Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had frightened her at first, when the shadows had come to her.

The first time, she’d been unpacking her bags, having newly been moved into the town house. The shadowsinger — Azriel — had offered her his arm and valiantly led her into the garden, not balking from her presence, even though his discomfort once she’d made a remark about his hands was palpable.

But they were beautiful. Once Elain looked past the scars marring the surface, she saw a gentle strength in them. Hands which could wield a blade and yet delicately brushed against her own with all the tenderness in the world.

She wished someone could see past her scars to the Elain hiding within. She’d heard what they’d all been saying about her in the weeks past — how empty she seemed, how they couldn’t quite make sense of her musings, how Feyre thought they needed to fix her. Whatever that meant.

And yet none of them had truly made the effort to look past the exterior shell she’d been contained in, at the fact that she was still here — traumatized by those hours she’d spent in the Cauldron and endlessly mourning her old life — but she was still Elain, their sister.

The thoughts were a whirlwind eddying through her head as, arm-in-arm, they descended the handful of steps into the town house garden.

Elain could tell that someone had been periodically tending to it, as evidenced by the fact that most of the flowers were blooming beautifully, but it still echoed with a twinge of loneliness and neglect. A few rose bushes whose thorns hadn’t been trimmed back in too long. A patch of zinnias which were completely shaded beneath a tree and were beginning to wilt without enough direct sunlight. Patches where plants were spaced way too far apart, and Elain could practically see the excess weeds ready to shoot out of the ground between them.

Literally.

She could see it right now, like a foggy glass had been placed over the garden around her, the image pasted on top of it. They were growing out of control, and would engulf the whole flower bed, but nobody was doing anything to halt their progress...

Azriel halted his quiet tour of the grounds as she jerked to a stop, stepping in front of her and looking her up and down, the sight of his sturdy hands on her arms pulling her out of her trance. Shaking her head quickly, she realized that the odd vision was already gone as she peeked around his broad shoulders.

“Is anything wrong, my lady?” His voice was careful, measured as she lifted her chin until she was melting under the assessing gaze of his hazel eyes. The silky, honeyed tones drew her in until she felt laid bare beneath him.

“N-no. I’m fine,” she stuttered, weakly. 

This was far from the truth, but everyone here already thought she was crazy. She didn’t need to reveal to them that ever since she’d been made, she’d been seeing these images. Sometimes in her dreams and sometimes transposed over reality as had happened just now, making it hard for her to differentiate between the two states most of the time. Elain had no idea what they meant, but she knew better than to confide in the others.

The look on his face conveyed that he could tell she was anything but, yet he returned to her side, once again offering her his arm so they could loop back to the town house.

As they ambled on, Elain still enjoying the joyous warmth that the summer sun was radiating, she had to bite back the words on the tip of her tongue — swallow the urge to tell him everything, regardless. In the moment that he’d stared into her eyes, she’d known that he’d recognized her.

She took a seat at one of the wrought iron tables which was near the back door yet still hadn’t been eclipsed by the shadow of the town house which was growing due to the gradually setting sun. Without even her even having to lift a finger, Nuala was at her side with a cup of hot tea.

She blushed at Azriel, who had certainly been the one who sent for the tea meant to sooth her nerves, but the shadowsinger had already perched himself in a lawn chair and was sunning his wings while reading some official-looking documents. 

He didn’t react to her stare — she was certain he was actively ignoring the gaze — but she was pleased that he didn’t make a fuss about it.

Finally there was someone who was content to sit in silence with her and didn’t force her to acknowledge the neverending turmoil which wouldn’t leave her private thoughts alone.

Well after the sun had set and they’d spent hours in companionable silence in which Elain had planned at least six improvements she could quickly make to the garden with the supplies she’d spotted in the gardening shed, Azriel appeared at her side and took her arm again, claiming that it was almost time for him to leave.

Of course. The rest of the circle was making a trip to the Court of Nightmares tonight.

After dropping her off at the foot of the stairs, he’d left to join his brothers in the sitting room as they prepared for their visit while Feyre showed her to the quaint little room she’d be calling her own for —  she didn’t want to contemplate the permanence of her situation right now.

