12 WHEN THE DUST SETTLES

                    —REVELRY and celebration take the mountain by storm. A place once drowned in misery and suffering has become a space for new beginnings. The Middle Court, once untouched and unknown, is now the home of newborn hopes.

In the heat of joy and peace, dark creatures slip away unnoticed. Instincts draw them from the mountain and to the wilderness beyond to hide. Without the Witch's guidance, they must fend for themselves in a world now bursting with light. With no way to return to their roots in Hybern, they scatter around the island in wait.

One such creature, overcome with the sudden need to flee for its life, hesitates at the threshold of the mountain and forest. Its arm lifts slowly to the right side of its chest, feeling an erratic bump of an organ beneath the leathery flesh.

Conflicting feelings—feelings it should not have—wage war on each other.

Like poison against blood.

With a faltering glance back into the mountain, a muddled painting of a traitorous female fades in and out of its mind unbiddenly. It does not like to think of her. She is everything it was created to hate. She is everything it wanted to hate. She is everything it could not forget.

'Like poison,' she had said after killing her own kind, and it had made sense.

It did feel like poison, this ache in its chest. Like slow death.

And the only time it didn't feel that way was when she spoke—her strange kindness for a dark creature pushing back the pain. It always feared her in a way it didn't fear the Witch, because it had come to understand her, and she it. There was something recreant and offensive about this connection they'd found.

To Dryl, Kazimyrah of Night was far more frightening...because it did not want to leave her. And that was against everything it needed to do.

Without another glance back, it took to the darkening sky, even more sickly poison seeping into its heart.

—KAZI wants out of this Cauldron-damned desecrated mountain. While the others cheer and smile at their freedom, she can't help but still feel the remnants of their fifty-year prison. Her body refuses to believe they are free despite the hour she spends unlocking dungeon cells for the captive faeries.

Every corner she turns, she expects to see the Deceiver's cruel grin or the Attor's beady eyes.

But the False Queen is dead, strung up like décor in the main hall. And the Attor is heavily detained and unconscious in the Winter Court's care.

Her heart still just refuses to accept the happy ending they've been granted.

And maybe it's because she doesn't deserve one. Maybe, inside, she thinks eternal imprisonment Under the Mountain is what she deserves for all she's committed. To live forever in the midst of the rotting evil she's become. Maybe she, too, deserves a place upon that wall with a stake through her heart.

The two monsters of the mountain in their rightful resting place.

Kazi emerges slowly from a shadowed stairwell to see a crowd around the main entrance. They've been here all evening, tirelessly supporting Helion's efforts to bring down the wards surrounding the mountain. The lasting effects of Amarantha's power did not dissolve with her death, unfortunately. The wards still stand between them and the world beyond like invisible walls.

The only ones who can leave the mountain now are those with surmounting power, the High Lords and their Guardians. But Kazi has not found the will to take a step outside.

The High Lord of the Day Court is grinning through his sweat as he focuses his full attention on a deep etching on the wall. His amassed crowd all send their waves of encouragements—fae young and old, male and female alike, they all unapologetically admire his glistening strength at full power.

The room is drenched in pheromones and Kazi refrains from coughing on its heady scent. Leading the admirers with a sweaty brow of her own, Serana stands smiling ear to ear, chewing on her bottom lip. The guardian leaves no question of her interest.

Kazi scoffs lightly and rolls her eyes. Shouldering her way through the group, she makes her way to the guardian. One solid shove from someone's elbow makes her hiss under her breath—bruises crying out. There would be time to assess them later.

"You look like you might jump him any second," she drawls when she finally reaches the female's side.

Serana doesn't even blink. "I have a little more self-control than that." She finally tears her eyes away from the alluring male to look at all those who have joined her in a heated drooling session. Serana grins with delight and nudges her, and it feels almost like the last fifty years never existed—like Kazi didn't create a wretched monster of herself. "Everyone's emotions are just running high after that liberation. Something tells me there'll be a boom in little faelings a year from now, eh?"

Kazi's forced smile droops with the tiniest wince. Serana visibly stiffens with a sudden frown.

"Fucking hells—I'm sorry, Kazi; that was insensitive of me. And I just said I have some damn self-control."

"Don't apologize for that, you're right." She takes a deep breath, not even attempting to conjure up another smile. It's too hard to conceal all her bitterness. "If there's anything we need now, it's a swell of little ones to dote on."

"Yes," Serana concedes, voice still wracked with guilt, "but I didn't need to rub something like that in your face."

