Between Feyre Archeron and Rhysand and Tamlin and Nesta Archeron as siblings.
The first light of dawn had barely kissed the horizon of Velaris when Feyre Archeron stepped onto the balcony of the House of Wind. She watched the city stir below, the Night Court she had grown to love bathed in hues of gentle orange and lilac. Still, the splendor of the awakening city did little to ease the weight on her chest—a weight that bore her sister Nesta's name.
While the war had left scars on the land and its people, it was the scars within her family that seemed the most profound, the most resistant to healing. Nesta had been distant—more than usual—since the war’s end, her moods as turbulent as the rivers during a storm. But this morning, there was no sign of her. No trace of where she might have gone. Only a cold, empty room and a note that read, "Seek me where the silence dwells."
Nesta's enigmatic words concerned Feyre as she thought of all the precarious places 'where the silence dwells'. The Cauldron was one such place, whose very thought sent shivers down Feyre's spine. She turned to find her mate, Rhysand, watching her with eyes that knew too much of worry and pain. "Have you seen her?" she asked, not needing to clarify whom she meant.
Rhys shook his head, his hands reaching out to grip the railing as if to steady himself against a brutal wind. "She hasn't come to me. Cassian hasn’t heard from her either," he revealed, confirming Feyre's fear that this was more than one of Nesta’s usual disappearances.
Feyre drew in a steadying breath. "Tamlin," she said, the name tasting like ash in her mouth. "I need to see him."
Rhysand’s expression hardened at the mention of the High Lord of the Spring Court. "Are you sure that’s wise?" The concern in his voice brushed against the harsh edges of his facade.
Yet there was a silent understanding that laced the space between them, bridged by the mate bond that thrummed with silent communication and mutual respect. They both knew that to untangle this mystery, seeking out every possibility was paramount—even if it meant revisiting old wounds and feuds. Feyre nodded in determination. "I need to know if he has any idea where she might be. You know how they were... before."
Shared memories of a time less complicated, yet no less difficult, filled the space between them—a time when Tamlin had been more than an adversary, when Nesta's feelings towards him had been trouble enough without the threat of war that had gripped their lives. With a tentative resolution, Rhys agreed. "I'll come with you. If Nesta is hiding from us, perhaps an outsider might draw her out. But we act cautiously—I don’t trust him not to exploit her, or your, vulnerabilities."
Feyre managed a grateful, if anxious, smile. "Thank you, Rhys." She turned to face the dawning day once more, as if the light could guide them to Nesta.
To the rest of Prythian, the threat had been quelled—the triumphant light of a new era had been lit. But within the quiet spaces of her heart, Feyre knew all too well: the brightest of dawns could cast the darkest of shadows, and it was within those shadows that new fears might take root. It was there, in those silent places, where they must begin their search for her lost sister, and face whatever truths lay in waiting.
With the resolve that had seen her through battles of flesh and will alike, Feyre descended upon the House of Wind, preparing to cross into the territory that was once as familiar as it had been suffocating. She would go into the Spring Court and find Nesta, or at the very least, uncover where the silence had claimed her.