Chapter Text
Nesta was no stranger to the cruelty of the Hewn City. It echoed in the hallways. In the shadows. In the rock, and the tang of pain in the air, thick like blood in the air. It reminded her of the War of Hybern. How the burning smell of death had stung her eyes, made them water as she had gone across the battlefield to find Cassian. How she had covered his body with her own and looked up to see her sister bloody, with wild eyes and knotted hair.
Shaking her head she followed the winding hallways. Carved with grotesque images that she didn’t pay much attention to. Her skirts swishing around her ankles, she walked and walked, a guard by her side, leading her through to the main part of the city.
The world gave way to a massive cave like construction. It was dark and damp, and the air tasted old. The streets were lined with beautiful constructed buildings. Gilded with gold and precious metals. The people that walked the streets were as melancholy as the darkness surrounding them. As Nesta passed people who only paid her so much as a glance, she never saw a singular smile. Not even in small children clutching their mother’s skirts.
She walked through the cavernous tunnels to an estate larger than the rest. Built into the side of the caves. Nesta stood on the marble stairs of a building, looking up at the windows built into the sides of the cave, the gleam of torches on either side of the doors gave way to sharpened the shadows dancing in every corner of this place.
Everything was always so, so dark. Only lit by candles, faelights, and torches.
The guard flanking her walked first up the stairs, he lifted the golden door knocker and banged quickly thrice over.
In mere seconds, the doors creaked open, the dark wood pulled back to reveal the dim lighting of the interior house. Even from such a small slight in, Nesta could see the black and white checkered floors and exquisite paintings hanging from the perfectly white walls. All cast in soft candlelight glow.
The servant girl, a High Fae with bright blue eyes and long blonde hair, saw the guests and seemed to immediately recognise them. She curtsied low and opened the door completely, all in utter silence.
Nesta was led in, and the game truly began.
Through large hallways she was led, none with a single window, nothing to let out the precious faelight into the open dark caverns. Everything hidden in dim secrecy, it smelled of dark winter and damp stone, even over the tiles and clean walls, everything smelled of the mountains around. Nesta wondered if anyone down here knew air not tinged with the dripping of water penetrating every surface around them. If they knew more than darkness, mildew, and suffering.
It made her blood run cold to know the answer was no. Or very few of them.
Finally she reached a drawing room, deep into the near empty, silent estate. She was surprised to see so few servants. All in hiding until called upon she assumed, after seeing the dreary faces of the Hewn City she supposed everyone was in hiding until called upon.
A decorated prison, a gilded cage, Nesta thought as the dark wooden doors opened.
The room was large. Large and gleaming. Dark like the rest of the house, but with a fire roaring, the shadows dancing on the white walls and bouncing off of glowing gold painted into the ceiling in whorls. The ground was soft green carpet, Nesta noted most things here were green, brown, even the gold paint above was softly swirled in a way that resembled flowers of all kinds.
And the chandelier, she considered that the most detailed part of the room. All gold, in the shape of hanging wisteria, with emeralds hanging from it like leaves and vines, even the faelights glowed a soft purple.
But the greatest thing in the entire room, the one that demanded the most attention, was the woman who lounged upon an emerald silk lounge. Draped in emeralds and gold, with her golden curls spilling down her shoulders and over her breasts. Wearing a silk green dress, with a tight bodice swirled with shimmering flowers and vines. When Nesta looked closer at the design, she recognised the flowers from Elain’s garden, all highly poisonous.
Her black lipped mouth curled into a sinister grin. Eyes shining like deep forests. Pale skin glowing like the light of the moon. Belladonna Ashdown took in Nesta Archeron, drinking in every stitch of fabric, shifting ever so slightly, Nesta became keenly aware of the white ribbon tied around her neck, with stains of dark red splattered across some part, the edges fraying as if it had been torn in half.
It reminded Nesta of her Valkyrie ribbon.
“Lovely Death,” Belladonna murmured, tasting the words like sweet wine on her tongue, “Please take a seat.”
Nesta stood in awe for a moment, mouth dropping open ever so slightly. Fingers jammed harshly into her side from the servant girl, forcing Nesta to move. She bowed her head to the Lady Ashdown and took her place in an emerald green oneseater, directly across from the Goddess that looked her up and down with every movement.
“You may retire for the night, Anna.” Belladonna waved the servant off. Anna quickly bowed low to her Lady, murmuring her thanks before closing the doors with a light click.
Nesta looked from those closed doors to Belladonna, head kept low, but eyes up and cunningly sharp. Face and body perfectly poised.
The Lady Ashdown’s feet were up on the lounge. The emerald silk spilling over long legs. Chin propped up on her knuckles, she appeared like a hedonistic Queen. But Nesta spied deep into those forest eyes, ringed with dark gold, something wild, something that made her finger twitch every so often, her pupils dark from left to right too quickly. Made her breathing hitched now and again. There was something wild and feral there, something caged, locked to a post.
Belladonna snapped her fingers and suddenly a platter of cheese, cold meats, fruits and crackers were before them, with two glasses of swirling red wine. Belladonna picked up her glass and tipped the liquid around in a lazy motion. Every movement deliberate, with her eyes never leaving Nesta’s face.
“I trust your time spent in our Court has been to your liking?” Belladonna asked.
A trick question, Nesta saw through it in a second.
“Your people are miserable.” She said bluntly, Nesta wasn’t here to screw around, and neither was Belladonna.
It was the right choice of words. Belladonna’s sensual smile faded into a tight lipped line, “And that is why you are here today.”
She took a long, deep swallow of wine, a drop of red falling from the corner of her mouth and running down the line of her neck, before disappearing between her breasts. An obscene picture that would horrify masses, and should be painted and displayed in every holy temple.
Belladonna, as she brought the cup from her lips and gently wiped the purple tinted red from her charcoal black lips with her thumb, felt like something holy and something sinful at the same time. Nesta could barely explain her feelings in her own head, just knew they were making her dizzy.
Poisonous. Nesta realised Belladonna felt poisonous. Lethal, slow and deliberate. Inescapable once it wrapped its thorns around you.
This was so much more dangerous than she thought, and not just because of the Inner Circle and Rhysand. Because of the people she would ally with, because of the wolves who had been locked up for too long.
As Nesta lifted her head higher, she understood she was here to convince a feral, hurt creature she was not the threat, rather the freer.
Belladonna slid her glass back down to the table. She leaned back in her seat and regarded Nesta once more with a slide of her beautiful eyes, “Tell me, Death, is your master lurking in the walls?”
Was Rhysand here?
“No, never.” Nesta answered, voice strong, full of spoken honesty.
In that second, Nesta watched Belladonna’s eyes flash quickly. Gone as quickly as it appeared. But for a moment, that dark gold came in, and her green eyes were fully sparking like the chandelier above.
“You speak truth, Death.” She murmured, reaching out, her pale fingers nimbly took hold of a cracker, gently sliding a piece of soft cheese on. Belladonna leaned back and ate whilst watching Nesta. Who stared back with resilient eyes.