Kazi shakes her head. "You didn't rub anything in my face, don't worry. It shouldn't affect me so much anymore, anyways; it was more than three centuries ago now."

There's a moment where her friend—or someone who was once a close friend and is now a tentative comrade—is silent. "Kazi...grief has no timeline. You can feel just as strongly about your loss today as you did then."

"Thank you, really, but mourning over something like that is the last thing I need to be doing right now. We've just narrowly escaped an eternity in darkness. A past miscarriage is hardly worth—"

Serana hits her shoulder—hard, and it draws a few curious gazes. "Now you're being an insensitive bitch to all the females who have gone through the same thing. They are allowed to grieve for as long as they wish, right? So you are allowed to fucking grieve for as long as you wish. Just because something comes along that appears worse does not erase the pain of what came before. Don't discredit their feelings or yours."

Kazi remains silent, the swarm of words making her feel cold.

Because she does not think she deserves to grieve for herself, especially not over this.

"Serana," she finally says quietly, aware of wandering eyes and prying ears, "I don't want to talk about this here."

"Fine," the female relents mercifully. They quietly watch Helion work for a moment. "Where has Rhysand gotten off to, then?"

The question is for courtesy's sake only. Kazi can think of very few Under the Mountain who actually care for her High Lord's whereabouts.

"He's taking care of some stray naga. When the fighting started, many fled the throne room, and some weren't in there to begin with. He and Linden are tracking them down before they are too dispersed," she answers.

The thought of Dryl crossing her mind fleetingly. She tries not to remember her wandering eyes in the throne room, worriedly searching for its unique eyes and scowling mouth. It's hard to ignore the small twinge of relief at knowing the dark faerie escaped.

She is a monster, truly, hoping for the safety of a naga.

"Why aren't you out there helping him?" Serana asks.

"I was tasked with releasing fae from the dungeons."

And I don't think I deserve to be let out in the open air, yet. I am a monster, and this is my cage.

The room suddenly erupts in screams and Kazi instinctively reaches for the recovered cinquedeas at her thighs. Her grip falls away at the sight of smiles and hugs being passed around. Cries of happiness and hope, not terror and anguish.

The final ward is down.

The constant fighting is done.

The years of torment are over.

So why does Kazi feel like it's not?

She almost mistakes the white flag on the large mast for a lone bird on the wind. Because it all seems inconceivable, impossible. The idea of a surrender after seven years of slaughter is beyond her comprehension. There has never been an end in sight and suddenly, just like that, it all stops.

She does not believe it. She can't believe it.

The ground beneath her feet feels unsteady, broken up and muddy. If everything is truly over, why does the world still feel wrong?

Around her, others have lost their own footing. Some falling down to weep in relief, others kneeling to mourn. Mourning friends, comrades, family, themselves. Some are elated enough to embrace their brothers and sisters-in-arms.

But this feels wrong. They've won, and still there is so much loss.

Her eyes rove the battlefield, the masses of bodies forming a sea of death. One cannot step anywhere without needing to stand on a friend or a foe.

How can a war be won like this?

No. No, there is no winning. They can't have won. The fight still rages on somewhere. This is a trick.

She needs someone to tell her what is going on, needs someone to explain why the fighting has stopped when the war still lives.

"Azriel," she rasps, throat sore from shouting and screaming. He is the only one in their legion within speaking distance, but he doesn't seem to hear her. His head is ducked, shoulders slumped.

Just as she moves to take a step closer, he tumbles to the ground in exhaustion. Shadows fly up around him in flurries, disturbed with the sudden collapse. Kazi quickly marks a path over to him, avoiding limbs if she can but needing to leap uncomfortably over several bodies.

"Azriel," she says again, choosing this word as a crutch to convey her feelings, her thoughts, her uneasy hopes and concerns. Nothing else feels right coming out of her mouth, not when there is too much to be said all at once, so she continues, "Azriel."

His large wings are draped across the ground awkwardly, but she manages to maneuver around them to his front. His face is a mess of blood, sweat, and unshaved facial hair. His eyes are closed, but his eyelids twitch with every move she makes. The shadows swarm about, lost.

Sheathing her sword warily, she crouches down with muscles screaming in protest.

"Azriel."

In her war addled brain, his name feels steady. At this moment, it is the only word she knows, but it's enough.

His eyes drift open finally, bloodshot and hazy.

"Kazimyrah," he croaks.

And yes, that name makes sense, too. On his tongue, it feels like a real word. It feels like the right word. It feels safe. She wants him to say it again. If he says it again, maybe she will believe...Maybe she will dare to hope.

