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Bryaxis has returned to the lowermost level of the library.

“It’s going to feed on you—” Nesta gasped out, righting herself. Feyre did the same beside her, reading the paper.

That is not a concern. We reached an agreement.

“Bryaxis just unleashed itself on us at Nyx’s Naming Day ceremony,” Feyre said between shaking breaths. “It cannot be allowed to live, to return here.”

Nesta grabbed her sister’s hand. Or tried to. Her own arm was somehow not moving. It was utterly numb. But she kept her eyes fixed on Clotho’s paper as new words appeared: I am sorry for your suffering—

“My son was screaming,” Feyre snarled, now shaking so hard Nesta could hear her teeth chattering. Shock was setting in. “I held him in my arms and didn’t even know it. He didn’t know I held him. We are going down there right now and I am going to fucking obliterate that thing—”

Power rumbled through the very stones of the House of Wind. Enough power that Nesta glanced at her sister. She forgot, sometimes, how deadly Feyre was.

But Clotho stood firm between the doors. Blocking their way.

The paper said, I cannot let you enter. Bryaxis answered the call, and we shall honor it.

“What call?” Feyre demanded, but a chill slithered down Nesta’s spine.

“The song,” Nesta breathed. “Calling lost sisters home.”

Clotho’s head bobbed in a nod. Bryaxis has been a resident of this place for millennia. I will not deny her this return.

“Her?” Feyre repeated.

But Nesta cut in, “She attacked us.”

“I don’t care what oaths you have here,” Feyre bit out. “She went after my son, and I—”

The Mother has offered Bryaxis her protection. You shall not violate it.

Feyre stiffened. Power swarmed around her like a living mist.

Mere feet away, Nesta could have sworn something close to anger radiated from Clotho.

This is my home, Clotho wrote. Your authority ends at this doorway, High Lady. I decide which souls pass over my threshold. Which souls are under my protection.

Feyre slowly, slowly blinked. That power rolled.

Nesta gaped, unable to help it. For Clotho to take this stand for Bryaxis—

All the Mother’s creatures have value, Clotho wrote. Even when we cannot see it. She returned to the only place she knows as home. And I apologize again for your son’s fear.

Feyre’s teeth flashed in the dim light. “You want to keep her down there again, fine. But if she comes out of this library, she’s dead.”

Nesta had no idea what to do. She’d arrived here frantic, furious, ready to kill a creature that could not be killed, ready to avenge her family’s and friends’ fear and suffering.

And now Clotho stood in her way. Defending that creature with her usual grace and strength. Putting the High Priestess on the other side of a line. Turning her into someone Nesta didn’t know.

Nesta asked, her jagged breathing evening out, “Are the other priestesses all right? Is Gwyn all right?”

Clotho’s hooded head swung her way. Bryaxis has agreed to harm none within these walls, unless they venture into her pit. The others have been made aware, and will stay well away, as they always have. They are currently sheltering in their rooms until you leave.

“Until we leave?” Feyre demanded, power sparking like stirred embers.

I did not want them to see us at odds. The hood nodded at Nesta. Gwyneth is fine—she did not take the news with any sort of shock. We will resume our ceremony and celebrations as soon as we are able.

As soon as Nesta and Feyre were gone.