Ember & Randall

Ember Quinlan stared at the Fae female standing

on the ornate red rug before a crackling fireplace. For
a heartbeat, she could have sworn silver flames also
crackled in the young female's eyes. It startled Ember
enough to pause.
Just a heartbeat, then—
Ember whirled to where the portal had been, to
where Nena's snow and ice had been, flakes of which
were still melting in her black hair.
Randall's rifle clicked—safety off. Ember didn't
need to look at her husband to know he had it aimed
at the female monitoring them with such stillness.
The portal was gone. Only the room, this world,
remained. A room with red stone walls, deep-
cushioned wood furniture, and an entire wall of books.
Windows lined the other wall, all of them shut against
the night and revealing a glittering city far below. Not
a modern, glaringly bright city, but rather one of low

1
buildings and golden lights. A hint of a gleaming river
wound like a snake through its heart.
Bryce had left her. Left them. Had thrown her and
Randall in here, and closed the portal.
And now Bryce was—
The Fae female spoke, voice cool and flat, in a
language Ember didn't recognize. Because it wasn't
one of Midgard's languages. It was a language of
another place, another world—
“Open that portal,” Randall growled in their own
language, and Ember turned to see her husband still
aiming the rifle at the female's pretty face. But the
female glanced to the wall of windows. To the
blackness sweeping from the horizon.
Even Ember's mortal blood knew it wasn't a storm.
It was something far, far worse.
The female spoke again, voice still unruffled. She
nodded to the rifle, motioning with a hand in a put it
down gesture.
Randall did no such thing. “Open that portal,” he
ordered again. The darkness on the horizon was racing
toward them. The fine hairs on Ember's arms rose.

2
 “Lower your gun,” Ember whispered to Randall.
“What?” Randall didn't lower the rifle as he slid his
gaze to her.
“Lower your fucking gun,” Ember breathed as the
darkness raged closer, blotting out the city lights, the
stars, the moon—
Randall clicked the safety back on, but he didn't
have time to lower it before darkness exploded
through the windows.

“You had no right,” a Fae male thundered behind a

shut door. Ember had heard Nesta call him Rhysand.
She and Randall listened from a red-stoned hall,
guarded by a solemn, dark-haired male with dragon
wings.
Ember understood the words only because in those
initial moments after the dark storm had ruptured the
windows and burst into the room, she and Randall had
been questioned. Since it was clear they didn't
understand the language, the male who had appeared

3
from the heart of the star-flecked storm had given
them both a silver bean and mimed eating it.
Ember had swallowed it, because the gray-eyed
female—Nesta—had said „Bryce” and mimed eating
the bean, then pointed to her mouth. Ember
remembered that her daughter had mentioned eating
some sort of magical thing here that had allowed her
to understand and speak to these people in their own
language. So Ember had swallowed it, and Randall
followed her lead.
They'd blacked out, and awoken here, in the hall,
right as the doors to the study were shutting. Ember
had gotten a peek at the arrivals—just quickly enough
to see Nesta cloistered with Rhysand, a short-haired
female, and a broad-shouldered male with dragon
wings like the warrior in the hall beside them.
Ember and Randall hadn't dared talk. Not as wisps
of the raging argument filtered out through the
keyhole.
“You had no right,” Rhysand growled again, his
voice reverberating through the stone. His power

4
made the Autumn King seem like a child in
comparison.
“I had every right,” Nesta countered icily. “The
Trove answers to me, obeys me.”
“You transferred a deadly weapon into the very
world where the enemies who have been seeking it
have been camped out for millennia, right into the
hands of the one person who could open a portal to our
world with half a thought. What were you thinking?”
The last words were a roar.
The other male in the room murmured, “Rhys.”
A low, vicious snarl was the only reply.
The other female voice—dry, sharp—said, “Before
you fillet her, Rhysand, I would hear the girl's
reasoning for handing over the Mask.”
“There is no excuse for it,” Rhysand snapped. “And
when Feyre gets here—”
“I don't answer to my sister or to you,” Nesta
retorted. “I am not your subject to punish as you
please.”