So, this female was the one Morrigan inherited her truth magic from.
How interesting.
“You’re a Truth-Teller?” Nesta asked, raising an eyebrow as she lounged back in her seat, mimicking the same lazy carefreeness that Belladonna exhibited.
A laugh tickling her throat, Belladonna remarked, “Did you think Morrigan got it from Keir?”
“No.” Nesta said, “But with your being a Truth-Teller it is a wonder how you ended up here.”
Gesturing to the walls around, Nesta said, “The unremarkable Lady of Keir Ashdown, without a title for her own name.”
“That,” For the first time since entering this place, Belladonna spat her words without care or seduction, “Is a long story.”
“We have all night.” Nesta said.
Forest eyes snapping up and down Nesta. Wondering whether or not to trust her.
When silence continued to swirl in the room, thick as the callouses on Nesta’s hands from training. When it was clear Belladonna was going to say nothing, Nesta reached out a hand, taking hold of the golden wine glass.
She brought it to her lips, and drank. Letting the cold liquid slip down her throat. Warming her stomach and beginning to taint her mind. Nesta put the cup back down on the table. Wiping her mouth roughly, she looked up to stare Belladonna down. Nesta’s face harsh and unforgiving in the eyes of Belladonna’s cool, relaxed and carefully made temptress’ expression.
“If you will not tell me your story, I will tell you mine.” Nesta told her.
A tilt of the head, and curiosity in the eyes. Nesta swallowed hard.
“When I was young, very young, I stayed up all night dancing to rigid songs as my grandmother screamed ridicules at me whenever I made a mistake. I pleaded with my mother everyday for it to end, and she either slapped me or spat that it was necessary. I learned how to tempt men three times my age into wanting me in their bed by the time I was eleven. I had marriage proposals from Lords older than my father by the time I was fourteen.”
Belladonna blinked, surprised.
“My father did nothing. He watched, saw the beatings, the insults, the hatred spilled onto me from the day I was born and did nothing at all. He never did anything but lock himself in his office or disappear for months at a time on his trips.”
That surprise melted into something else, something harder and colder. Recognition.
Recognition of a similar situation to her own.
Nesta kept going, hands balling into fists, veins popping from the back of her palm.
“When we fell into poverty he would stare at the fire, for years he stared at the fire. Even before his leg was shattered, when he could have done something. He did nothing. We had money. We had money for some years, neither me, nor my sisters knew how to properly handle it, yet he did nothing. When they came to shatter his leg, he did nothing. He didn’t say anything.”
Nothing.
He had done nothing.
Tears spilled down her cheeks. Nesta felt like she was begging, “He never did anything. The day he did do something was the last. It was the day I would have died. It took all those years for him to do something.”
She screamed, “By the time he had done something I had been assaulted, I had been kidnapped, drowned, boiled, raped, killed and remade. But they honour him! ”
“I was brought to a city I did not know. I was left with no one on my side, and when I drank and fucked and danced like the rest of them did, I was judged.” Nesta’s whole body was trembling.
“They put me in a House far removed from the rest of the city and did not let me leave. Saying I could, but they knew I couldn’t go down ten thousand steps. They knew I was trapped with no way out. It was only a matter of time before I bent and broke, and I did. They broke me.”
Shivering, with goosebumps spreading up her skin, blood on fire. Nesta choked out, “Then I saw a girl sentenced to be tortured with no jury or trial. And. I. Snapped.”
Taking in a deep breath, and smoothing down her skirts with her hands, Nesta sat still. Remaking her expression, she forced her face to look pretty and stone-cold once more. Her hand sliding out, she took hold of her glass again and drank until the last drops slipped past her reddened lips.
Near slamming it back onto the table, Nesta said, “Now. You.”
Belladonna stared at Nesta like she was a new person, whispering, “I know Eris told me you had been taken advantage of but-”
“No pity.” Nesta spat, “Your story now.”
‘I’ve convinced you, now convince me to trust you ’, did not need to be said for Belladonna to get the point.
Leaning her head against the tips of her fingers as her eyes looked to the side, Belladonna shifted in a more comfortable position, as she did, she pinched the slit of her dress and tossed it away from her leg, allowing the pale skin of her thigh to be seen, and along with it…
Nesta choked on her breath.
Carved into her thigh, jagged and horrible, like it had been drawn in with a knife was the word, ‘Witch’.
“Not far off.” Belladonna laughed, as she watched the blood drain from Nesta’s face, “I prefer the term ‘sorceress’ but witch works just as well. It’s the same thing to these people at least.”
“Sorceress?” Nesta asked breathlessly.
Nodding with a heavy look in her eyes, Belladonna tossed the silk of her dress back over her legs. Taking a heavy drink from her cup, she allowed the riveluts of wine to spill down. Like blood dripping from her mouth. She drank like a creature sucking the life from unsuspecting prey. Quickly with a feral look in her eyes.
She gasped in a breath and tossed the cup over her shoulder. It never hit the floor, whisked away by magic and appeared refilled on the table.
“I had a childhood not unlike your Nesta.” Belladonna started with, “I lived in a large house, with a very large family. We were rich, influential and pally with the Kings and Queens of our time.”
She took up the cup again, and drank, Nesta eyes watched as her brows furrowed. Her hand twitched to reach out and just remove the cup from Belladonna’s hand.
“I had many brothers and many sisters. And they bore many children. I, and my twin, were the last children to be born to my parents. With little power or other abilities, I threw myself into learning the ways of the Court, in some false hope of gaining the approval of my mother.”
A cold smile twisted on her lips, as her cup was refilled once more, “My twin now, she was different from me.”
Belladonna began to speak again, “She did not care for the approval of our mother and father, learned quicker than I that the path to success was one she had to pave herself. And so she did. She fought valiantly. She planned, she plotted, for a moment…”
Belladonna drank, before wiping the wine from her mouth and saying, “For a moment, the world bowed to her.”
Slumping back in her lounge, Belladonna drawled, “But everyone has their fall from grace, and for my dear sister, it was losing her ability to walk. Without being able to walk, she could not fight, without being able to fight and command her armies they were left a general short.”
“Your sister was a general?” Nesta asked breathlessly.
“Indeed.” Belladonna raised an eyebrow, “One of the greatest of her time.”
Draining the rest of her cup, Belladonna let it clatter to the ground. It did not refill itself again, “Of course losing such a powerful figure led to weaknesses within the armies. And well, you know how it goes, the army fell, she was left disgraced and dishonoured, metaphors, metaphors, etc, etc.”
Belladonna traced the arm of her lounge with her nail. Eyes falling to her hand, “My sister found solace in a man she met in War. A very powerful man at that, but he was not who he claimed to be. Whilst he was good in words and talented in charm, he lured her in then once she was in his grasp, fucked her, bred her, hit her, took advantage of her. As the story tends to go.”
Nesta swallowed hard, a fate she had heard so many times before. Reaching for her cup, the Lady Death swallowed a mouthful of blood red wine.