People are calling out around them, shouting commands or directions, but Kazi can hear nothing except the irregular pant of Azriel's lungs.

"Kazimyrah."

And it's fine, she thinks, knowing those might be the only two words to ever make sense to her again. Because together, those names are safe.

"It's over, Kazimyrah" he says, voice cracking.

And she believes him; she believes these words because they are his. She's trusted him these past seven years to have her back, she can trust him with this. He can make the world make sense.

"We have to go." She finds the words; but somehow, they don't feel quite so secure on her tongue. "Rhysand and Cassian are out there somewhere."

She has to believe that. Because the war would not be won without them, because living would not be the same without them.

"Azriel," she starts, finding the surety in it, "let's go."

She holds out her hand to him, aware of the blood that dries in its crevices, aware of the blood that coats his own. He looks up to her, eyes bloodshot, jaw covered in stubble. He eyes her hand, and she almost draws away with his intensity.

But then he is reaching for her, accepting the gentle assistance. The shadows touch her calloused fingertips first, cold and foreign yet not unpleasant. And then his skin is touching hers in the spaces between the blood. She feels his own callouses, his rough scarring, and she thinks the world—no, the entire universe—may just make sense in his hold. Without words, without names, without doubt.

His grip on her hand is all she needs to find a meaning in life.

"Kazimyrah," Serana says, pulling her from the memory, "don't be a stranger, okay?" She doesn't wait for an answer before racing over to jump in Helion's awaiting arms. Kazi watches as he twirls her around and laughs himself breathless. Faeries approach to thank and praise him, basking in the brilliant power of a High Lord restored.

It's almost blinding, this bright communion.

Some faeries run out into the open air, and they dance beneath the setting sky. Some are already preparing for their long trek home. The few who live in the adjacent courts will leave tonight, as the risk of darkness is worth the freedom of their own home. The faeries who live in the further courts will leave at first light the next morning.

Kazi stares at the dancing faeries, longing creeping up on her like ice. She wishes to feel what they do in the same way they do. But when she even considers the temptation of freedom, it all feels forbidden.

Terrace on the way to my rooms.

With a sigh, Kazi turns away from enticing freedom to venture to Rhysand's chambers. They will leave tonight, she knows—and wonders if her body will even allow it. They will be able to winnow straight home now that their powers have returned—if Kazi's powers don't force her to stay. In the morning, they will come back to make arrangements for the Court of Nightmares.

Kazi, though distantly aware of the approaching smell of familiar smoke, continues to prod and poke at the well of magic within her. She can feel it, can sense it there, but she is too scared to use it. She hasn't even attempted to push healing magic through her body, choosing instead to bear the aches and pains.

Power is yet another weapon at her disposal.

She fears lashing out.

She is a dangerous monster, and she does not deserve to leave—

"You think so very loudly," Nazir chides quietly as he falls in step with her.

"What was I thinking about then?" she asks, humoring him blandly even as the beating in her chest elevates. Her striding does not falter as they start up a stone staircase.

"That you want to get the hells out of here."

She almost smiles at how blissfully unaware he is, at how far off the mark he's guessed. "That's what everyone is thinking."

"Ah, yes, you're right," he concedes with a raspy chuckle. "However, I stand by my assessment. For a warrior who grew up with a Daemati and spy, you certainly have trouble keeping your face plain. Not that your face is plain in any way, Kazimyrah."

The insinuating flirtations have no weight thrown behind them. Not only is it unimaginable for their relationship to be anything other than platonic and familial, but Nazir has never shown an interest in any faerie, physically or otherwise. Centuries ago, only two years after the death of his mother and his ascension, he bedded a female just once to continue his Divine line of succession. To everyone's surprise and Beron's satisfaction, he sired a son 10 months later, Isran.

He cares for Isran's mother, but it is only in the way one cares for a comrade who has done much for them. In the way a long-time friend enjoys the other's presence. It was a large favor the female granted him all those years ago, and he has nothing but respect for her.

"Perhaps it is on purpose," Kazi intones. "Show one thing, think another."

Nazir, from beneath his darkened hood, looks at her for a brief moment. Reaching some sort of conclusion, he says, "Perhaps."

He's seen it, her dim visage, like he sees everything. Maybe he doesn't understand what she's thinking, but he knows her well enough to not press for an articulate answer. He will take what she gives him, and he won't ask for more.

They continue to walk in silent contemplation of the other.