Once she was sure Feyre was well away from the door Elain had shut behind her, she finally allowed herself to pause her unpacking to sink into the mattress which was too plush, too tastefully appointed, and let the tears begin to fall.

She didn’t know how long she’d been laying there when she felt it. The cool tickling lashing against her ear. She jumped, biting back the yelp that would surely send her sister running in only to discover Elain’s distressed state, kohl already rubbing off onto her hands from where she’d been attempting to dry her eyes.

She turned towards the source of the sensation only to find the tail of the shadowy wisp peeking out from the side of her head. It slowly unfurled itself, making a show of twirling around her arms before returning to the nape of her neck and whispering in her ear.

The shadowsinger worries about you. He can sense your sorrow.

“Well you can tell him to mind his own business.” She was defensive now, not liking that he’d somehow invaded on this most personal of moments. Gods, if these shadows could report back to him about what she’d sounded like as she sobbed, about how her messy, tear-streaked cheeks appeared when she’d thought herself alone, she’d be mortified.

The shadow flitted around her head lazily. Obviously she hadn’t commanded it correctly. Or perhaps its master had forbade it from leaving before it received a satisfying answer from her.

She decided to ignore that thought for the moment. “Why are you speaking to me?” she whispered, suddenly very aware of all the sets of heightened, Fae ears in this cozy household.

You intrigue us, lady. You were born into the light, but ever since you’ve been brought into the fae realm, you’ve been emitting darkness.

Elain let out a gasp, and the shadow paused before continuing.

We see you spending your days in the sunlight, trying to soak in its radiance, but it’s never quite enough for you, is it? We too know what it is to spend all our time in the light only to be a shroud of darkness weighing on others. Yes, we know that it’s been weighing on you — that you fret over your past life and the effect you’re now having on your family.

“Why did he send you?” She wasn’t quite ready to have this particular conversation, didn’t appreciate the fact that someone had noticed her trying to flood her lifeless husk with warmth and light.

He didn’t...explicitly. But his worry is unmistakable. He pretends to drink and laugh with the Illyrians, yet his focus is locked on this very bedroom. He listens for signs of distress. He sends patrols out to sense when you might emerge.

“And you chose to address me?”

We wish to titter in his ear what he really wants to hear, with your permission of course. As we mentioned, you captivate us, lady.

“I am no lady. Not anymore.”

We beg to differ. Are you not the sister of nobility, a Cauldron-blessed fae in your own right?

Elain couldn’t quite argue with that. It had been drilled into her that not all had survived the Cauldron, that she and Nesta were so lucky to have emerged whole — if you could call it that.

Are you not mated to one of the strongest males in Prythian? Are you not deemed the equal of the heir to a High Lord?

That she wouldn’t take lying down. “I don’t give a damn that he’s my mate,” she hissed. “He is nothing to me, a reminder of the fact that I will never see my fiance, the man I truly love ever again. I’m not interested in Fae males.”

Interesting.

The shadows were silent, contemplative for a moment. She took that pause to swat at them, utterly done with this conversation and ready to get back to her sulking. Her tears had dried though, distracted as she had been by the initial fear and then annoyance.

I see we’ve overstayed our welcome. Farewell, shrouded lady.

“Wait!” The words came out louder than she intended, and she immediately clamped a hand over her mouth, freezing for a few breaths, until it was apparent that no one was coming to check on her.

Yessss?

“Give him — give Azriel — a message for me. Please,” she amended. “You can do that, right?”

Indeed.

“Tell him thank you for this afternoon. I may not have...adjusted yet, but he’s the only one who seems like he might understand. That’s all.” She gestured toward the closed doorway, keen on observing how this would work.

The shadows darted towards the thin crevice beneath the doorframe, seeming to dissolve before her eyes before they even reached it.

Elain took a moment to center herself once again, finding that she really was feeling quite a bit better. She returned to hanging her clothes in the new wardrobe and had almost forgotten the strange conversation she’d just had when she felt another caress next to her earlobe.