“In desperation, my sister pushed for a silent rebellion. She dreamed of getting back the people she lost, the army she had fought with. And taking back what was stolen, but she couldn’t do it alone.”
A grin spread on her face, not one that was empty or hollow. But a smile that curved those plush black lips in a too wide manner, one that sent a shiver running down Nesta’s spine. Belladonna reached out, taking a red berry from the platters, pressing it past her lips, a drop of juice fell from her lip, splattering against the fabric of her dress. The line of red like blood from prey, crushed in the mouth of a hunter.
“So, she had me get on board with it. With my… abilities, it would be easier for her to slip past her husband unnoticed. I distracted him from time to time, whilst she enacted parts of her plan. Managed to get two other ladies trapped in their horrifying marriages to agree to help.”
Licking the juice from her lip, Belladonna’s eyes flashed as she remembered her own story, “One female was from Autumn, prominent and powerful. My sister met her the night before her wedding. The other girl my sister met when she was pregnant with her first child. Both stuck in worlds they didn’t want. My sister’s cause appealed to them.”
Belladonna smiled, “If only it had worked, such a pity she was murdered.”
That caused Nesta’s eyes to widen, she opened her mouth to… what? Console? Ask what the fuck? She didn’t really know, she was glad that Belladonna kept talking.
“And well, with her being murdered, the whole rebellion came collapsing down. I was left trapped here with no one else on my side, and one of the other females was murdered. The other is still trapped in her loveless marriage. Bred like a bitch, and subservient to the male that she is bound to.”
Now silence encased them. Belladonna reached out and plucked another berry. Popping it between her lips before saying, “Now you know my story, or…” She laughed, “more my sister’s story. But we were so tied together, her story was mine.”
“How did you get here?” Nesta asked, “if you were on the continent.”
For a second, Belladonna seemed to lose herself to thought. Before she swung her legs down from the lounge and leaned her elbows against her thighs, “I followed my sister after the War’s conclusion, what happened thereafter is history, I do not wish to remember it.”
“What was your maiden name?” Nesta asked.
Blinking at her, Belladonna stared and stared at Nesta’s face. Scrutinizing every detail.
“Hunter. My maiden name was Hunter.”
“So,” Elain nearly tripped and fell into a pile of broken glass as she leapt over a broken chair. Her body was still weak from the journey, yet she continued to follow the golden High lord easily weaving his way through the abandoned manor.
“You loved my mother, what was that like?” Elain asked, “You said it was like puppy love?”
“I was twelve.” Tamlin said, not turning around as he walked into a different room, Elain following like a lost puppy herself, when she entered she realised it was the kitchen.
“She was two hundred and thirty seven. Older than my eldest brother.” Tamlin said, as he kneeled before a cabinet and opened it, rummaging through, “She was beautiful, cunning and smart. I was a lonely boy with no friends.”
“My mother was your first crush.” Elain hummed, hopping atop the island in the centre of the room, “How sweet.”
Tamlin shrugged, “I don’t think she even knew. Your mother did not care for children, and I don’t believe she thought much of the flowers I bought her.”
“Aw, you even brought her flowers.” Elain crooned, crossing one leg over the other, “Adorable.”
“Watch it.” Tamlin warned, “I can send you away as easily as I let you in if you push it.”
“Please,” Elain drawled, “I did enough hiding in the Night Court.”
Tamlin was silent at that. He closed the cabinet drawers with a quiet growl, not finding what he was looking for. Standing up straight he put his hands in his pockets and started to walk out.
Elain jumped off the counter and followed.
“Your eldest brother is… Baile? Right?” Elain asked cautiously, approaching the topic she really needed to talk with him about.
Tamlin stopped and glanced over his shoulder, “Yes? Did your mother tell you that too?”
No, your brother is my dead mate and is haunting me apparently. She chose not to reveal that tidbit of information just yet, for fear Tamlin would call her crazy and kick her out.
“No I just… happened on that piece of information.”
Tamlin looked at her for a moment, scrutinising every inch of her face. Elain stood still, unmoving, holding his eye contact.
He huffed and turned away.
Jumping over the same pile of glass she had nearly face planted in before, Elain asked, “So, you knew Rose when you were twelve. How did you two meet?”
“My mother took her in when Rose was fourteen. She found her tangled in her rose bushes one morning and decided to keep her around.”
Elain briefly wondered if that was for better or for worse.
“Then where did my mother come from?”
“Don’t know. Rose never told.” Tamlin said, disappearing around a corner. Elain sped up her walk to a jog to catch up. They turned down a hallway that would lead to the main set of stairs.
“Didn’t she have any kind of family?” Elain asked, “She couldn’t have never said anything.”
“You would be surprised at how good your mother was at keeping secrets. She never even told my mother her name.”
Blinking, Elain trotted beside Tamlin. Looking up and staring at his face, set resolutely ahead, never looking down at her.
“What do you mean? Her name was Rose Hunter.”
Tamlin shook his head, golden waves and curls jumping around, “That was a name my mother gave to her. Rose because she was found amongst her roses.”
Elain furrowed her brow, her mouth slowly opening and closing.
She never truly knew her own mother’s name. They followed the hall down to the main set of stairs. Her fingers trailed along the cracked and broken railing. Following the Lord of this ghostly manor as he quickly descended, not so much as glancing at her.
“So… where did the last name come from? Hunter?” She asked, following Tamlin tracked his way to another hallway, going deeper into the maze of the house.
“My mother’s maiden name.” Tamlin said without looking at her, “Hunter, it was fitting given Rose’s… job.”
“What was her job?”
“Not important.” Tamlin said flippantly, “What matters is that we are moving forward.”
A huff left her throat, planting a hand on her hip, Elain squared herself and said, “So let me get this story straight. My mother was here before your eldest brother was even born, she took your mother’s name, did some job you won’t tell me about. When you were a kid you had a crush on her, and as you got older you two were close. At some point everything fell apart and she was taken to the mortal world, and you were doing some job for her that required letters while she was in the mortal world.”
“If you want to put it that simply, yes.” Tamlin stopped by a nearby window, it was shattered, glass spread out all over the floor. With ease he leapt through the opening and landed in the gardens outside. Elain was quick to follow, though she stumbled a bit and cut her hand on a shard of glass.
Hissing as she hit the floor, surveying the damage done to her hand. Crimson spilled over pale skin, dripping to the floor beneath. Staining into the ground. She looked up to see Tamlin staring at the wound, his eyes then flicked to hers. Elain raised an eyebrow, brown eyes burning as she took in his green ones. Green… but flecked with gold, ringed with it like Baile’s were.
As they stared into each other, Elain felt a drop of power rush through her veins, as her skin knitted itself back together, faster than the average Faery could heal a wound. Tamlin’s eyes flicked down to her now near completely healed over wound, those green eyes widening by a fraction before smoothing over into a grim expression.
“You can heal.”
“I can.”
Tamlin regarded her like abnormal bug, something small and relatively unimportant but just as intriguing as anything else.
“You can shapeshift and heal, how interesting.” He turned on his heel and kept walking through the thick gardens, mostly a room of thorns and brambles. Elain was quickly to dart after him.
