" Feyre," he said--softly enough that I faced him again. " Why?" He tilted his head to the side. " You dislike our kind on a good day. And after Andras . . ." Even in the darkened hallway, his usual bright eyes were shadowed. " So why?" I took a step closer to him, my blood-covered feet sticking to the rug. I glanced down the stairs to where I could still see the prone form of the faerie and the stumps of his wings." Because I wouldn't want to die alone," I said, and my voice wobbled as I looked at Tamlin again, forcing myself to meet his stare. " Because I'd want someone to hold my hand until the end, and awhile after that. That's something everyone deserves, human or faerie." I swallowed hard, my throat painfully tight. " I regret what I did to Andras," I said, the words so strangled they were no more than a whisper. " I regret that there was . . . such hate in my heart. I wish I could undo it--and . . . I'm sorry. So very sorry. "