Just when she had finished taking in the outside of the manor, Soraya pushed through the front doors and froze in her tracks. The floors beneath her raggedy old boots were checkered with black and white marble, though a few of the tiles were cracked. She couldn't even begin to count the doors leading off into separate rooms.

A sweeping staircase drew her eye and the curious side of her wanted to explore until every inch of Tamlin's extraordinary manor had been committed to memory. There was another side of her that was angry at the extravagance. So many humans, so many of her people were starving and left without homes. She herself had only a servant's shed to sleep in while just beyond the border, the fae were drowning in riches.

Soraya's fingers curled into fists.

A long hall lead straight to the back of the grounds, a set of glass doors providing a glimpse of what looked to have once been sprawling gardens. Clusters of neatly trimmed white and yellow flowers hugged the hedges and in the center was a rose garden gone rogue. One lone figure bustled about clipping at the vines. She didn't need to seek out pointed ears to know he wasn't human.

Tamlin cleared his throat again as he stepped around her and through an archway on the left. Soraya peeked back at the giant oak doors that had been left wide open, before following after him.

She sucked in a slow breath through her nose when she took in the familiar dining room of marble and gold. Music sang from the far corner and an overzealous chandelier hung over the intricately carved wooden table. 

This was the room that the tonic had shown her. It looked different now, though. The curtains draped over the expansive windows had been replaced. The walls bore the occasional scratch, as if from claws gouging into them. Like the entryway, the floors were speckled with seams of cracks. Still, none of the damage made the room look any less expensive. Briefly, she wondered how Feyre had felt about seeing all of this. Then she hated herself for caring.

"June-"

Soraya nearly jumped out of her skin when Tamlin again interrupted the tranquility. Her head snapped toward the corner where he had stopped behind a female seated at a stark white piano. That must have been the source of the music, then.

The female spun around, looking about as startled as Soraya had been. Her hair was a cloud of thick, inky curls that barely brushed the deep brown skin of her shoulders. Her doe eyes went round at the sight of Tamlin and she scrambled to her feet, sliding a young boy off of her lap. The boy, whose skin was a pale shade of blue, grinned up at the male before them without restraint, showing off a gap where one of his front teeth should be.

Soraya studied them curiously. They would look so human if not for their pointed ears and the little curled horns that peeked out from the female's wild hair.

The female who must have been June dipped her head in greeting, her eyes flicking to Soraya for only a moment and catching on her bloody sleeve.

"Could you bring us some bandages from the infirmary?" Tamlin asked, though it sounded more like a casual order than a question.

June dipped her head again and reached for one of the boy's fiddling hands. 

"Alone," Tamlin added.

"Of course, My Lord," June hurried before reluctantly scurrying from the room. The skirts of her dress billowed behind her.

Soraya swallowed the lump in her throat and watched as the young boy linked his hands behind him. He rocked back on his heels nervously, refusing to meet his High Lord's eyes. Tamlin didn't seem to mind. He simply ruffled the boy's mess of black curls and nodded over his shoulder.

"I need you to go get us some water, can you do that for me?"

The young boy's chest puffed with pride and he quickly nodded, flashing that gap-toothed grin once before taking off through another door. 

Just like in the woods, Soraya was left alone with the fae High Lord. She watched him with caution as he turned back to face her. His eyes had hardened in the slightest but something about it felt forced.

"Sit," he said as he gestured toward a chair pulled up to the table.

Soraya narrowed her eyes and folded her arms, forgetting about her injury and choking back a wince. Who was he to tell her what to do? He may be able to order his people around, but he was not her High Lord.

"Would you just sit down before you pass out?" Tamlin sighed and dragged a hand over his face, looking strangely exhausted. "June should be back any minute with your bandages. I will send word to Lucien that you need to speak with Feyre."

He started toward the arch leading into the main hall but Soraya couldn't bring herself to move.

"Otherwise, you are free to leave," he tossed over his shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

Soraya's eyes switched to the glimpse of wide-open doors. She swallowed again and slowly lowered herself into a chair at the table. The slashing wounds in her arm throbbed.

She tore her sleeve open further and bit her bottom lip to keep from cringing at the sight. The gouges were pretty deep. Deep enough that they should be stitched. She huffed in frustration, laying her arm out on the table and tipping her head against the back of the chair.

Gerlinde had taught her once how to properly stitch a wound, but the thought of actually having to do it to herself made her skin crawl. Soraya certainly didn't want any faeries close enough to do it.

Light footsteps hurried into the room and Soraya forced her spine rod straight. She angled her body toward the archway to see the little boy scuffling back into the room with a golden tray between his little hands. 

"Some of it spilled in the hallway but I can-" He cut himself off when he looked up to see that Tamlin had left. The boy's shoulders went stiff as Soraya's, looking suddenly anxious. 

He closed the gap, eyebrows narrowing in concentration as he tried to carefully set the tray down without any water spilling from the pitcher. He cringed when one of the glasses tipped over and was quick to right it.