“You knew!” She shouted after him, “You knew from the start I had powers.”
Tamlin glanced over his shoulder, “And you know this how?”
“Well how else would you explain your nonchalance?” She asked, pushing through thorns, “You know more than even I do, I don’t doubt it.”
“I sure hope I know more than you.” Tamlin said, “I am over five centuries old.”
Elain clenched her fists, as they broke through the brambles. Tamlin stopped ahead of her, and as she stormed over to where he stood, she turned to see what he faced.
Her heart started thudding in time with what may have been the beat of the earth around her.
The world it was… tangled in roots, thorns and brambles, and spread out over thousands and thousands of yards. Rolling out over mountains in the distance. Rot hung heavily in the air, the smell sickening, and yet… and yet there was something unnaturally free in it. In the way the roots and branches twisted and turned. Choking out any other life. The weeds that grew uncontrolled, the dapples of red berries and wildflowers that grew despite the chaos.
“A dark spring.” Elain murmured.
“Like a plague.” Tamlin spat, sounding more mad at himself than anything else.
“You think?” Elain said.
In her opinion, it seemed more… free. Constantly growing, wherever it wanted, with no regard.
But with the way Tamlin sneered at it, maybe she was wrong. Was this constant growth a cage of itself?
Elain didn’t know, she didn’t particularly care. It was strangely charming to her, all of this overgrowth, the conscience it seemed to emit, the roots, the branches, the leaves, the moved with the wind in such a pattern it looked as though it were breathing. Like the world around them was alive in a way they were. With thoughts, and a heartbeat.
“Does it always seem so… alive?” Elain asked.
Tamlin breathed in slowly through his nose, “It’s usually livelier right now its dormant, sleeping.”
“Sleeping?”
“The core of the earth, the life around here, most of it is the dead and the rest lies dormant, the magic has not been renewed. So what little is left will lie untouched, resting from the strain that has been put on it.”
Tipping her head to the side, Elain glanced over at Tamlin, “Is there any way to wake it up?”
Tamlin shrugged, “Bringing back the people, magic being used, life emerging. It would take a lot, but there are ways.”
“You sound like you’ve done this before.”
“I have.” Tamlin breathed, as if it pained him merely to say it, “I have done it before.”
Silence encompassed the two, lost in their own thoughts and wonders. Elain thought of how they were going to tackle this, what it was going to take. Her eyes flitted to Tamlin briefly, his eyes screwed shut, his face melancholy.
This… this was going to take a lot.
But they would get there.
Basking in the light of the moon, she looked like some kind of god. Like some kind of resting deity, spread out over the roof the tip of her nose shimmering from white dust. Face blissed out, wings lazily fluttering and twitching as she lay there.
One eyes opened to look over at him, sitting next to her. A rose in his hand, a rose that smoke curled from. Red petals dropped to the floor, like drops of crimson blood running down across the white moonstone.
“I wish this never had to end.” She groaned, stretching her arms up. Pupils blown wide.
“It doesn’t have to.” Tamlin said, leaning back on his elbows, “Imagine a world where nothing had to end.”
“Oh gods, yes, a world where everything is never-ending.” Branon’s eyes fell shut, a smile curving on her lips.
Tamlin laid down beside her, staring up at the moon so high above them, “A world of never-ending night.”
She hummed, “Where you can never reach the mountain peaks, the lands keep going forever.”
“Where the water is too deep to ever reach the end.”
“Where caves keep going until you’re back to where you started.”
“A world of infinity.” Tamlin breathed out, “Somewhere you could get lost forever.”
Laughing, Branon said, “Where the smoke billows, the feast never ends and the music doesn’t stop.”
He shook his head, as she rolled onto her side to face him with that beautiful face, whispering she asked, “Do you think that’s where we go in our dreams? To a never-ending paradise.”
Huffing, Tamlin tangled their hands together, “My paradise is already here.”
She stared down at their conjoined hands, “But we can’t be together forever.”
“We can tonight.” He hummed, then pulled her down on top of him.
“Infinity.” Tamlin hummed as he drowsily awoke, blinking his eyes he was no longer staring at the silver face of the moon, but at the white ceiling above him.
And it wasn’t Branon atop him, but a still sleeping red-head, who had his face buried in his chest and his leg slung over Tamlin’s waist. Lucien snoored softly, his hair was a mess and Tamlin was certain the damp spot on his shirt was the fox drooling. He bit his lip not to laugh at the image before him, as he moved his hand to stroke Lucien’s hair.
Then a hand flung onto his face and Tamlin had to bite down on his tongue to keep from not shouting. He winced and quickly moved a hand to pick off the strange hand from his face.
He looked next to him to find Jurian fast asleep, one leg kicked over the side of the bed and half the blankets on the ground. Actually, no wonder Tamlin was so cold, they were barely covered by the sheet.
Tamlin threw Jurian’s han hand back over to him and slowly began to untangle himself from Lucien. Pulling the male off of him was harder than he originally anticipated as when he sat up, the red head wrapped his arms around Tamlin’s waist, in his sleep attempting to keep the High lord anchored to the bed. Tamlin huffed a laugh and gently pushed Lucien off, pulling his arms off of him. Lucien whined in frustration, his eyes fluttering for a second. Tamlin held his breath but Lucien eventually stilled, rolling into his back and falling back into a deep sleep.
Releasing his breath, Tamlin slipped out from between the males. Or tried to, as when he went to crawl out in some attempt to not wake them, something grabbed his ankle and yanked him back.
Tamlin screamed as he was pulled back and kicked. Jurian shouted and they both toppled to the floor.
“What?!” Astrid sat up straight right as Lucien did. She fell down onto the mattress and Vassa quickly was looking over to see the fuss.
Jurian was laughing so hard his face went red. Tamlin would have started yelling at him if he wasn’t desperately trying to get air back into his lungs and get his heart to calm down.
“What happened?” Lucien asked as he looked over the edge of the bed at the two.
“He grabbed me!” Tamlin accused stabbing a finger into Jurian’s chest.
“Mother above.” Lucien mumbled flopping back onto the bed. Astrid whispered something about waking her up for no reason. Vassa started laughing as she fell back onto the bee and Jurian grinned at him.
“War hero or not, you are a child.” Tamlin told him.
Jurian shrugged, “Least I’m not boring.”
“Is that supposed to insinuate I am?” Tamlin picked himself up off the floor, brushing off his pants.
“I’ll leave that for your interpretation.” The human male smirked as he climbed back into bed and under the covers.
A sigh escaped Tamlin’s throat, he turned on his heel and walked out of the bedroom.
So much for not waking anyone.
As he descended the hallways, the damage done to the manor stood out starkly. The sunlight that streamed in undeterred by the broken windows. The ivy and wild roses that grew in every corner, filling the former glorious with the scent of their rot. Thorns lined the floors as well as shards of glinting glass. Tamlin eyed the roof and how it dipped down, preparing to cave. Holes in the walls that opened up to different rooms. It was awful, and he was finally seeing how horrible it was.
