Chapter Text
As we entered the dining room-both of us dressed in our nicest clothes-Feyre squeezed my hand one last time like a lifeline. She'd practically begged me to wear something nice so she wouldn't be alone, but honestly, it hadn't taken much convincing. If she was braving this, I wasn't letting her do it solo.
Whatever discussion Tamlin and Lucien had been having died instantly.
Their eyes went straight to Feyre as she strode in.
I smiled despite myself. She looked...radiant. Nervous, yes-but radiant all the same.
"Well," Lucien said far too cheerfully, already backing away, "I'm suddenly late for something incredibly important."
"No-wait-" I started, half-reaching for him, but the fox-masked coward vanished before I could either beg him to stay or demand he take me with him.
Traitor.
Feyre glanced at the massive expanse of table between us and Tamlin. "You're so far away," she said, gesturing helplessly. "It's like you're in another room."
She wasn't wrong. The table was absurd-long enough to host a small war council.
Before I could mutter anything else, the far end of the table simply...disappeared.
Vanished.
Feyre yelped. I did too, because self-preservation instincts are real.
Tamlin laughed, clearly enjoying himself. "Better?"
The air tasted faintly metallic-magic lingering like ozone after lightning.
"How-how did you do that?" Feyre stammered. "Where did it go?"
I muttered under my breath, "fae magic. Obviously."
Tamlin cocked his head. "Between," he said. "Think of it as...a broom closet tucked between pockets of the world."
He flexed his hands, rolling his neck like he was shaking off stiffness. Pain, maybe.
"Does it tax you?" Feyre asked quietly.
Tamlin forced himself to relax. "Once, it was as easy as breathing. Now...it requires concentration."
"You could've just taken a closer seat," I muttered.
He grinned lazily. "And miss a chance to show off to two beautiful women? Never."
Feyre ducked her head, smiling at her plate.
"You do look beautiful," Tamlin said softly. "I mean it."
She hesitated. "Didn't you look in the mirror?"
Compared to fae, we might as well be potatoes-but still. Feyre needed to hear that. And he meant it.
I, however, was officially a third wheel in hostile territory.
This flirting was sweet, awkward, and deeply not my scene.
I finished my supper quickly, catching Feyre's brief look-half apology, half gratitude-and excused myself before the moment tipped fully into something intimate.
Let my best friend have her moment.
☀Next Day⚔
The next morning, I found Lucien in the training yard.
Big mistake.
He corrected my stance ten times in the first five minutes.
"No, your weight's wrong."
"Again."
"You're leaning."
"Too stiff."
"Relax your shoulders."
"Lyra."
I bit back a groan.
Eventually, he stepped back, arms crossed, examining me like a puzzle. "Your balance is decent. Strength's lacking-but that can be fixed."
He handed me a list of exercises.
I stared at it.
Then at him.
Then back at the list.
"Running," I read flatly.
"Yes."
"And... more running."
"Yes."
"And strength drills."
"Yes."
Lucien smiled. "I have emissary business. Do those while I'm gone."
And then he left.
I stared at the list again.
"...Fantastic."
I ran.
I stretched.
I ran again.
By the end, I collapsed onto the grass in a sweaty, breathless heap, staring at the sky and wondering if death by overexertion technically counted as a dignified end.
That was when I felt something settle over me-warm, light.
A cloak.
I didn't open my eyes.
Didn't question it.
I just let myself sleep there on the ground, finally-blissfully-at peace.
🌟Time skips⏳
I found myself by the river again.
This time, I knew I was dreaming-and that somehow made everything sharper.
The water murmured over smooth stones, a sound that felt ancient and patient, like it had been flowing long before I ever existed and would continue long after I was gone. I crouched and let my fingers trail through it. Cool. Real. Too real.
"Okay," I muttered to myself, straightening. My voice didn't echo. It simply belonged. "Either I'm losing my mind...or this place is very committed to continuity.
The river curved away into mist, silver and pale blue curling above the surface. I followed it, bare feet barely making a sound against the ground. Every step felt instinctive, like my body knew where to go even if my brain was still scrambling to catch up.
I tilted my head back.
Stars filled the sky.
