. "Deep down, she didn't want to kill you. She was lost in her grief."

"I know," Kazi mutters. "I would be the same way if it were you. I can't fault her for it."

There is a long and settling silence to pass between them both. He finally turns to her, not looking her in the eye, but she can see the guilt falling from his shoulders. "I'll have Nuala and Cerridwen come in with fresh clothes. You're free to stay here for the night."

Kazi does not want to think about where he would be if not in his own room. They each make their own sacrifices, today is not their exception.

There will be no sleep in her near future, not with her mind and soul in ruins, but she thinks staying in this room will be better than her own.

With one last sorrowful look, he is gone. She cannot decide whether she's appreciative of the absence or if she is scared to be left alone in such a state.

Removing the leathers without looking at them proves a nasty challenge. She can feel with stickiness of each article as it pulls away from her like a second skin, one that will always be drenched in death and decay. She sets her harnesses against a vanity, cinquedeas still tucked safely inside. She stares at them in their dormant state, thinking about how useless they are without the wielder. She is the real weapon, the real threat, the real traitor.

No matter how well she's able to avoid looking at herself before climbing into the bath, she cannot avoid the swirls of red that drift around the water. They twist around and around until she's surrounded in the residue of her victims. It all swarms together, leaving nowhere on her body untouched.

She squeezes her eyes shut tight and dunks below the surface, tearing her fingers through her hair to rid herself of every physical reminder of that morning. Her scalp burns as she scrapes her fingernails against it and twists her fingers through her hair. The pain is a growing comfort.

She stays underneath until more pain begins to bloom in her chest, reminding her of Anahera's assault after the death of her High Lord. The Mother looks down on your crimes.

A pounding begins in her head, and she pushes back against it. It is a nice sort of ache, and she allows it to occupy her mind.

Kazi!

The darkness of her mind screams at her. She can give in; she can give in until the lovely shadows come and sweep her away into their abyss. The pounding becomes more insistent.

Kazimyrah!

She misses them. She misses their cool touch on her hips and her face, her lips. She misses the sound of their sweet whisperings against her ears and their promises to protect her just like she protects them.

"Kazi!"

She breaks the surface with a gulp of iron potent water. She coughs and splutters as Nuala and Cerridwen withdraw their smoky hands from where they'd yanked her out. Their eyes are full of panic as she takes in mouthfuls of humid air. She blinks away her pain at the sight of them. They always try to harness their shadows around her to hide the painful reminder of what she has left behind, but their gray skin still ripples like dark fog.

They do not say anything else before starting their administrations. Perhaps they know that they will not be heard over the screaming in her mind.

Nuala begins to gently scrub away the patches of red that Kazi has missed while Cerridwen takes a bucket and begins replacing the bloody water with fresh.

Only after Nuala starts to massage her shoulders does Kazi decide to get out; a soft touch is not a luxury she deserves on this day of all days. She stands up and accepts the fluffy towel they wrap around her shoulders. They then arrange clean sleeping clothes for her to put on. She does so with a drag in her movements, but they do not rush her.

Once she has the dress and leggings on, she sits down at Rhysand's vanity. Cerridwen immediately goes to work with putting her hair in a protective braid while Nuala cleans the bathing chamber. They work efficiently and with caring smiles even though Kazi cannot return them.

"Is there anything else we can do for you, Kazi?" Nuala asks delicately, her hand settling on her shoulder.

Kazi glances at her in the mirror and faintly shakes her head. "Thank you."

"Of course," they mutter softly before leaving the room. They even shut the door softly behind them.

She sits there for hours, staring into the reflection of her face. A black eye is slowly forming upon the right side of her face, and a ring of bruises encircle her throat.

I don't want to kill you.

You already have.

Kazi hears the words echo in the darkness like a curse. It kills her slowly, poisoning her like an infected wound.

NOTES ;

TO THE RE-READERS, THIS MAY
ALL LOOK CERY FAMILIAR TO
YOU. I DIDN'T MAKE ANY CRAZY
CHANGES FROM THE ORIGINAL
CHAPTER IN THIS ONE BECAUSE
IT'S A HUGE PART OF KAZI'S
TURNING POINT.

IF IT DIDN'T REALLY MAKE SENSE
FROM THE LAST CHAPTER TO THIS
ONE, AMARANTHA CHANGED HER
METHODS FOR TORTURING KAZI.
NOW, SHE IS ORDERED TO DO ALL
OF HER BIDDING WITH THE THREAT
OF HURTING RHYSAND. BEFORE
THIS POINT, SHE'S KILLED A FEW
OTHERS FOR AMARANTHA, BUT
IT WAS NEVER QUITE ON THIS SCALE.
AND IT WAS NEVER A DIRECT HIT
TO ONE OF THE GUARDIANS

WE ALSO SEE THAT BECAUSE OF THIS,
SERANA AND TSAVANI HAVE SEPARATED
THEMSELVES FROM HER. NAZIR STILL
REMAINS BECAUSE THEY ARE JUST...
CLOSE LIKE THAT

ANYWAY, IF THERE'S ANY CONFUSION,
ANY FORMATTING ISSUES, PLEASE LET
ME KNOW!

NEXT CHAPTER WE GET TO SEE A
HUGE CANON DIVERGENCE SO
I HOPE YOU'RE READY FOR THAT!