Shame ate away at his core, digging into his gut and growing stronger with every step he took. The wallpaper was claws out, and peeling in some places, simply rotting away in others. The floorboards were scratched and damp. He winced when the smell of decay from small dead animals hit him, making his eyes water. Turning down another hallway he followed the maze of the manor, until he heard what sounded like rummaging.
Turning into what he knew to be the drawing room, he saw her.
Elain, with her short, slightly choppy, curly hair. Pale skin covered in scraps, bruises and scratches. Wearing thick winter gear still. She was going through a nearby cupboard, on her knees she went through fallen papers and boxes of old office supplies.
“What are you doing?” Tamlin asked.
Her head snapped up so quickly her neck cracked. Narrowing her eyes she quickly assessed him, then her eyes widened ever so slightly in recognition.
Before she turned back to the papers scattered around her and quickly started shoving them back into the cupboard, mumbling, “Looking for supplies.”
Tamlin leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms as he watched her pull herself to her feet and shut the cupboard before turning around to face him. Copying his posture she crossed her arms.
“You’re up early, the sun has barely risen.” Tamlin said.
“I could say the same for you.” Elain replied simply, her voice blank, a courtier’s stare in her eyes. Gleaming as she assessed him from head to toe, noting every single body movement and making her assumptions based on them.
Tamlin rolled his eyes and pushed away from the door frame, strolling away from the drawing room, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sleep pants. Elain’s quick footsteps could be heard as she followed him.
“What did Rose make you do?” He heard from behind him.
Blood was staining his fingertips, the metallic taste stung his tongue, and he could barely see past the tears blurring his eyes. The knife in his hand had a rough, worn out hilt. It scraped his palm. As he kneeled in blood, he could feel nothing but the repetition in his mind that he had to finish the job. End the suffering, as the man below him stared up with fish-like dead, wide eyes, twitching, convulsing as he gurgled blood in his mouth-
“What are you talking about?” Tamlin asked, voice low and gruff. He had stopped where he stood, looking over his shoulder to see Elain looking at him with wide empty eyes, taking in every inch of him.
“You know what I’m talking about, what was Rose making you do? Whenever you came to our house. She was making you do something.” Elain kicked at a rock on the floor, sticking her hands into her pockets.
“None of your business.” Tamlin told her, turning around and continuing on. He thought about going to the kitchen, and the pack of hazelnuts he had stuck in one of the cupboards there a few months ago. Focusing on the image of said hazelnuts, he pushed away the memories and followed the familiar route down into the main kitchens. Elain hot on his tail.
“It is my business.”
“It’s not.” Tamlin replied.
She huffed, quickly jogging up to keep up with his long strides. The short girl tried to look up at his face, but Tamlin kept his eyes away from her.
“Come on.” She nearly pouted, but managed to keep a straight face. Tamlin nearly huffed a laugh, but kept himself in check, “A hint, come on.”
“A hint?” Tamlin sneered, “What is this? I spy with my little eye?”
Elain rolled her eyes so far back they might as well have gotten stuck there, “I fought my way from the Night Court to here, you can give up some details, please.”
“Your choice to come here.” Tamlin said, “I am not required to tell you anything.”
Clearly frustrated, Elain wrinkled her nose, brow furrowing as she looked down at the floor beneath her. Tamlin ignored her in favour of turning down a hallway towards the kitchens.
“So,” Elain started, before she yelped as she nearly fell headfirst into a pile of glass, Tamlin hid a laughing smile as he turned another corner.
“You loved my mother, what was that like?” Elain asked, turning wide eyes up to him, “You said it was like puppy love?”
“I was twelve.” Tamlin said, turning into the kitchens. Finally. He glanced around, looking for that cabinet. Which one was it? The one in the corner? Yes, underneath the sink.
“She was two hundred and thirty seven. Older than my eldest brother.” Tamlin said, as he kneeled said cabinet, pushing through moss that had grabbed onto the walls, a moth fluttered out, and he pulled back enough to it through.
“My mother was your first crush.” Elain hummed, Tamlin looked over his shoulder to see she was sitting on the kitchen island, with a too sweet smile on her honey face as she murmured, “How sweet.”
Tamlin shrugged, turning back to the cabinet, “I don’t think she even knew. Your mother did not care for children, and I don’t believe she thought much of the flowers I bought her.”
“Aw, you even brought her flowers.” Elain crooned, crossing one leg over the other. Seeming to ignore the comment about her mother not carrying for children, “Adorable.”
“Watch it.” Tamlin warned, as a blush prickled across his face, “I can send you away as easily as I let you in if you push it.”
“Please,” Elain drawled, “I did enough hiding in the Night Court.”
Silence echoed in his head. What had happened to her in the Night Court? Lucien had been going there and he would have gone as far as to kidnap her if he thought she was in any actual danger. So surely she wasn’t in any horrible place. But clearly something was happening. Standing up straight he put his hands in his pockets and brushed past her as he went for the door.
Elain’s footsteps echoed as she jumped off the island and followed him.
“Your eldest brother is… Baile? Right?” Elain asked. Tamlin’s back stiffened. He sucked in a breath as the mention of his brother. His brother. His eldest brother. Who had left bruises in his skin and given him broken bones. Who had also held him and taught him about love.
Standing still, Tamlin narrowed his eyes as he glanced over his shoulder, “Yes? Did your mother tell you that too?”
She opened her mouth then closed it, eyes glancing all over him as she seemed to ponder something.
“No I just… happened on that piece of information.” She said, face lined with caution.
Staring at her, she seemed nervous, feet moving and eyes twitching. Tamlin was no courtier by any means but he knew the signs of someone lying. He gritted his teeth, and considered probing her for what she was hiding.
Then Lucien’s face flashed through his mind. This was… this was his mate. He couldn’t bring her any discomfort.
He huffed and turned away.
The middle sister leaped over the pile of glass she had nearly fallen in, asking, “So, you knew Rose when you were twelve. So, how did you two meet?”
“My mother took her in when Rose was fourteen. She found her tangled in her rose bushes one morning and decided to keep her around.” Tamlin answered simply. He needed to get out for a second. The manor was too stifling, the smell of rot too much to handle. It was all because of his own actions, but he needed a minute away from the shame and guilt weighing down his chest.
Elain skipped up to his side, humming her next question.
“Then where did my mother come from?”
“Don’t know. Rose never told.” Tamlin said, turning the corner towards the stairs.
It was true, all of it. Rose had more or less… shown up one day. Lips tightly sealed, not revealing a single thing about her. If the stories from his mother were any true, she hadn’t spoken for an entire year. Stubbornly refusing any act of kindness. His father had attempted to convince his mother to send her off, kill her, get rid of her, but Dahlia Fairburn had none of it. Instead had taken the girl in.
“Didn’t she have any kind of family?” Elain asked, her questions were beginning to bring on a headache, “She couldn’t have never said anything.”
“You would be surprised at how good your mother was at keeping secrets. She never even told my mother her name.” Tamlin could imagine it, Rose sitting in a bush, glaring at his mother with her arms crossed and refusing to so much as tell her name.