Kazi always wonders how they would have ended up, had Basheera lived past his 18th birthday. Had he been raised by a loving mother and not by the ruthless hand of Beron and the infrequent visits she could give him. Had he not been burned beyond recognition; had he not been forced into a role he was not prepared for.

In a world like that, she hopes they would have been closer. More open with each other.

"I..." he starts, "I apologize...for what happened to the human."

Kazi, once again, has to stop someone from apologizing to her. Do they not realize that a murderer does not deserve apologies? "Don't apologize for that, Nazir. There was nothing to be done for her. Amarantha wanted her dead, and there was nothing we could have done to stop that from happening."

"I still feel partially responsible—"

"Don't."

She leaves no room for argument.

"Feyre Archeron lives. And now, she will live the span of her human years and then some. If anything, this is probably for the best if she chooses to remain Tamin's consort." She says that title without thought. Quickly, she works to backtrack. "Or his mate, if that's even possible."

Nazir remains quiet for a time, probably trying to dissect all of her secrets. Eventually, he sighs and brushes a gloved hand against her fingers once. "Give Morrigan a warm hello for me," he says through the silence and takes a sharp turn down an adjacent corridor. He pauses a few steps away. "And my regards to the other four, I guess."

And then he's gone, no proper farewell for her other than the quick touch of his covered hand. She stares at his retreating back, feeling many things all at once, and really just one—sorrow.

Just as she is about to make the final cut around a bend, she swerves away from an incoming body. Heavy footed, but light weight. A human in a High Faerie's body.

"Sorry," Feyre stammers at their almost collision, wrapping the edges of her light pink robe tighter around her silk nightgown. Her shoulders are lightly hunched, as if she will return to her human height if she shrinks herself down enough. Years and years of propriety urge Kazi to tell her to fix her posture lest she risk back problems in the future, but that is not her job.

Kazi looks over the female's shoulder, knowing her High Lord lies just beyond. Curious. "No harm done."

Feyre finally glances up from the ground, and her face falls slack at the sight of her. It does not surprise the guardian in the slightest; she did wrong by Feyre by killing Claire Beddor. She did wrong by Feyre by killing hundreds of humans. She deserves nothing except contempt.

Kazi almost wants her vitriol.

"I was just taking a walk," the newly made faerie says. "Getting used to this body."

Kazi does not need all her years as a spy to know it is a lie.

"Of course. You'll get the hang of it," she assures her, going with the lie smoothly. "Try to walk more on your toes...and stop slouching. If you're going to often be in the public eye next to a High Lord, you have to look like you deserve it."

Feyre's eyes round considerably but she ultimately nods, taking the suggestions into consideration. "Thank you," she says softly before shaking her head sharply, as if regretting the gratitude. She bites her bottom lip and winces as her sharpened canines pierce the soft skin—a common habit children break from early on.

"You can be angry with me," Kazi ventures.

"Who says I'm not?" Feyre asks defensively, hands curling into the fabric of her slip.

She blinks, wondering if she should provoke this further. "Perhaps a human's anger is more internalized."

"I'm not a human anymore," the young female says. A hand comes up to brush the tip of one of her ears, like that is the most physical sign of her new status. "...Do you want me to hit you?"

Yes. "Do you want to hit me?"

Feyre looks to the marble ceiling. "I want...I don't know what I want."

"Maybe a full night of rest will help. It's been a trying day. We will be here when you figure it out." Kazi allows the slipup to stay.

'We' will be here, she thinks, waiting for you.

"Comforting," Feyre sighs. The hand falls from her ear, rubbing down the side of her smooth cheek. "I should get back to bed."

"Indeed. Long day ahead of you." Kazi steps aside so that she can pass by with extra space. There is something urging her to make the girl stay, something at her back telling her to keep running the conversation, to keep her close. "I look forward to your visits each month."

It is most definitely the wrong thing to say, but it's out before she can think better of it. Feyre clenches the fist with the Night Court inspired bargaining tattoo and scampers off, barefoot and—Kazi notes with no small amount of amusement that she tries to put most of her weight on the balls of her feet.

Kazi waits and watches the once-human disappear around a corner at the end of the corridor, feeling a burn along her spine while she walks further from her gaze. It leaves more questions to ponder, all these strange reactions.

She shakes her head before moving to the terrace, built on the side of the mountain overlooking the north. The platform is empty, but she can feel him, silently waiting for her. Stepping out onto the balcony, she leans comfortably against the railing to feel the touch of starlight on her skin. She likens it to a million butterfly kisses, tingling pinpricks of home.