Not the distant pinpricks I was used to, but vast, layered constellations that burned in deep indigo, violet, and soft white-gold. Some drifted slowly, as if the heavens themselves were breathing. Others flared brighter when I looked at them too long.
"Oh," I whispered. Then, louder, because apparently I was incapable of shutting up even in prophetic dreamscapes, "wow."
A breeze stirred, warm and gentle, tugging at my hair. For a heartbeat, I felt...held. Like the night itself had wrapped around my shoulders and decided I was allowed to be here.
"This is new," I said, spinning slowly in place. "Usually my dreams involve running, screaming, or something trying to eat me."
No answer came-but the stars pulsed faintly, as if amused.
I walked farther, following the river until it widened into something like a crossing point. The air shimmered. The feeling in my chest shifted-not fear, not peace, but anticipation.
Like I was early.
Like someone was supposed to be here, and I'd just missed them.
"Hello?" I called, immediately feeling ridiculous. "If this is a vision, or a warning, or a cosmic destiny thing, you could at least give me a pamphlet."
The river rippled.
For a spilt second-just a breath-I thought I saw a shadow on the far bank. Tall. Still. Watching.
My pulse kicked up. "Nope," I said firmly. "If you're a monster, you can stay over there. I've had enough trauma for one lifetime."
The stars above flickered-brighter now. Almost urgent.
Then something pushed back against me. Not violently. Not cruelly. Just enough to stop me from stepping closer.
A boundary.
A warning.
My chest tightened. "You're not letting me cross," I whispered. "Why?"
The shadow didn't move. The river didn't answer.
And then-
I woke with a sharp inhale, heart racing, the echo of starlight still burned behind my eyes.
I sat up in bed, dragging a hand down my face. "Great," I muttered to the empty room. "Another cryptic dream. Fantastic. Love that for me."
Weeks. It had been weeks of this.
Stars falling. Rivers calling. A presence just out of reach. Always pulling me forward-and always stopping me right before answers appeared.
I pressed my fingers into my temples. "You dipped in a magic pool once," I told myself. "Once. That does not mean you're suddenly the chosen recipient of nightly astral nonsense."
I tried to shake it off.
I really did.
I spent time in Feyre's art room, watching her paint with that fierce, quiet concentration. I trained with Lucien until my arms shook and my muscles screamed, until he corrected my stance for the tenth time and muttered, "Again. And don't glare at me like that."
"I'm not glaring," I shot back. "This is my focused face."
"Your focused face looks like it wants to stab me."
'Motivation," I said sweetly.
None of it helped.
I couldn't focus on books. The words slid right off my brain. Even teaching Feyre new vocabulary felt harder, like my thoughts were always drifting somewhere else-somewhere dark and bright and endlessly distant.
Tamlin was gone more often now. Feyre...Feyre was glowing in that soft, terrifying way people do when they're falling into something deep and irreversible. I loved her for it.
I also avoided it like the plague.
At breakfast the next morning, I sat by the window, staring out at the gardens, spoon hovering uselessly over my bowl.
"Lyra," Feyre said gently, nudging my foot under the table. "You, okay?"
I blinked. "Yeah. Totally. Just...thinking."
She studied me for a long moment. "You've been doing a lot of that lately."
I huffed a quiet laugh. "Occupational hazard."
I glanced back out at the sunlight, the flowers, the very ordinary beauty of the Spring Court-and wondered how something could feel so solid and so unreal at the same time.
Was my mind inventing these dreams to protect itself? To process fear, grief, and magic that I never asked for?
Or was something out there trying to reach me-
-and being stopped.
I wrapped my hands around my mug, grounding myself in the warmth.
"I wish," I murmured, more to myself than anyone else, "I could talk to someone who actually understands dreams."
Because deep down, past the jokes and denial and stubborn refusal to panic, I knew one thing was absolute clarity:
These weren't just dreams.
They were maps.
And sooner or later, I was going to have to decide whether I was brave enough to follow them.
🦊Morning🦁
Feyre lingered in the doorway the next morning, fingers worrying the hem of her tunic like she was bracing herself for bad news.
Tamlin straightened at once. "What's wrong?"
"There are...a lot of people," Feyre said slowly. "Faeries. Around the house. When did they arrive?"
I blinked.
Oh.