He could hear Elain beside him, her soft footsteps hitting the ground in a continuous rhythm. He refused to look at her. Refused to glance at the girl who had Lucien’s heart in her hands and hardly cared.
“What do you mean? Her name was Rose Hunter.”
Tamlin shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, curls flicked around his face, “That was a name my mother gave to her. Rose because she was found amongst her roses.”
Silence encompassed him. Tamlin assumed Elain was reeling from what had been revealed to her.
They walked down the large manor staircase. A quick glance revealed Elain trailing her thin fingers along the railing. Picking at the paint chipping away. Tamlin focused on the manor laid out before him. Focused on his footsteps and tried to forget she was there.
“So… where did the last name come from? Hunter?” The Daughter of the Cauldron asked, still staying close to him as they followed the maze of the house.
“My mother’s maiden name.” Tamlin said, “Hunter, it was fitting given Rose’s… job.”
“What was her job?”
“Not important.” Tamlin said flippantly, even as his stomach turned to knots thinking of it, “What matters is that we are moving forward.”
Elain huffed with indigence, now sneering, “So let me get this story straight. My mother was here before your eldest brother was even born, she took your mother’s name, did some job you won’t tell me about. When you were a kid you had a crush on her, and as you got older you two were close. At some point everything fell apart and she was taken to the mortal world, and you were doing some job for her that required letters while she was in the mortal world.”
“If you want to put it that simply, yes.” It wasn’t that simple, but he didn’t care to correct or give her more details. He found the open window he had gone out last night. When he had seen… her again. When Rose had spat venomous words in his face. He leapt out the window. The daylight hitting his skin, warring off the cold that had been following him all morning.
Elain hissed from behind him as she jumped out. Tamlin turned around to see crimson spilling down her arm and dripping to the floor. He went still, as images of red, hot blood reeled through his mind. As he remembered years of bloodshed, during the fifty years and long before.
She stared into his eyes, never losing that contact, as her hand began to knit itself together too quickly. At a pace no normal Fae could heal themselves. He felt his eyes widen as he watched her flesh heal over.
“You can heal.” He breathed out.
“I can.” She murmured.
Quickly he schooled his features into interest without much emotion. Trying to regard the ability as nothing. But in his head, he was spinning.
She can heal, she can shift, what else could she do? Just how connected to Spring was she?
“You can shapeshift and heal, how interesting.” He turned on his heel, facing the thorns once more. Forcing his way through, he ignored her, even as she shouted.
“You knew! You knew from the start I had powers.”
Tamlin glanced over his shoulder, heart beating faster and faster, “And you know this how?”
“Well how else would you explain your nonchalance?” She asked, pushing through thorns to catch up. “You know more than even I do, I don’t doubt it.”
“I sure hope I know more than you.” Tamlin said, with an air of laughter, “I am over five centuries old.”
Tamlin turned from her and continued through the shrubs, until he found his way out, to the border of the gardens and the thick forests. He stopped before it. Eyes boring into the overgrown earth, the terror of it all. How thick and horrible the plants now grew. Twisting and choking out all life except for some speckles of wild flowers. The trees twisted in near unnatural ways. Following a horrific pattern. It looked nothing like the Spring he knew well.
It looked sick.
“A dark spring.” Elain murmured.
“Like a plague.” Tamlin spat, like some illness, like the blight of Spring had returned. Like Amarantha had come back.
“You think?” Elain said.
He gritted his teeth. She wouldn’t understand, she hadn’t been here. She didn’t know the horror this all symbolised. This… graveyard of a Court was a mirror reflection of everything wrong with him.
“Does it always seem so… alive?” Elain asked.
Tamlin breathed in slowly through his nose, “It’s usually livelier right now; it's dormant, sleeping.”
“Sleeping?”
“The core of the earth, the life around here, most of it is the dead and the rest lies dormant, the magic has not been renewed. So what little is left will lie untouched, resting from the strain that has been put on it.”
Tipping her head to the side, Elain glanced over at Tamlin, “Is there any way to wake it up?”
Tamlin shrugged, “Bringing back the people, magic being used, life emerging. It would take a lot, but there are ways.”
“You sound like you’ve done this before.”
“I have.” Tamlin breathed, those years after he ascended to the throne… He shoved the thoughts from his head, “I have done it before.”
Silence encompassed the two, lost in their own thoughts and wonders. Tamlin thought of everything before. Of what he had lost, and how the fuck he was supposed to get even half of it back. Everything was near lost.
This would be so much. Too much.
But he had to try. He would try.
Tamlin turned from the forest before him, the twisting flora, he couldn’t bare to stare at what had become of his lands anymore.
His lands, the lands and the people he was supposed to protect.
Failure. A complete and utter failure.
The dirt, soft moss and grass crushed underneath Elain’s feet followed him as he decided to take the path around the choking thorns to the entrance of the manor. She didn’t ask anymore questions, but Tamlin didn’t take that as her not having anymore. More her choosing not to speak, glancing over his shoulder, he saw Elain’s eyes dragging over the debris and destruction. Curious but confused about it all. No doubt it all matched whatever horrible description she had been given of Spring, but to see it all in person… Tamlin had no doubts it looked so much worse than what words could describe.
“It’s awful I know.” He said, hoping it would silence the guilt twisting low in his belly.
“No it’s…” Elain trailed off, Tamlin looked at her again to see her furrowed brow. He huffed and her eyes snapped to him. Tamlin gritted his teeth and turned away from her.
“It’s intriguing.” She finished and Tamlin really did laugh then. To which Elain said, “Stop it, I mean it.”
Elain caught up beside him, the girl folded her hands behind her back and said, “It’s not the beautiful flower garden that the story books make out. But it’s… Faery.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Tamlin snorted.
“It looks dark and twisting, like it’ll choke you if you touch it. Like… like the hidden face of a Faery.”
She trailed a finger across a branch of thorns, “In fairy tales they tell you Faeries lead you in with the promise of kindness, reward and rest from har labour. But underneath their lies is something dark, choking and terrifying.”
“I don’t think that's a good thing, Elain.” Tamlin said deadpan.
“No.” She agreed, “But it’s intriguing, it’s like raw magic.”
Like raw magic.
Tamlin turned back to the display of thorns and darkness.
Like the hidden face of a Faery.
Whilst that certainly wasn’t a good thing, looking at it like that. The land's rot and decay seemed less like a problem to be rid of, but something to work with.
“Do you want me to get a new one?” Tamlin asked, furrowing his brow as he stared at what appeared to be a ruined canvas. The beautiful painting smudged by a streak of black paint. Feyre wrinkled her nose as her own black stained fingertips. But reached for a plethora of paints at her disposal.
“No,” She said, “I can work with it.”
“It’s ruined though.” He pointed out. Feyre had accidentally dipped her paintbrush into the wrong pot when she was engrossed in her work. Tamlin himself had been watching from a seat in the corner, pretending to read but truly watching her. He had been horrified for Feyre’s sake when he watched her accidentally smear her beautiful art with the wrong colour. But other than a loud curse and rolling her eyes, Feyre didn’t seem to care.