She was shocked when Azriel’s serene voice murmured, You’re welcome, my lady. I’m sorry to hear you’re still struggling, but feel free to complain to me if you ever need an outlet. The busybodies in this house can’t detect these shadows. 

She shivered at the hint of a slight chuckle which accompanied his final words.

Elain blushed and realized she didn’t quite know how to answer him the same way, pausing for a moment before wondering if she should just summon and talk to them again.

As if anticipating her exact thoughts, she heard an additional, Don’t fret. My shadows seem to flock to you — I’m sure they’ll carry your messages too. Just try to direct the thoughts you want to send back towards them. It may help to whisper them aloud for the first few times until you’re used to it.

Elain scrunched her face, concentrating on forcing just one simple word through the shadows, but at the lack of a reply, she knew she must be failing miserably. Closing her eyes and picturing Azriel’s face in her mind, she whispered, “Really?” as she felt the presence at her ear vanish and return only moments later.

Seems I was correct. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening, Elain. Be glad you don’t have to step foot under this insidious mountain. — How did he know to address all her insecurities about not being included, not being considered a functioning member of the Circle? — I sure am envious of the much better night’s sleep you’re sure to get tonight.

“Good luck,” she chuckled. “And goodnight, Azriel.”

Goodnight, Elain. The last shadow flitted away from her ear, and an overwhelming silence she’d never known before enveloped her. Not only had the shadows left her, but the house was noticeably empty for the first time since she’d arrived in Prythian.

Elain spent a long while bathing and preparing herself for bed before sinking into a silent slumber.

Elain jolted upright at the nightmare, about the woman who’d been changed against her will, just as Elain had been. She had been sobbing, lamenting her fiery new form, the fact that nobody knew who she was, what she was after the transformation.

She tried to sink back into the comfort of her mattress but found herself tossing and turning, unable to let go of the images burned into the forefront of her mind. She decided that a nice glass of tea should soothe her nerves. It had worked well enough for her earlier in the evening.

As she padded down the stairs, she marveled at the fact that they were all still in the Court of Nightmares. It had to be well into the middle of the night...but the lights were on in the foyer, and as she turned the corner on the stairs, she saw everybody crowded into the small space, confrontationally facing Amren.

Perhaps she was seeing things again. She shook her head as if to clear it with no luck.

“Oh,” she murmured. 

Instantly, as if a veil had been lifted, she was assaulted with tiny sounds. The shuffling as they moved about the room, the fluttering beats of their hearts, their breath racing as everyone seemed to try to figure out what to say to her, the outcast, the only one not invited to their secret little party.

What’s wrong?

She chose to ignore the small buzzing in her ear and the worried look on his face.

Elain quickly covered herself and dealt with the hovering natures of her sisters. When she began to tell them about her dream and nobody offered any input other than more questions, she began to get a headache and turned to head back upstairs to her room. They wouldn’t miss her anyways. 

What she wasn’t expecting was, “What did you see?” Azriel. She paused, turned.

He’d silently appeared at Feyre’s side, closing the distance between them, and he looked genuinely concerned — perhaps even interested in what she had to say.

“I saw young hands wither with age. I saw a box of black stone. I saw a feather of fire land on snow and melt it. It was angry. It was so, so angry that something was taken. So it took something from them as punishment.”

She somehow couldn’t help herself from divulging not only tonight’s dream but all the strange dreams she’d had this week, her fists clenching and unclenching as she remembered the sheer rage she’d felt in that strange place between sleeping and waking that she seemed to straddle these days.

Feyre turned to Azriel and asked, “What does that mean?”

His eyes never left Elain though, his stony gaze devouring her as he reached out to her again.

What did you really see this afternoon in the garden?

She should’ve given him more credit, realized that he wouldn’t have just blown off the incident.

This was it, time to find out if she could do this silently. It took her a few attempts to respond to him successfully, but eventually she felt the familiar kiss of the shadow leave her ear’s orbit.