"She's gone." The words drift out on the slight breeze, dispersing into the midnight air. A secret between them and the stars. A whisper lost in the abyss they live in.

The darkness coalesces at her side, revealing Rhysand's taller figure. He absentmindedly brushes a fleck of black dust off his shirt, appearing for the sleeping world a collected male. Kazi does not comment on the slight twitch of inky vortex swirling at his feet, a clear sign of his agitation.

"She is...she is gone," he breathes, eyes flooded with untold emotions. His chest stutters, and Kazi only has a second to move before he's nearly toppling onto her. Her arms are filled with him, holding tightly to his quivering form. "The Mother is cruel. Or maybe this is a kindness. Maybe this is the only type of kindness I deserve anymore, to see her and know her, but only that. To never have more."

And just like that, every question Kazi had out in the hall with Feyre is answered.

Because she understands this pain well. Too well.

Even after all these years, she's never found peace in her own world, so she has no words of comfort to offer him. Instead, she can only hold him. Just like he held her when she first felt that tug of eternity. Just like he held her the first time she broke her own heart, and the second time. Just like he held her all those times after when longing became too unbearable.

But the pain she feels is nothing compared to the pain she inflicts.

They are deserving of it.

The Mother, Kazi decides, isn't cruel...She's just fair.

NOTES ;

HERE Y'ALL COME AT ME FOR NOT
MAKING THIS A REUNION CHAPTER.
SORRY. BUT I NEEDED TO HAVE THIS
BE THE END TO THE FIRST PART SO THE
REUNION COULD BE THE BEGINNING
OF THE NEXT. I NEEDED TO HAVE THE
WHOLE CONVERSATION WITH FEYRE
AND RHYSAND'S REACTION TO THE
BOND.

I PROMISE THE NEXT ONE IS THE
REUNION.

NOW TO TALK ABOUT THE MAIN
POINTS IN THE CHAPTER:

1. KAZI'S INNER TURMOIL—SHE KNOWS
SHE HAS BECOME A DARKER VERSION
OF HERSELF. SHE DOESN'T WANT TO
DRAG THAT BACK TO VELARIS, TO
HER HOME. AND SHE'S NOT QUITE
SURE WHY AMARANTHA HAD TO DIE
WHEN SHE'S STILL ALIVE. BECAUSE
TECHNICALLY KAZI HAS KILLED
ABOUT THE SAME AMOUNT OF
FAERIES AND HUMANS AS HER. AND
EVERYONE IS BRUSHING ASIDE HER
CRIMES WHICH MAKES HER FEEL WORSE.

2. THE FLASHBACK. IT PROBABLY
DOESN'T MAKE A WHOLE HEAP OF
SENSE, BUT THAT'S SUPPOSED TO
REFLECT KAZI'S MINDSET AT THE END
OF THE WAR. ALL THAT MAKES SENSE
IS FIGHTING AND KILLING, SO SHE'S
LOST HER GRASP ON REALITY A LITTLE.
BUT THE FIRST THING TO MAKE SENSE
TO HER IS AZRIEL'S NAME SO SHE LATCHES
ONTO THAT. AND JUST AZRIEL IN GENERAL
MAKES SENSE TO HER.

3. NAZIR. THE SHORT LITTLE COMMENT
ON HIS SEXUALITY AND SON. NAZIR IS
AN AROMANTIC ASEXUAL. HE HAS A SON
ONLY BECAUSE BERON FORCED HIM TO
PASS ON HIS GENES. HE IS A GOOD FATHER,
DON'T WORRY. (ISRAN WOULD HE ABOUT
375 YEARS OLD HERE)

4. NOW THE BALL DROP OF THIS CHAPTER.
IN THE FIRST VERSION OF THIS BOOK,
I DIDN'T MAKE IT SUPER OBVIOUS, BUT
KAZI HAD GONE THROUGH A MISCARRIAGE.
SHE LOST A BABY AND IS STILL SENSITIVE
OF THE TOPIC. IT IS A VERY PIVOTAL POINT
IN HER TIMELINE. WE WILL GET MORE
DETAILS ON THIS IN A LATER FLASHBACK,
BUT THIS IS ENOUGH FOR NOW

ANYWAYS, I'M NOT SURE HOW I FEEL
ABOUT THIS CHAPTER'S WRITING, SO
LET ME KNOW IF THERE'S ANYTHING
I CAN EXPAND UPON OR FIX TO MAKE
THIS A BETTER READING EXPERIENCE