5
 Ember glanced to their guard. The handsome male
on Randall's other side, his dark armor adorned with
blue stones, remained stoic.
“You have jeopardized this entire world,” Rhysand
shouted. “You might not answer directly to me, but
you will answer to every being here for what you did.”
“She was desperate,” Nesta said, and Ember's heart
strained. “She was willing to leave her parents as
collateral, for fuck's sake.”
“I don't give a shit who she left or what she claimed.
You handed over the Mask—”
“She begged me to keep them, even if I wouldn't
give her the Mask.”
Ember glanced at Randall. Pure pain and grief
filled her husband's eyes. Bryce had... traded them.
For that glittering gold thing she'd glimpsed passing
from Nesta to her daughter.
And oh gods. Cooper—
Ember clutched the silver amulet of the Embrace
around her neck, closing her eyes and murmuring a
prayer.

6
 Merciful Cthona dwelling beneath, protect our son,
take him into your care—
In these weeks, however brief, the gangly, near-
skeletal boy who'd shown up on her doorstep with
such haunted, bleak eyes had become a son. From the
worry now filling Randall's eyes, Ember could only
guess that his thoughts had drifted in the same
direction.
Bryce had left Cooper behind. Had taken them, but
left the boy, left him vulnerable and alone again—
Red washed over her vision. Bryce had been
talking with Cooper, laughing with him on Avallen.
She'd been acting normally, and yet she'd known she
planned to do this, to leave him behind.
The beautiful, winged male glanced warily toward
Ember, as if sensing her wrath.
In the study, Nesta was saying, “If there is a chance
of defeating the Daglan—the Asteri—why not give
Bryce the edge she needs?”
“Because they will kill her and take the Mask and
Horn and open a fucking gate to this world!” Rhysand
bellowed. “You should have killed Bryce the moment

7
she opened that portal,” he raged on. “The moment she
appeared, you should have been swinging Ataraxia at
her fucking throat—”
“She deserved the honor of being heard out,” Nesta
snapped back. “After all we went through, she
deserved that.”
“She deserved to be obliterated for putting us at
such risk—a second time!” Rhysand yelled.
„Argue later,” the other female advised. „We need
to deal with the parents first.”
Ember stiffened, and Randall reached for a knife
that was no longer there. They'd awoken to find his
rifle and his knife gone. Along with the secret one he
kept in his boot.
The study doors blew open, banging so hard
against the stone walls that Ember could have sworn
even their guard winced. “Azriel.” Rhysand's
commanding voice boomed from within the study.
“Bring them.”
Azriel–the male who Bryce had traveled with in the
caves. He was now motioning them forward, his face
like ice.

8
 Every step seemed to take too long as Ember and
Randall, their guard flanking them, walked into the
study. It was smaller than the room they'd arrived in.
Too small, considering all the hulking males now
occupying it. Rhysand had wings, too, like Azriel and
the other male, but he also had the pointed ears of the
Fae.
And the other, shorter female... her chin-length bob
swayed as she turned, revealing silver eyes that
marked every detail of Ember's being, right down to
the dregs of her soul.
Rhysand loomed like a roiling storm in the center
of the room. Even the fire seemed to cringe from him.
Nesta stood a few feet away, blue-gray eyes wary—
no hint of that silver flame. She clenched her hands,
but her face was nearly vacant. The hand- some,
broad-shouldered male at her side was thin-lipped
with concern—or anger. Maybe both.
None of the strangers seemed particularly... chill.
Rhysand's violet-blue eyes swept over Randall, then
Ember. Randall tensed, like he'd leap between Ember