Just some weeds. I saw them erratically growing and spreading throughout the flower bed. One second I was thinking about them. The next I could see them projected over the garden and view how they would take over if left unchecked. The next moment they disappeared.

Does this happen often?

At least a few times a week. Sometimes I feel like I’m sleepwalking, caught in an eternal dream. I’m never quite sure what’s real and what’s not anymore.

Anything else?

Not today. Other than the dream. And the others dreams I’ve had this week. The angry ones.

I’ll look into this. If you need me, I’ll be in the library.

Thank you, Azriel.

My pleasure.

Without even bothering to answer her sisters question, she felt him vanish into the shadows and winnow away.

Nobody stopped her as she continued the march back to her bedroom and shut them out.

Chapter Text

Today was even crummier than yesterday. Her sisters had ordered a healer in to “see” her — see if she could be “fixed” is what they didn’t need to say.

Madja had been kind enough, yet Elain had been frustrated when the healer said not a word to her, only addressing Feyre, asking if she wanted to join Madja in fetching a cup of tea for Elain.

Ha. Elain knew it was merely an excuse to speak behind her back, yet she kept her cool, knowing in her heart-of-hearts that nothing was really wrong with her. Nobody had just figured out exactly what her new normal was, how she was adjusting to her High Fae body and the potential magic coursing through it.

She contemplated reaching out to Az, sharing in her exasperation, yet held back. She could at least wait to hear what news Feyre deigned to relay to her before coming to any official judgments.

She felt a hint of shadow curled around her ear. Was it possible that he’d been thinking of speaking to her in that exact moment as well?

The healer, she senses nothing wrong, though we already knew that. 

Disappointment coursed through Elain as she heard only the whispers of the shadows themselves. She was about to press them further until she heard footsteps on the stairs and quickly shooed them.

Feyre cracked open the door, her sister all fake smiles and encouragement, inviting her to the tea they’d prepared for her downstairs, and wouldn’t she join them now that Madja had left? Not even a mention of why the healer had visited. Typical. They still didn’t feel that she was worth including in their schemes, even when Elain was the center of them. Surely they had to know she wasn’t just some broken doll they had to tiptoe around after spending most of their lives in the same household.

It just got better when Elain realized that “tea with her sisters” meant being sat in front of the fireplace, opposite Lucien, whilst Feyre and Mor gossiped by the bay windows, pretending not to be casting them tentative glances. Nesta wasn’t even in the room, but had been spirited into the dining room for more training with Amren.

Oh, if Feyre thought she was going to be playing matchmaker today, she was sorely mistaken. She took her seat, pointedly ignoring Lucien, who was no doubt in league with her sister and just sat there, pretending to be the empty shell they all assumed she was anyways.

The wait was agonizing. She hadn’t even bothered to touch the tea, but even ten minutes later, Feyre and Mor were still chittering away by the window, and Lucien was just hulking before her, occasionally gazing quickly in her direction with a focused, pained expression in his eyes. Never for long, but enough to garner her attention and have her narrowing her eyes at him.

How have you dealt with these insufferable busybodies for centuries? She was now unable to remain silent any longer.

Problems in town house paradise? She could’ve sworn Lucien’s eyes flashed with surprise for a split second before he cooled his gaze again, not showing any other flickers of emotion over the course of the next minute. She decided to keep an eye on him, but returned her attention to Azriel.

Ugh, yes. They called in a healer this morning, but there’s nothing wrong with me. I know that. I knew that. And now Feyre and Mor have set up this lovely little tea party for myself and Lucien. I’ve been sitting here for almost fifteen minutes now, though it feels like an eternity, and nobody is talking to me. The two chatter birds are sipping their tea in the window though and trying to pretend their not watching my every move. What am I supposed to do?

Have you ever thought of playing into their hands? A warm feeling of mirth was somehow present in the shadow.

By doing what? I could open up to them about my dreams, but they all just stare at me dumbfounded every time. It only pushes them farther in the “Elain is off her rocker” direction. I find it’s not worth the effort anymore. And I don’t want to speak with Lucien. Not on these terms.