The young boy took a single step back and fiddled awkwardly with his now empty hands. Soraya shifted uncomfortably beneath his unwavering stare. 

It was strange to think that the fae had children. Of course it would have to happen for repopulation, but the thought of them building families felt so human. That train of thought brought her to another.

How old was the boy standing before her? The fae lived centuries if the stories were to be believed. At what age did they mature? For all she knew, the "child" slowly creeping closer was no child at all. Perhaps he was only considered a child to the fae, but was really decades old.

"You look funny," the boy said, snapping her from her thoughts.

Soraya frowned and eyed him up and down. He was blue and his ears were sharpened into points. She had trouble seeing how she could be the odd-looking one of the two.

He reached out a hand to scoot the tray toward her. Standing on his toes to better see her across the table, the boy watched Soraya pour some water into one of the glasses and then onto her wound.

"And you smell bad too," he added, head cocked.

Soraya was too busy trying not to think about the stinging pain of her cuts as she flushed them out. It was in the brief silence which followed that she decided she didn't like this blue faerie child.

"My name is Torrence." He didn't appear to be all that nervous anymore. "What is your name?"

She glanced up from her arm to see him moving around the table. He scooted closer inch by inch until he was at her side. 

"Soraya," she answered reluctantly. 

Her mouth was painfully dry, but she only took a sip of the water. If it was poisoned or glamoured, she would rather not have too much.

Torrence only hummed in answer. His deep blue eyes roamed over her as he gripped the edge of the table and rested his chin on his hands.

"My momma always told me humans were monsters," he said simply. Soraya blinked in confusion. "She said they liked killing faeries who cross the border. Especially little boys." Torrence shivered.

Soraya opened her mouth to speak but had no idea what to say. It seemed his mother had told him this as a way to keep him from wandering off or getting into trouble. But was it too far a stretch? Had she seen a faerie in the woods of the human realm, would she have killed it? There would most definitely have been an attempt.

"My momma is dead now."

Soraya's eyes widened and her mouth clamped shut. She looked over to see that Torrence's expression was still worry free. He drew invisible shapes across the wooden table with his little blue fingers.

"Amantha-" He frowned and tried again. "Armathna. Ama-"

"Torrence," a voice snapped. The boy straightened and backed a few steps away from Soraya.

The female from earlier--June-- had returned with a few rolls of bandages. She reached out a hand to Torrence, wiggling her fingers expectantly. He strode over and scooped up the offered hand.

June met Soraya's eyes and slid the bandages across the length of the table, refusing to come closer.

Whether she was afraid or repulsed, Soraya didn't care. Some small, foreign piece of her rejoiced in the thought of making the faerie uneasy. She resisted the urge to smirk.

Stretching her injured arm in front of her once more, Soraya leaned over and grabbed a roll of white bandages. She peeled it open with her teeth and went to work winding it tight around the scratches. It was the best she could do for now. The water helped clean up some of the blood but left a little puddle on the table's surface which she did her best to avoid.

Scuffling shoes and a single whining protest were the only indication when June dragged Torrence from the room. Soraya didn't bother looking up to watch them leave.

Her hackles rose in the heavy silence that followed. There was no more chatter from Torrence and no soft piano music. She could hear nothing but her heart drumming in her ears and the song of a bird that flitted past the window. It was an almost unnatural silence. The kind that made one feel like there was a predator watching from the shadows. Despite being the only one left in the room, she didn't feel alone in the slightest.

Soraya let out a small breath and wiggled her fingers once the bandage was wrapped tight enough to make them a little numb. She sat against the back of the chair and tipped her head back. 

A strange laugh bubbled up out of her.

Before the fire, she would never have thought that she would end up here. In Prythian, land of the fae. Not willingly, at least.

Her eyes explored the room before eventually snagging on one corner in particular. Soraya's jaw ticked and she sat up straighter as a flood of burning anger whooshed through her. She could practically see a cowering Feyre Archeron standing behind the protection of a faerie. She could see the violet eyes of another, understanding but not caring that Feyre had given him a false name.

Two sets of footsteps sounded from the hall. Soraya slowly twisted her head to watch the doorway. She could hear a pair of voices in the middle of a tense conversation, but for some reason her brain couldn't sort out the words they were saying.

A male with long, fiery hair strode through the archway. Deep scars slashed across the left half of his face. Soraya stared, fascinated, at the golden eye replacing the one that must have been damaged when he was injured. She didn't even think the fae could be injured in such a way to leave scars like those.

He was annoyingly handsome in that strange, magical way that she was beginning to think sculpted the faces of all the fae. 

What their method of communication and travel was for Tamlin to have gotten his message out and for his "not friend" to already be here, she couldn't even begin to imagine.

Soraya stiffened at the realization that she had seen him before. Of course. Lucien. The fox.

She must have said that last part out loud because the male halted, freezing on the spot. Tamlin nearly bumped into him from behind.

"What did you just say?" Lucien's voice was exactly as she remembered it from her vision. 