She didn't notice them before? I'd assumed she was just ignoring the servants and sentries the way she ignored most things that didn't immediately threaten her. But the way her shoulders were tight, the way her eyes kept flicking toward the hall behind her...
She genuinely hadn't seen them.
Tamlin bit his lip, clearly fighting a smile. "They've been here all along."
"But-but I didn't hear anything," Feyre said. "No footsteps. No voices."
"Of course you didn't hear anything," Lucien drawled, lounging against the table and twirling one of his daggers with infuriating ease. "We made sure neither of you could see or hear anyone except those who were...necessary."
My stomach dipped.
So that wasn't just Feyre. That was me, too.
Feyre adjusted her tunic, frowning. "So, you mean that...that I ran after the Puca that night-"
"You had an audience," Lucien finished cheerfully.
Tamlin nodded, entirely unapologetic. "It was a valiant effort."
Feyre looked like she might combust. "But-we could see the naga. And the Puca. And the Suriel. And-and that faerie whose wings were..." She trailed off, face paling.
I felt the echo of that night tighten around my ribs.
"Why didn't the glamour apply to them?" Feyre asked quietly.
Tamlin's expression hardened, shadows slipping back into his eyes. "They're not members of my court," he said. "My glamour doesn't hold them. The Puca belongs to the wind and weather-change itself. The Suriel belongs to no one. And the Naga..." His jaw flexed. "They belong to someone else."
Her.
The word wasn't spoken, but it rang in my skull all the same.
"I see," Feyre murmured, though the confusion still clung to her voice.
Lucien chuckled, and both Feyre and I shot him identical looks. He didn't even flinch.
"You've been noticeably absent again," Feyre said coolly.
Lucien used his dagger to scrape beneath his nails. "Busy. You've been keeping occupied too, I take it."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Feyre snapped.
He flashed her a grin. "If I offered you the moon on a string, would you give me a kiss too?"
Absolutely not, but points for confidence.
"Don't be an ass," Tamlin growled softly.
Lucien laughed anyway and strolled out, still chuckling to himself.
The silences he left behind felt heavier than before.
I shifted my weight, nerves prickling. Feyre turned back to Tamlin. "If I encountered the Attor again..., would I actually see it? Would we?"
"Yes," Tamlin said immediately. "And it wouldn't be pleasant."
"You said it didn't see me that time," Feyre pressed. "And it didn't seem like a member of your court. Why?"
"Oh," I realized softly. The voice. The one she'd told me about. The one that had spoken like it knew Tamlin far too well.
"Because I threw a glamour over you when we entered the garden," Tamlin said. "It couldn't see you. Or hear you. Or smell you."
His gaze drifted to the windows, distant and troubled. He dragged a hand through his hair. "I've done everything I can to keep you both invisible to creatures like the Attor-and worse. The blight is acting up again; more things are being freed from their tethers."
That explained too much.
The Bogge.
The Naga.
The winged faerie dumped at the border.
The voice Feyre heard.
My dreams. The river. The stars. The feeling of being watched-and stopped.
"If you see anything," Tamlin continued, "even something that looks harmless but makes your skin crawl-pretend you don't see it. Don't speak to it. Don't acknowledge it. If it hurts, you..." His jaw tightened. "The consequences wouldn't be pleasant. For it. Or for me."
I swallowed hard.
"You remember what happened with the naga."
We nodded.
"The blight is growing again?" Feyre asked.
"So far," Tamlin said carefully, "Only in other territories. You're safe here. Both of you."
I felt the words slide past me without settling.
"It's not my safety I'm worried about," Feyre said.
Nor was it mine.
Because if Tamlin's glamour hadn't been there...if Lucien hadn't found us...if the Suriel hadn't warned us..."
How many times had we already been one step from death without knowing it?
"Is it possible," Feyre asked quietly, "that the surge is temporary?"
Tamlin didn't answer.
That silence told me more than any reassurance could.
I stared at the floor, piecing together fragments that didn't want to fit neatly. Someone powerful enough to command naga. Someone old enough to send Attors as messengers. Someone the Suriel feared. Someone Tamlin wouldn't name.
Her.
I still didn't know who she was.
But whatever she was, the world was bending around her.
And for reasons I didn't yet understand, I had the unsettling feeling that my dreams weren't just warnings about Prythian.
They were warnings about me.