I don’t think that about you. Pure unyielding calm. I know the Cauldron must’ve given you some magic. We just need to figure out what it is and how you can properly direct it. A lot of times, most fae blessed with magic show symptoms of some sort of madness — not that I think you’re mad. Far from it. But I’m fairly certain Feyre was practically fading into the afterlife when she came to the Night Court. She’d been instructed to ignore any signs of her powers by Tamlin, and that and his treatment of her were literally killing her. Anything interesting since last night?

He’d completely ignored the topic of her mate, thankfully.

No. My sleep was more or less peaceful after that mess in the foyer. And then my morning’s been taken up by this nonsense so far. I just wish I could go out and get my hands dirty in the garden, but I feel like a prisoner here. And do you truly think I might go insane?

No. Of course not. In fact, when I return from the Hewn City tomorrow, the two of us can meet up. It doesn’t have to be public knowledge if you’d prefer it that way. I’ll just see if I can sense any lingering powers in you. We can run through some simple tests for whether you have some common affinities. Perhaps if we can figure out the source of your powers, you can learn how to wield them. With me or the others. Amren is quite busy with Nesta, but Feyre has mastery over most domains now, so she might be a wise choice.

Let’s just start with figuring out what exactly I am. Once I wrap my head around it, then I’ll consider telling the others. They can’t see these shadows by the way, right? It’d be rather embarrassing if they’ve just been watching them swirl about me right now.

Not usually, no. Especially if you don’t want them to. My shadows can play off the natural shadows in the room, making them nearly impossible to detect. I’ll admit that I let them run wild around myself most of the time. Never hurts to remind others about my powers every now and then. A soft chuckle.

Oh. Good. Any luck with your research?

Unfortunately, not yet, but it’s a date. A chill ran down Elain’s spine. Not an unpleasant one — she doubted he even knew of the colloquialism used beneath the wall to symbolize courtship. And it’s not like they’d ever had any interaction that couldn’t be considered friendship. Az continued without skipping a beat though, Lucky for you, our meeting in the Court of Nightmares just wrapped up so my brothers should be interrupting you shortly. If Cassian can’t liven up that “party” within the first few minutes, then I owe you a meal.

Elain lifted her teacup to her lips and glanced out the window.

They’re outside the window now. I never thought I’d say this, but thank the Cauldron. Nesta had suddenly become very distracted in the other room if Amren’s admonitions were any hint. Elain turned away from the window before Mor could catch her staring at her saviors. Wait, what? They’re heading back out towards the city.

It seems our meddling High Lady is going all out to get what she wants this time.

“Focus,” Elain heard Amren hiss at Nesta as Cassian made a display of stretching his wings while waiting for Rhys to catch up with him, the latter surely still having silent conversations with her cursed sister.

At least Nesta seems as uninterested in her designated tasks as I am, Elain chuckled internally, about to describe the little display she’d witnessed to Az, when — Shit.

Elain felt a jolt course through her and instinctively shot to her feet, noticing Lucien do the same. It felt as if someone had grabbed her by the core and yanked.

“I’m sorry,” the words bursted out of his mouth. What in the hells? That was his doing?

Elain?

“What — what was that?”

“It — it was a tug. On the bond.” 

Seriously? This is why they’d forced her to sit through this miserable tea party? So Lucien could silently mess with their mating bond in peace? Elain was all sorts of done with these people, and about to tell them so when Nesta marched into the room.

She took the moment in which Nesta aimed her cold, calculated words at Lucien to finally reply, Nothing. It’s nothing.

That probably wouldn’t hold Az over for long, but she couldn’t easily maintain two conversations at once yet.

“I’m sorry — if that unsettled you.” He damn well should be.

Elain eased her way over to where Nesta stood in the doorway, her sister’s intimidating presence a welcome shield at the moment.

“It felt...strange. Like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib,” she breathed.

Yes. That was the best way to describe the violation.

He held his hands up to her non-threateningly, in surrender, and murmured, “I’m sorry,” again.

