Chapter no 35 – 36

Chapter no 35

The narrator awakens in agonizing pain, her senses gradually returning as she realizes she’s locked in a dungeon cell. Her injuries are severe, with a broken nose, split lip, and swollen face, but she forces herself to assess the damage and stay composed. Haunted by the screams of another prisoner echoing through the halls, she fights despair, her guilt over Clare Beddor’s fate gnawing at her resolve. Determined to make amends and save Tamlin, she clings to the hope of enduring whatever trials Amarantha has in store for her.

Lucien secretly visits her, bringing a small measure of relief. He scolds her for returning to Prythian but ultimately helps set her broken nose, using a fraction of his stolen magic to heal her face just enough to avoid suspicion. Their conversation reveals more of Amarantha’s twisted cruelty, including the fate of Jurian, whose soul is trapped in her ring. Lucien warns her about the looming dangers, his own helplessness evident as he departs abruptly to avoid detection. Alone once more, the narrator braces for the trials ahead.

When she is summoned to Amarantha’s throne room, the narrator observes the opulence and terror surrounding the Faerie Queen. Amarantha taunts her, demanding her name, and uses Lucien as leverage when the narrator refuses to answer. Faced with Rhysand’s mind-control over Lucien, she reluctantly reveals her name to protect him. Amarantha, relishing her dominance, presents the narrator with a riddle, promising that solving it will immediately free Tamlin, his court, and the narrator herself. The riddle’s cryptic nature overwhelms the narrator, and she is dragged back to her cell, consumed by a sense of failure.

In her solitude, the narrator fixates on the riddle, desperate to uncover its meaning. She fears that Amarantha’s emphasis on “immediately” might mask a trick or loophole, but the possibility of freeing everyone in an instant keeps her clinging to hope. Yet, the looming prospect of the first trial leaves her trembling. Her dreams are haunted by the fear of enduring Jurian’s eternal torment, and her doubts about her own strength deepen as the day of the trial approaches.

When the full moon rises, the guards come for her, signaling the start of Amarantha’s first task. Despite her terror and the overwhelming odds against her, the narrator steels herself for the challenge. Knowing the stakes and the consequences of failure, she prepares to face the brutal trials that await, determined to fight for Tamlin and redemption, no matter the cost.

Chapter no 36

The crowd’s roar and the unrelenting noise of the arena greeted Feyre as she was dragged into the vast torch-lit chamber. The sight of Amarantha and Tamlin on the dais above, flanked by the High Lords and a sea of faeries, only added to the dread pooling in her stomach. Her heart sank further when she was shoved to her knees before Amarantha, the queen’s serpent-like grin promising torment. The task presented was clear—hunt and survive. The arena revealed a muddy, maze-like labyrinth filled with trenches and pits. Feyre was given no weapon, no clear direction—only the knowledge that her enemy had been released.

The moment the massive worm-like creature emerged, all teeth and ferocity, Feyre ran, instinct driving her forward through the trenches. The labyrinth became a blur of sharp turns and blind choices as she desperately tried to stay ahead of the beast. The faeries’ jeers and laughter from above only spurred her desperation. Sliding, slipping, and colliding with walls, she pushed her body beyond its limits, knowing the worm’s razor-lined mouth was always a breath away.

Her first stroke of luck came when the worm overshot her during a chase, giving her a brief moment to breathe. Realizing it was blind and relied on scent, Feyre devised a daring plan. Using the environment to her advantage, she returned to a pit filled with the creature’s past victims’ bones. Gathering and breaking the bones into sharp spikes, she created a trap. Despite the overwhelming stench and the sharp pain in her body, she coated herself in the muddy remains to mask her scent, determined to even the odds.

The plan was simple: lure the beast into the trap. Feyre’s resolve burned brighter as she heard jeers from the crowd, including Rhysand’s cryptic commentary. Drawing blood from her palm to lure the creature, she took off running, her heart pounding as the worm chased her at full speed. She led it directly into the pit of bone spikes she had created. The plan succeeded—the beast impaled itself and died in a grotesque, shattering moment.

Climbing out of the pit, battered, bruised, and drenched in mud, Feyre faced the stunned silence of the crowd. Her determination carried her back to Amarantha’s dais, where she hurled one of the bones at the queen’s feet, splattering her pristine gown with filth. Though Feyre’s body was near its breaking point, her defiance burned in her eyes as she glared at the queen.

Amarantha, visibly irritated, dismissed Feyre’s victory as “mundane” but couldn’t entirely hide her displeasure at the outcome. As the Attor hauled her away, Feyre’s triumph was short-lived. The sharp pain in her left arm revealed a bone shard protruding through her flesh, the injury too severe to ignore. She was dragged back to her cell, her strength fading with each step as the agony consumed her. Even so, her mind clung to her victory—proof of her love and determination to endure, no matter the cost.

This was only the beginning. There were two more tasks to face. But Feyre had survived her first trial, and though battered, she resolved to keep fighting.