9
and any threat, as he'd done so times throughout their
lives together.
But Ember seethed at Rhysand, “Don't bother
obliterating my daughter.” Fury blazed through her.
“When I get back to Migard, I'm going to do it myself.”
“Did you know Bryce was planning this?”
“I don't know how many more ways I can say this,”
Ember reiterated to Rhysand five minutes later. “No.”
Randall added, jaw tight, “She tricked us—made us
think we were headed up to Nena for a mission, but it
was to dump us here.”
They'd had to strip off their heavy winter coats
thanks to the warmth of the room, but now, in her long
T-shirt and jeans, Ember felt a bit bare, surrounded by
warriors armed to the teeth. Only the short female
wore normal clothes.
That is, if the fine silk attire could be considered
normal. If the necklace of rubies around her throat was
a common thing.
“And where is she going now?” Azriel asked with
soft venom. “Now that she has the Mask”—„a

10
withering glare at Nesta, whose face was carefully
blank—”where is Bryce going?”
“I don't know,” Ember insisted. “I didn't even know
she wanted the Mask—she didn't tell us about this
Trove of yours. She and Hunt must have planned this
in secret.”
Because it had been Athalar's storm wind that had
shoved them in here. And if Ember ever got her hands
on the Umbra Mortis...
“Yet you brought one of your guns with you,”
Rhysand said, his accent tripping over the term. “You
must have known you were heading into trouble.”
“Nena is... not a nice place,” Randall said. “You'd
be an idiot to go up there unarmed.”
Rhysand fell silent, gaze sliding to the petite, dark-
haired female. She sighed at the ceiling and said,
“They are humans, Rhysand. We can contain them
here.”
Randall shot Ember a look, as if to warn her to stay
quiet. But she'd spent her whole life hearing that
bullshit—she wasn't about to tolerate it now.

11
 “Right,” Ember bit out. “We're just pathetic, weak,
stupid humans. Little more than chattel to you.”
Ember could have sworn Nesta was watching her
curiously.
But Rhysand said quietly, „If Amren offended you,
it was not intended. We all have a deep respect for
humans here.”
For some reason, Ember believed him. Amren
inclined her head in apology.
“We won't cause you any trouble,” Ember said,
turning up h palms in what she hoped translated to a
pleading gesture in this world. “We don't even want to
be here.”
„I am not concerned about your presence here,”
Rhysand said, any hint of that warm sincerity
hardening to ice. “I'm concerned about your daughter.
If our ancient enemies get their hands on her, on the
weapons she bears, on the people she loves...” He
shook his head, the firelight dancing on his blue-black
hair. “How hard would it be to break her? She has
already proven that she will do anything to save her
loved ones.” He gestured to Ember, to Randall. “If the

12
Daglan—the Asteri, as you call them—capture her
mate, her brother. won't she betray us to save them?”
“You don't know our daughter,” Randall said
firmly.
Ember's stomach turned, though, at the thought of
the methods the Asteri would use to hurt Bryce. It had
been bad enough hearing from Fury that Hunt and
Ruhn were in the Asteri dungeons, with no word of
where Bryce had gone. Ember hadn't slept for days.
Had barely eaten a bite until she'd gotten the news that
Bryce had reappeared and wanted them in Avallen
immediately.
Rhysand said calmly to Randall, “I don't know your
daughter, but my companions spent enough time with
her lately to give me an idea. She's softhearted yet
ruthless. Scheming yet impulsive. Determined and
stubborn. And with a dangerous tendency toward
recklessness.”
“She's been like that since she was a baby,” Ember
said, rubbing her temples. „Imagine all that in a one-
year-old.”

13
 Randall cleared his throat in warning, but she could
have sworn Rhysand's mouth twitched upward. Like
he could indeed imagine such a thing. Maybe he'd
lived through something similar.
The male at Nesta's side—her mate, if Ember were
to make a eyes s belied his guess—said casually, even
as the worry in his hazel tone, “It's late, Rhys. Let
them rest, and we'll meet again in the morning.”
Rhys nodded without looking at the warrior, and
focused all his fury on Nesta. To her credit, the female
stood stiff-backed, chin high. Imperious and
unbending. Ember couldn't help but admire her.
Rhysand's violet-blue eyes guttered into pure
darkness at the challenge in Nesta's expression, her
stance. A predator recognizing a worthy opponent and
unsheathing its talons. His hands curled at his sides, as
if invisible claws were forming.
Nesta's mate shifted an inch closer to her, his eyes
darting between the two of them, torn. Like he didn't
know who to side with in the brewing fight. “I'm fine,
Cassian,” Nesta muttered.