“It’s not actually,” She said with a secret smile, “Just… a new piece to work with.”
Tamlin remained quiet, sinking back into his chair and not bothering to pretend to read as he watched her add more black to the smear. Until she had turned what was once a misplaced stroke of the wrong colour, into the shadow of a tree, and turned the background to that of a sunset over the rolling hills of Spring. Tamlin watched in complete and utter awe. Mouth open and eyes wide.
When she finished she turned back to him. Face dotted with specks of blue, orange and red, touching her freckles with colour. Tamlin stood from his seat and walked over to her. Wrapping his arms around her waist as she stood back to examine her piece.
He rested his chin on her shoulder and whispered, “You are amazing.”
She rested her cheek against his head, “It’s just part of making art, working with what happens. And besides, I think it’s more beautiful like this.”
“Good thing you made the mistake then.” He laughed.
“Good thing indeed.” She whispered, kissing his cheek.
Tamlin stared at Elain, then back out at the forests.
Maybe instead of uprooting everything and trying to completely start over, like he had been thinking. Maybe they could turn this into something that wasn’t cursed land while working with what they had.
They turned down the twisting path towards the entrance of the manor. When a sudden shadow flashed before them.
Tamlin reeled back, claws out in a second, stepping on instinct in front of Elain. Teeth bared and prepared to strike. A twitch of movement from the woman beside him revealed she had drawn a sharp dagger.
But the shadow before them was not a threat. Instead, the woman bearing the scar across her face, Emerald, stood before them. Eyes blazing despite her impassive expression.
And slung over her shoulder was a squirming man shouting curses.
Tamlin’s mouth dropped and he watched as Emerald tossed the guy to the ground, saying, “I found him winnowing into the manor’s grounds as I was patrolling.”
The man that she tossed onto the ground, hands and feet bound with strips of fabric, had a very familiar set of glaring amber eyes and head of scarlet hair.
“Tamlin stop gawking and untie me at once!” Eris screamed as he tugged at his bounds, baring his canines.
“Shit.” Tamlin cursed, getting to his knees and quickly undoing the ties around Eris’ wrists and feet. All the while he heard Elain cackling beside him and walking up to Emerald, clasping her shoulder and whispering something to her.
“What the fuck?” Eris hissed, dusting himself off once he was freed. Standing on wobbling feet, he glared at Tamlin, then turned back to Emerald, “Your dog grabbed me and tied me up-!”
Eris cut his own ranting short as his eyes fell upon Elain’s frame now standing beside Emerald. His once burning eyes going cold as they widened, freckles standing out as his face began to pale.
“Don’t you tell me Elain is standing in front of me.” Eris whispered, stepping back like he didn’t want to be anywhere near her.
“The one and only.” Elain murmured as she tilted her head to observe Eris, watching him like a hawk.
“There’s no fucking way.” Eris’ eyes once burned again with anger, but a different kind. Staring at Elain like she was cursed.
“Okay, let’s step back.” Tamlin ordered, standing in between Eris and Elain, feeling the need to prevent any altercations.
“Eris, why are you here?” Tamlin asked, facing the angered son of Autumn.
“Why am I-” Eris hissed in a breath, closing his eyes and squeezing his hands into fists. Calming himself, Tamlin caught the smoke airing off his hair and stepped closer to Elain and Emerald. He trusted Eris with his life, but had no doubts the male wouldn’t turn on people who angered him.
Eris opened his eyes and stared right into Tamlin, those flame-filled eyes burning through his retina into his skull. Eris might have been able to see his brain.
“I am here because Azriel is coming to kill you.” Eris said deadpan, then raised a finger to Elain and said, “And once he finds out she’s here, I think he’ll do a lot worse than just end your life.”
“What?” Elain piped, her brown eyes gone wide, “Excuse me, what?”
“Hang on.” Tamlin held up both hands, “Azriel’s on his way here?”
“He is here.” Eris hissed, “And he wants to kill you.”
The conversation with Amren and Tarquin in his office before everything went to shit replayed through Tamlin’s mind.
Tamlin sighed, he hadn’t prepared, a stupid decision not too.
“Right then. We need to get everyone together and decide what we’re going to do.” He said, turning and heading back for the manor.
He needed everyone together to figure out what to do, he needed Lucien to figure out what to do.
With no army, sentries or any real form of protection against the entirety of the Night Court, they were at risk. Rhysand being in his head replayed again and again and again.
The male had tried to kill him just last night. It was only by Feyre’s intervention that he didn’t get his mind crushed. Something he still didn’t understand entirely.
Just knew that Branon was absolutely after him, and now Feyre knew about it.
“Wait!” Elain shouted, running after him. The sound of two other thunderous pairs of footsteps sounded behind her as Eris and Emerald followed.
Tamlin ignored them all as he walked into the broken manor.
He had so many questions, none of which were answered.
If Azriel was in the Spring Court now, if they continued to try and attack. A headache throbbed behind his left eye, Tamlin rubbed his temples. They didn’t have time anymore. The rebuilding of Spring had to happen now. They had to start now.
Walking through the rubble inside, Tamlin heard the roaring laughter of Jurian, followed by Vassa’s chiding. He followed the sound into the kitchens, seeing Lucien leaning against the bench, Jurian clutching his stomach as he laughed, Vassa hitting his arm with her small fist.
Lucien looked over to Tamlin’s eyes and the amusement there died in an instant, something Tamlin felt a little guilty for. He rushed over to the High lord’s side, and clasped his shoulder.
“What happened?” Lucien asked, then the three behind him emerged.
Eris and Lucien looked eyes, the brotherly rivalry between them sparking for a second, everyone felt it in the way the room instantly heated. But it extinguished as Tamlin said, “Azriel is here.”
“What?” Jurian shot, walking around to face the ground. Vassa beside him and watching the scene before her.
“Another attack from Night.” Lucien murmured, “Fuck.”
“Fuck is right.” Eris said, then jutted his thumb towards Elain, “And having her here isn’t helping your chances.”
Everyone looked towards Elain who shifted on her feet as she crossed her arms, glaring down at Eris, “You sent a hunter after me.”
“What?” Lucien’s eyes snapped towards Eris.
“What was I supposed to do?” Eris shot to his brother, “I was being asked to help look for her, so I sent someone who I knew could retrieve her.”
“She didn’t end up retrieving me.” Elain countered.
Turning glaring eyes to the Cauldron-made sister, Eris said, “Which is something I am incredibly suspicious about.”
“ You’re suspicious about-” Emerald started, her black eyes glaring as she bared her teeth, standing in between Eris and Elain.
“Why are you getting involved?” Eris told her, “Who even are you?
“You-” Emerald looked as though she would launch herself at the male.
“Stop it both of you.” Tamlin said, planting a hand on Eris’ chest and forcibly pushing him back. The male crossed his arms and glared with burning eyes.