Elain was about to retort when her vision of him blurred, two ravens now perched on his shoulders, stark opposites of each other, one black and the other white. They seemed to focus their attention on Nesta, murmuring over and over that they would be here soon.

After blinking until the mirages faded and shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she turned to her sister, feeling in her gut that it was somehow crucial that Nesta know. “Twin ravens are coming, one white and one black.”

She herself didn’t know exactly what it meant, but Nesta simply replied, “What can I get you, Elain?” all emotion now masked on her lovely face. Elain knew she was disappointed, though. Here she was spouting nonsense again, in their opinions.

“Sunshine.” She’d been itching to garden all morning, to feel the sun kiss her skin, to be freed of this cage she was living in.

Nesta took her arm and guided her to the garden, her sister perching on one of the lawn chairs and seeming content to let Elain roam as she wished, though Elain was well aware of the hyper-focused eye Nesta trained on her.

I’m sorry to startle you. They asked Lucien to feel around on the mating bond, and he finally tugged hard enough that I felt it. I just feel really violated right now. It was difficult to mask the sadness in her voice, even in her own head.

His response was instantaneous, as if he’d been waiting with baited breath for her to elucidate him. Do you want me to come back there and kick his ass for you?

She couldn’t help the smile forming on her lips now. 

No, I think Nesta’s shared the shit out of him enough for now, and he seemed apologetic. I know it was likely Feyre’s idea. I just...I just wish they’d give me a little space to breathe. I feel like I’m suffocating here.

Are you in your bedroom? She blushed at the suggestion, innocent though it may be.

No, the garden. And I think I’ll spend the rest of my day here. She tipped her head back until her face was fully blanketed by the sun and grinned.

Glad to hear your troubles are at least looking up for now.

Also, I saw something else, while I was still in the room after Lucien pulled on the bond. Twin ravens, black and white, that are coming. I’m not quite sure what to make of all of it. It only appeared for a split second.

Thank you for telling me, my lady.

She cut him off there. You don’t have to be so formal with me. Just Elain is fine.

Thank you, Elain, he corrected himself. I’ll ponder over this while I’m traveling, but I’m about to go into a meeting. Meet you in the gardens tomorrow morning?

It’s a date.

“Just try to light the wick.”

“It’s no use,” she sighed, exasperated.

They’d been in the House of Wind for hours, Azriel having flown them up here for some privacy while testing out her powers today. Plus, he’d told her grinning all the while, enough magical firefights had happened within its stone walls that nobody was likely to notice a few extra dents if she found an affinity and couldn’t control it.

She got the impression that he thought it’d be a funny joke to try to blame it on Feyre anyways, and she quite agreed with him. They’d barely spoken to each other until a few days ago, when she’d moved into the town house, but she’d already uncovered his quiet, dry sense of humor. And it was quite endearing.

“Here.” He pulled out a piece of flint and lit one of their test candles. “Maybe lighting it is the hardest part. See if you can bend the flame at all. Make it grow or shrink. Just any form of manipulation.”

Elain squinted her eyes, staring down her opponent and desperately willing it to grow just a centimeter. Five minutes later, and she was still staring at the same damned flame.

She flopped into one of the few cushioned armchairs he’d left in the room, clearing most of the other furniture out just in case.

That had been it, her final test, and she hadn’t been able to lift a single drop of water or blot out a fae light or heal a simple cut — she’d been pissed at him for slicing his palm just to try to coax that one out of her.

“Just another scrape,” he’d shrugged. “This one won’t even scar. If you’re so worried about me, you’d better try harder.” He’d even winked, the insufferable bastard.

But alas, nothing had worked. Elain had been so hopeful coming into the day, hoping to discover the source of her troubles.

“Hey, it’s okay. It must just be a rarer type of magic. Give me some time to research more, and I’ll come up with some more tests, I promise. This must just mean the Cauldron granted you a special gift.” He placed his hand on her shoulder.

She jumped at the contact, and he quickly retracted the hand. “I’m sorry!” She clasped a hand to her mouth. “I just...wasn’t expecting it, and I’m so exhausted after all those silly tests, and —” Her stomach audibly grumbled.