14
 Rhysand didn't take his eyes off Nesta as he
ordered, “Report to my office at dawn. We'll finish
this then.”
He stalked out of the chamber, the doors slamming
behind him on a night-flecked wind.
In the ensuing quiet, Amren nodded to Nesta. “Find
a room for your… guests, girl. And pray to the Mother
that your sister changes Rhysand's mind tonight.”
With that, they prowled from the room as well,
leaving only heavy, fraught silence in their wake.

“You two can stay here.” Nesta opened the door to

a cozy bedroom overlooking the small city beyond.
“There are wards on every inch of this place and the
House is alive, so you can't get out unless we allow it,
but... it's better than a dungeon.”
They'd taken Bryce to their dungeons. Furious as
she was with her daughter, another sort of fury came
over Ember at the thought.
“Thank you,” Ember said a shade stiffly to the
female. Randall didn't speak as he assessed every exit

15
and potential weapon. “Wait,” Ember said. “This
house is alive?”
“In a way,” Nesta said, waving a slender hand. “It
reports to me. This is my home.” She sounded thin,
brittle. After the verbal lashing she'd taken in the
study...
“Thank you,” Ember said quietly. “For sticking
your neck out for us.”
Nesta shrugged with one shoulder, turning to leave.
“If you're hungry, simply ask the House aloud and
food will appear.”
“Convenient,” Randall murmured from where he
stood at the window.
“Thank you,” Ember said again. “If there was a
way for us to get back, we’d go, but without Bryce...”
She shook her head. „I could kill her for this, you
know. I could kill her for this.”
“Your daughter loves you,” Nesta said hoarsely.
“She loves you enough to send you away in order to
keep you from harm.”
“She used us as a bargaining chip,” Ember
corrected.

16
 “No,” Nesta said. “She wanted the Mask to fight
your Asteri, but I think she mostly opened the portal
to send you here. Out of harm's way.”
“She left our son behind,” Randall growled with
uncharacteristic menace.
“I'm sure she has some plan for his protection,”
Nesta said. “Your daughter seems to be very...
resourceful.”
Ember huffed. “You don't know the half of it. Try
setting a curfew for that girl.”
A ghost of a smile crossed Nesta's face. “I'll check
in on you after breakfast.” Her shoulders curved
inward as she aimed for the door.
“Are you in trouble?” Ember ventured. Nesta's
meeting with Rhysand first thing in the morning
clearly wouldn't be a pleasant one.
“No more than usual,” Nesta said nonchalantly, but
Ember could sense the lie.
“We really won't cause any problems here,” Ember
said, “as we promised earlier. I just want to get home
to Midgard.”

17
 “I don't think you will get home—unless your
daughter succeeds in her impossible task.”
Ember's heart crumpled. But she said, “If anyone
can find a way to take down the Asteri, it's Bryce.”
Another ghost of a smile. “I'm inclined to agree.”
It was comforting, somehow—that this stranger
from another world had faith in her wild, willful
daughter. The wild, willful daughter who had felt like
a mirror to herself sometimes, if Ember was being
honest.
“Did Bryce... behave herself here?”
“No,” Nesta said. “She tried to feed me and Azriel
to an oversize worm.”
Randall choked, but didn't turn from the windows
as he said, “Of course she did.”
Ember rubbed her eyes. “Gods, she must have
driven you up the wall.”
“Indeed.” Nesta's smile was slow, barely a lift of
the corners of her lips. Like she wasn't someone who
smiled easily or regularly. A warrior, yes but she
seemed young, despite those Fae ears. The way Bryce,
with her own pointed ears, seemed young, though Fae