Soraya was too busy studying him to answer, opting to remain silent. His expression hardened and his lips parted to speak again. He sucked in a deep breath and his eyes widened in the slightest.

She probably didn't smell like roses, but she was sure she didn't smell that bad.

"Tamiln-" His tone was that of a warning.

"I know," Tamlin said plainly. Now they were both staring at her.

Soraya stood to her feet, ignoring the dizzy feeling in her head. She didn't like the way that, even from across the room, they were looking down on her. Nor did she like the silent conversation passing between them.

"You can take me to Feyre?" She asked, seeming to startle Lucien from his partial daze. He blinked a time or two.

"Tell me again why you need to see her so urgently," he returned, head tilting slightly. A thin braid fell over his shoulder from the sheet of his hair, tied at the end with a band of gold.

"Feyre is an old friend. I need her help."

Lucien pierced her with a glare. "That wasn't much of an answer."

"It's the only answer I have for you," Soraya finished, folding her arms. It didn't hurt quite as much with her arm wrapped.

Lucien's elegant features twisted into something like contemplation. Soraya assumed that in "sending word" to him, Tamlin also told him who she was. Now knowing that Lucien was there in her vision, she was sure he understood the meaning of her name. She was sure he understood that she was supposed to be dead.

Piece by piece, Lucien's face softened. It was only then that she realized how unnatural such coldness looked on him. He dipped his chin slightly, almost as if in greeting. It startled Soraya enough that her fingers brushed the hilt of the knife in her belt.

"Any friend of Feyre's is a friend of mine," Lucien said, sounding frighteningly sincere. She almost felt guilty.

Soraya snorted before she could steer herself away from laughter. If her reaction came across as odd to either of the males before her, neither of them made it clear. Tamlin shifted on his feet, glancing back and forth between them. Lucien, on the other hand, smiled. It was small, but it was there.

~~~

It didn't take any more convincing on her part for Lucien to agree to take her to Feyre. Soraya's blood pumped faster as she waited at the base of the stairs for the fox. Her foot tapped impatiently while she watched the end of he and Tamlin's conversation, both of them still standing in the entryway of the manor. The doors were wide open, framing the image of the pair.

Soraya's mind raced. She couldn't tell if she was anxious or afraid. Or, even worse, if some part of her was excited. Once upon a time that thought may have made her feel disgusted. But now, after waiting so long to find out who was responsible for tearing her life to pieces, she was excited to put an end to it.

She didn't realize she was chewing her lip until both of the males glanced over at her in tandem. Like their conversation had steered them to do so. Hyper-aware of her every inch, Soraya forced steel into her spine and lifted her chin in a show of false confidence.

The males looked at each other once more, both of them offering the smallest of nods. Finally, Lucien started through the doors and down the stairs toward her. Tamlin, looking oddly sad, watched on for a few seconds before spinning on his heel and disappearing inside the depths of his manor. The doors swung closed after him.

Lucien's boots crunched in the gravel as he descended the last step. He slowed to a stop in front of Soraya and she tried not to bristle beneath his gaze.

"I should have thanked him," she nodded past his shoulder toward the manor. Lucien's brows drew together as if he were frowning. That beautiful golden eye assessing her.

"Tamlin was kind to me," Soraya explained. She decided she wouldn't count his tackling her to the ground and snarling in her face. She had been the one trespassing, after all.

Lucien huffed a laugh. It sounded bitter. "I suppose he was trying to do it right this time." 

She didn't ask what he meant by that. But it did make her mind wander despite how hard she tried to rein it in. What had happened between them for Lucien to have left Tamlin's court?

Soraya clenched her fists, the gouging pain of her nails a reminder that she didn't care. She couldn't care less about what happens in the lives of the fae.

"I hate to ask this of you, but I need you to close your eyes," Lucien said abruptly. Soraya blinked at him in confusion.

He sighed and reached into his pocket to retrieve a strip of cloth. Lucien cringed like he knew exactly how absurd this request was.

"Otherwise I can..." he held up the blindfold as an explanation in itself. Soraya swallowed and it felt so thick she thought for a moment that she would choke. "It's just- Where we are going, it isn't my secret to share."

How badly did she want to get to Feyre?

Soraya nodded numbly in agreement and held herself completely still as Lucien stepped closer. He flashed her a pitying, apologetic smile that made her want to slap him before slipping the cloth over her eyes. Her stomach sunk when the world went dark.

His fingers were steady while he tied the blindfold at the back of her head. He was so close she could practically feel his warmth. She could feel that chilling, otherworldy presence about him.

Soraya went ramrod straight when a hand closed over her upper arm. Panic seized her. His hand wasn't rough or squeezing, but it still had her frozen in fear.

"You don't get sick easily, do you?" His voice came from beside her now. Soraya couldn't find it in her to speak, so she merely shook her head. "Well, if you must, please lean the other way."

That was the last thing Soraya heard before wind whooshed around her and the sounds of the Spring Court vanished.