The town wasn't quite asleep when they entered. While many had returned to their dwellings, the tavern was alive with activity.
Stepping inside, Feyre pulled her hair away from the nape of her neck and took it in. It was a cozy place and clean enough that she wouldn't mind getting something to drink.
Feyre could really use a drink.
However, she didn't waste time with that notion as she walked through the circular tables and directly to the front barkeep.
"Excuse me," she said, waiting for the woman with hip-length black hair to turn around, and when she did, she didn't bother introducing herself, "do you know what happened to the cabin a mile out? Just that way?" She pointed.
Feyre could feel Rhys at her elbow, but her eyes were trained on the bar maiden.
"The Timmon's place?" She asked as she ran a rag across the bar surface. "Oh, sweetheart. That place burned down, what, twelve years ago? Yeah, twelve years, give or take a few weeks."
The blood drained from Feyre's face. It was good that Rhys stood so near as she staggered back. It was as if her words had landed a physical blow. Her back pressed against his solid form as her knees suddenly felt the need to give out.
Burned down, she couldn't get her mouth to form the words.
Almost immediately, the woman set a glass of water in front of her, and Feyre didn't care that it had a slight orange tint. She took the glass and began guzzling.
"Sorry, that's not the best news to hear…"
Rhys was deadly quiet behind her- Feyre didn't dare look at him but reached out with her mind, though every thought she had was tinged with red. Pain blossomed through her chest as she took shallow breaths, willing herself to stay conscious.
Dead. How could she be dead?
"The grave sight is past the cabin, beyond the trees if you were wanting to…visit someone."
"Thank you," Rhys murmured, his voice strained as he pulled lightly on Feyre's elbow. He led her to a table in the far corner the others had claimed, ensuring it was concealed from watchful gazes.
All eyes were suddenly engrossed in the table markings and gouges from many years of use. The loss wasn't just her own, Feyre knew. They all loved her; they all wanted her to be part of their family again, but something inside of her was about to snap. Something vicious and unforgiving.
"I need air." Feyre's voice wobbled, clutching Rhysand's hand as she finally looked at him, taking in his red-rimmed eyes.
I need you.
Rhys didn't hesitate to stand, and together they walked out. Leaning into each other as if they both may crumple over the slightest blow of the wind.
The sticky air outside did nothing to alleviate the heat behind Feyre's eyes, but at least she could let the mask drop. Her features contorted as she let out a sob. Before she could sink to her knees, Rhys had just enough emotional stamina to winnow them to a field between the town and the cabin's location.
There, they sank into each other, falling to their knees. Rhys wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face against her neck while Feyre did the same.
Shoulders were shaking, and cheeks wet- they wept.