18
could still look twenty-five when they were three
hundred years old. The gods knew the Autumn King
had still looked young—had still seemed barely into
his thirties when Bryce had—
Her daughter had...
It had been Ruhn, Ember reminded herself. Ruhn
had made the killing blow.
But it still felt like Bryce's kill somehow. She'd
confronted the Autumn King, taken on all his hatred
and misery. Ember still didn't quite know how to
process it.
Nesta had that look, too. Like she was processing a
lot of things.
And maybe it was some motherly instinct, but
Ember found herself saying, “Tomorrow, if you walk
out of your morning meeting alive... I'd like to sit
down and talk with you, Nesta.”
Nesta remained silent a beat, no doubt weighing the
request.
At last, her mouth curved upward again in that
ghost of a smile. “I'd like that, too.”

19
 “You should sleep, Em.”
Randall's voice rumbled across the bed. Despite the
clearly un-modern settings, the bed was comfortable
enough to rival any mattress in Midgard. But it still
offered Ember no shot at finding restful oblivion.
“I don't know how you can even try to sleep,” she
hissed, kicking at the heavy down blankets. “We're in
another world, for fuck's sake.”
“Which is why we should rest while we can-so we
have strength and focus tomorrow.”
Ember blew out a long breath. “Do you trust these
people?”
Randall was silent for a moment, thinking it
through in that quiet, considerate, merciless way of his.
“I trust Bryce's trust in them. I don't think our daughter
would have sent us into the hands of brutal murderers,
when her intention was to keep us safe.”
Ember sniffed. “You sure about that? She
threatened to shove me into the kiln once.”
Randall chuckled, turning onto his side and
propping his with a hand. Gods, even after all these

20
years, he was still head up handsome enough to make
her toes curl. “I'll remind you that you first threatened
to toss JJ into said kiln if she didn't clean her room.”
Despite herself, Ember laughed softly at the
memory. But the amusement faded as she said, “Our
baby's going to try to take on the Asteri, Randall.”
“Rigelus won't know what hit him.”
Ember sat up, glaring at him.
He sat up, too, taking her hand in his, face grave. “I
know what she's up against. But I also know that if
there is anyone on Midgard who can do this, it's Bryce.
And I'm not saying that as her dad. Have faith in her,
Ember.”
Ember nodded, sighing. “I do. I'm just...”
“Terrified.”
Ember nodded again, throat closing up. “Do you
think Cooper—”
“He's fine. The kid's smart and capable. And he's
got Fury Axtar and Baxian Argos looking after him.”
“I will never forgive Bryce for this.” Ember bit
back a sob.

21
 Randall stroked a loving, reassuring hand down her
hair. “Honestly? I hope to the gods we get the chance
to tell Bryce how pissed we are at her.”
“I know.” Tears stung her eyes, and Ember couldn't
help her shuddering gasp. A moment later, Randall's
arms wrapped around her, tugging her tight against
him. He kissed her temple. “We'll see her again.” He
kissed her once more, gently easing her back down
beside him. “I promise. We'll see them both again.”

Ember and Randall had just sat down for breakfast

in the dining room—guided there by a silent Azriel—
when Rhysand landed on the veranda beyond the glass
doors. His vast wings were like storm clouds in the
morning light. A heartbeat later, Cassian landed,
Nesta in his arms. Both looking stone-faced. Pissed.
Rhysand snarled something that had Nesta's
shoulders tensing, her head bowing.
And Ember found herself pushing out of her chair,
stalking for the doors. Randall tried to grab her, but he
was too late. And Azriel didn't stop her as Ember flung

