A Court of Lost Stars

VELARIS

The scratch of Feyre's quill against dry parchment and the ticking clock on the wall was the only sound in the townhouse. She sat at a fine desk of black walnut, neatly scribing her message.

At the top, she wrote: Week 522

One week ago marked ten years since you left us, and the hole in my heart, my soul, is ever-present. Your father met with Kallias this morning, and I found myself tracing your footsteps. I walked to the beach and collected shells, then visited Peter at the bakery. His mother passed a few months ago, but he still asked about you. You didn't know the impact you left on us then, but your joy remains in these halls, these streets. Haunting us all. I hear you sometimes- your laugh. And I imagine you in your room, quietly playing your lute…

Feyre stilled her quill as a teardrop landed on the page. Sighing softly, she shakily placed the quill to the side and ran her fingers across the ridge of her brow and against her temples. Ten years had passed in decaying silence, and Feyre, Cursebreaker, had never felt smaller.

The door creaked open, and Feyre glanced over her shoulder. A soft smile graced her lips as Azriel stepped in, followed by Cassian. Sorrow hadn't been foreign to anyone this past decade- they all lost that night. Rhys stepped through the door a moment later, followed by Mor and Amren. They all settled into a cushion and looked expectantly at Rhys for news.

Rhysand rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the floor with tired eyes. "The Winter Court is experiencing abnormally severe storms. It's been keeping them from hunting and burning wood for warmth. The amount of time it takes to collect wood, frostbite has already set in." Sitting before the hearth, Rhys tried to chase away the chill he still felt deep in his bones from his short visit with Kallias and Viviane. "They've begun handing out care packages from the palace to the city, but sooner or later, their supplies will dwindle, too."

Frowning, Feyre closed her letter and placed it into its designated envelope. "Are they able to reach the boundary for trade?" She asked, setting a bit of melted wax on the lip to contain its message. Then, she stood and slid the letter into the back of a box, which included the other hundreds of letters she'd written to Nova but would never send.

With a light scoff of frustration, Rhysand shook his head with a frown. "Tarquin has no fish to give, and Beron refuses to offer any surplus he might have. He's cut off all trade, even with the Spring Court."

"I received a letter from Lucien and Elain this morning. They have nothing to trade either," Feyre sat back against the desk and crossed her ankles, all eyes on her. "He says the soil smells of rotting flesh." Cringing, Feyre shook her head. "No crops will grow."

Mor's voice was soft as she spoke what none could admit aloud. "It's only a matter of time before they call another meeting of the Courts. They've been given ten years. I don't think they'll wait any longer. Not even Thesan." Not even Amren had the energy to lift her goblet of blood to her lips as she stared at the carpet. 

Soon, their star would be forced to emerge and face the destiny they had tried to protect her from for ten years.