“Azriel isn’t here yet,” Tamlin said, “We need a plan for when he does get here.”
“Someone catch us up to speed,” Jurian muttered, stepping closer, “It seems everyone has their own story to tell.”
Eris just looked away with a huff. Elain ignored him as she stepped towards Jurian, looking over everyone, she glanced back at Emerald. Who lightly nodded her head.
Taking a breath, Elain said, “I left the Night Court after I found Emerald and her friend Mint. They escaped from the Court of Nightmares.”
“Emerald?” Eris suddenly questioned, eyes darting over to the girl in question. Her brutal scar standing out as the sun rose and sunlight poured in through the mostly broken windows.
“Wait-” Eris started, but Tamlin held up a hand.
“Let Elain finish.” Tamlin told him, the male scrunched his nose, but Elain went on.
“We left the Night Court and travelled through Prythian in an attempt to get to Spring. We heard of the network establishing itself here and decided to try and contact it. Our plan was to go through Summer and establish connections, but when we went through Winter, we were caught by Kallias’ men. I struck deals with Kallias and Mint stayed behind in their Court. On our journey through Winter we were targeted by a hunter who goes by Fallon.”
Elain tossed a dirty look to Eris, who looked away with a sneer, she finished, “We finally made our way here and now this is where we are.”
“Right.” Jurian said, before turning to Eris and saying, “Now you.”
Eris cut him a glare that may have set a lesser man’s hair on fire, but Jurian just met his eyes with plain indifference.
“I sent that hunter after Elain as I was informed by the Night Court she had gone missing. I had no idea it was of her own will.”
“Emerald could have been executed for helping me.” Elain hissed.
“I know.” Eris hissed back with wild eyes, “They’ve punished her for much less haven’t they?”
Elain straightened as she stared at him with a wide gaze. Emerald looked at Eris strangely, confused with a hint of annoyance. She positioned herself so Elain was mostly blocked.
“What do you know about my life?” Emerald muttered.
Cocking his head to the side, Eris said, “Well I know the Night Court punished you after a Lord accused you of thievery, despite the claim having zero basis.”
Emerald’s dark eyes went completely white. The veins in her face standing out as they spidered over her face like a web. Eris stepped back at the sudden sight, but Elain grabbed Emerald’s hand.
Tamlin stared at the white lines, the strange eyes. A Night Court Faery trait. Moonrays erupting in the veins if he remembered his studies correctly. It was a long winded story about a drop of moonlight hitting the ground in the Night lands and blessing them with the power of the midnight blue sky and the silvery light of the stars and full moon.
“How do you know about that?” Emerald questioned with a low, seething voice, stepping ever closer to the Autumn male.
“The Lords of the Court of Nightmares talk,” Eris said, “Rejected proposals are a tidbit of gossip that everyone latches onto when they happen. Yours happened to be of discussion when I was there.”
The two girls blinked, and the white in Emerald’s face died down. Her eyes fading to a gradient of black and white, like a slow flashing until the black consumed the moonlight.
“So you heard my sob story and decided what exactly? Because it sounds like you’re still working for the Night Court anyway.” Emerald stated, arms crossed. Everyone’s eyes turned to Eris, watching the flames flicker in his gaze.
“Who said I was working for the Night Court in the first place?” Eris shrugged, “Perhaps I was biding my time.”
“I would say you’re a liar,” Emerald sneered.
“Keep it docile, everyone.” Jurian chided.
“You’ll do well to stay out of this, commander.” Eris told him, “This is Faery business.”
Gritting his teeth, Jurian stepped forward. Lucien and Tamlin shared a look, the fox stepped close to Jurian, murmuring, “Jur, don’t let him aggravate you.”
“Aggravate?” The former commander questioned flippantly, “Don’t worry Lucien, I am not so childish that I’ll let a spoiled brat provoke me.”
Eris’ eyes flashed and he stepped towards Jurian, the room steadily becoming warmer and warmer, “You were stuck in that ring too long, commander, you’ve forgotten just how power the spoiled brats of Autumn are-”
“Alright!” Tamlin held up both hands, “We don’t have time for fighting. Eris, continue.”
Rolling his eyes, Eris stood back and said, “I’ve been working with the stewardess of the Court of Nightmares, Keir’s wife Belladonna.”
Tamlin sucked in a swift breath at the name he hadn’t heard in… centuries now.
Lucien’s senses took note of the too quick breath, his eyes went to Tamlin, questioning in his gaze but Tamlin just shook his head lightly, trying to rid himself of the crawling feeling underneath his skin.
“Why?” Emerald whispered.
Slipping his hands into his pockets Eris said, “To form a rebellion against the Night Court.”
The Hewn City… the City that Rhysand had hissed about all his life, about how much he hated and despised it.
The image of the Morrigan flashed through Tamlin’s mind, whispering in the night of how much she had hated it.
Tamlin shook his head.
“They’re rebelling.” Emerald whispered, Elain held her hand tighter as the Night Faery looked lost in her own thoughts and memories, “They’re finally rebelling.”
“Okay,” Jurian cut in, “So Eris is helping to lead a rebellion against the Night Court. Elain and Emerald are here to help rebuild. And we all need to make sure the Night Court doesn’t kill us before either can occur.”
“Yes.” That headache slowly grew in intensity. Impossible to ignore. Tamlin rubbed his temples and said, “How are we going to go about that?”
“Get a bow and arrow and shoot Azriel when we see him?” Vassa suggested.
Lucien started, “That could work-”
“ No. ” Eris cut in.
All went silent as eyes turned towards Eris, the male swallowed and for the first time in history, a Vanserra was at a loss for words.
He looked between all of them, stepping back slightly. Trying to put distance between him and the widened eyes on him.
“Eris,” Lucien started, stepping closer, “I know you’ve made some kind of friendship with Azriel, but we can’t let him-”
“No, it’s not-” Eris closed his eyes as he ran both hands through his hair, clenching his fists.
“Eris, what are you not telling us?” Tamlin asked, there was something behind those
Opening his eyes, Eris faced Tamlin and Tamlin alone. Seeming to try and block everyone out as he stared at the High lord of Spring.
It had been years and years since Eris took Tamlin under his wing, helped to train and hone his skill. Yet the feelings of protection and familial bonds never left them, even from decades apart.
“I’m-”
“What the fuck?” A sudden new voice sounded from the doorway.
Fire was in Lucien’s hands, Jurian and Emerald drew daggers as everyone whipped around to see Azriel standing in the door. Knife raised above his head, aiming for Eris.
The shadows wrapping around his ankles and wrists, he blinked at the display before him. His eyes turning to Elain, to Tamlin, then to Eris.
“What is going on?” The Shadowsinger said, as he lowered his knife, eyes blazing.
“Stop it.”
“I can’t, don’t you fucking get that!”
“And what would our father think? Surely you have some grace left in your not to dishonour his name-”
“Spring is in ruins, Dahl,” She hissed, “Our father has already dishonoured his own name.”
“You and I damn well know that was not his fault, it was-”
“Leave!”
The world burst into smells of rain and roses.