22
open the glass doors and asked Rhysand, “Isn't it a
little early to be biting people's heads off?”
The trio froze. Rhysand slowly turned toward
Ember. His eyes were black pits. “I don't recall asking
you to join our conversation.”
Ember kept her chin high. “You interrupted my
breakfast. If you wanted privacy, you should have
gone somewhere else.”
Was that amusement shining in Cassian's eyes?
Ember didn't dare take her attention off Rhysand to
confirm. Randall appeared at her side, a hand on her
back in warning as he said, “We'll leave you to it.”
But Ember refused to move, even as a part of her
quailed in terror, and said, “Nesta made a choice to
harbor us—she made a choice to give Midgard a shot
at freedom. To give my world hope. What kind of
person are you to rip her to shreds for it?”
“Em,” Randall cautioned.
Rhysand crossed his muscular arms. “Are you
calling me a monster, Ember Quinlan?”

23
 “I'm saying give it a fucking rest,” Ember snapped.
Behind her, she could have sworn Azriel choked. But
she jerked her chin toward Nesta. “Lay off her.”
Rhysand held her stare.
For a moment, an eternity. Stars seemed to flicker
into existence in his eyes. Like the vastness of night
lay within, sweet and terrible, beautiful and harrowing.
But Ember withstood it. She'd seen and faced true
evil. Bore a mark on her cheek forever because of it.
Something seemed to soften in Rhysand's stare—
like he saw that. His gaze slid over to Randall. „With
a wife and a daughter like yours, I don't know how
you're still standing.”
Randall said with that casual charm, “Honestly,
most days I don't know, either.”
Rhysand blinked at Randall—and then laughed. A
moment later, Cassian and Azriel chuckled as well.
Typical males. No matter what planet they were on.
Ember didn't smile, though. Her gaze landed on
Nesta. The Fae female wasn't laughing, either. Her
blue-gray eyes remained fixed on Ember. Swimming
with emotion.

24
 Surprise. Gratitude. Longing.
And it was that same mother's instinct that had
guided her last night that had Ember extending a hand
toward Nesta and saying, “Come. Eat breakfast with
me.”
Nesta took her hand, her fingers surprisingly cold.
Like the flight up here had chilled them. Ember gave
them a squeeze. “Don't let him push you around,”
Ember advised the female.
“Don't worry,” Nesta said, even if that bruised look
lingered in her eyes. “My sister—Rhys's mate—gave
him that exact same lecture twenty minutes ago.”
Ember hissed, “So he brought you back up here to
lecture you away from her?”
Nesta snorted. “No. Feyre put an end to the
argument. I'm not going to be executed. Not today, at
least.”
At Ember's horrified expression, Nesta amended,
“They wouldn't kill me. I don't think. But... it's
complicated. I doubt anyone will be forgiving me
anytime soon.”

25
 Ember nodded toward Cassian. “What about your
mate?”
The pain in her eyes—the guilt—seemed to deepen.
“Cassian's the most furious with me of anyone.” A
muscle ticked in her jaw. Like she was holding back a
giant wave of raw emotion. Only a wall of steel kept
it at bay.
Ember squeezed Nesta's hand again. “If there's
anything I can do to help, anything you need me to say
to take some of the blame away from you…”
Nesta gave her a half smile. “Handing Rhys his ass
just now was good enough for me.” She steered Ember
toward the breakfast laid out for them.
Ember glanced over a shoulder, to where Randall
stood with Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian. All the
males were now smiling, thank the gods. “Seems like
Randall's doing a good job of winning them over.
Probably by telling them how difficult I make his life.”
Nesta snorted again. “Complaining about mates:
it's practically a competitive sport for them.”
Ember chuckled. “Seems like Midgard and this
place have some things in common, then.” She angled

26
her head, taking in the beautiful, ancient-looking city
far below, the river wending through it, and what
seemed to be the distant sparkle of the sea. “What is
this place, anyway? And why are all of you so
attractive?”
Nesta smirked, looping her arm through Ember's
before she said, warmth finally entering her tone,
“Welcome to the Night Court, Ember. You'll fit right
in here.”

27