“In need of a snack?”

“I believe someone promised me a free meal if Cassian didn’t liven up my tea party, and the brute didn’t even come inside,” she teased.

Elain marveled at the fact that she’d started picking up some of Nesta’s vocabulary. She guessed it wasn’t completely surprising considering that she’d been practically locked in the same few rooms with Nesta for weeks now.

“I do hear that he still had quite the presence anyways, flashing that wingspan in the street,” he countered.

“A mere coincidence. If he never had to try to daintily sip tea in that stuffy living room, he definitely didn’t attend.”

“You’ve got me there,” he grinned. “May I?” He unfurled his wings and gestured toward the balcony.

Elain just nodded and let him shoot them out into the heart of Velaris, landing at a small cafe on the Sidra.

The two of them dined lazily, Azriel prying her for her plans about the town house garden all evening and letting her worries about her place in her new life and her unknown powers fall to the wayside.

Elain next ran into him a few days later in the townhouse dining room as the two Illyrian warriors appeared to be leaving after a meeting with Feyre. 

Cassian bid her good morning as she blinked up at him, and without thinking twice, she blurted out, “He snapped your wings, broke your bones.”

Oh gods. She’d dreamt that last night, and in her tea-deprived state, it had just slipped out — the first thing she could think of as she saw that handsome face which had looked so brutalized and bloodied in that nightmare.

Again?

Yes. I’m still not awake enough to keep my thoughts to myself it seems though. They just spilled out.

Interesting.

She didn’t have a chance to ask him what, exactly was so interesting before Cassian just smirked at her and replied, “It’ll take more than that to kill me.”

“No, it will not.” What in the Cauldron’s name was she doing?

Feyre tried to rescue her by resting her hand on Elain’s shoulder and inquiring, “Can I set you up in the garden? The herbs you planted are coming in nicely.”

“I can help her.” Azriel stepped toward the table and extended a hand to her.

Thank you. So much.

Don’t mention it.

She gratefully grabbed the proffered hand and let him lead the way.

By the time they reached the garden, she was shaking slightly. “I don’t know what got into me. I dreamed about it last night, but somehow I simply just couldn’t keep it to myself this morning. I feel like my lips were moving of their own accord. What’s happening to me?”

He gently, yet firmly gripped her shoulders with those hands she couldn’t get enough glimpses of. Brutal scars, yes, yet they swirled and whorled like the shadows. Someday, maybe she’d become brave enough to ask him about them.

“Just relax. Cassian’s seen more than his fair share of battle injuries, most of them at least that gruesome. He’s probably already forgotten about it by now. Especially since he’s currently got a captive Nesta a thousand feet up over Velaris. He can be a rather single-minded individual sometimes.” There was that sly grin, with one of the corners of his mouth tilting upright, that she’d come to adore in the past week.

“You’re right,” she breathed. “I guess I’m just scared about what might be happening to me. These impulses seem to be getting more difficult to control, the lines between dreaming and reality seeming more blurred lately.”

“Do you mind if I involve Amren? I’ll still look into it a bit more. I have a few more ideas for us to try the next time we can sneak up to the House alone, but after that, she really may be our best bet in determining your powers.”

Elain sighed, nodding tentatively. “Yes, if your tests don’t work, we can bring her in. Do you think she’ll keep my secrets?”

“Amren...is her own being. I can’t say for certain, but I may be able to persuade her for the right price.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

He brushed aside her comment. “I have centuries of paychecks rotting away in the banks. I like to live rather simply. If it means your comfort, I’d gladly part with a measly portion of it to purchase her loyalty.”

Elain was still rather uncomfortable with the prospect, but she just nodded. She could argue this with him later once they knew whether or not it was necessary. She was still too shaken to argue.

She was rather pleased that she’d found out a little tidbit about his elusive life though. “Where do you live, so simply, as you put it?” A change of topic was good for taking her mind off of breakfast.

“Just in a small apartment in the city. Purchased under a false name. I don’t need any of these busybodies hounding me there. I just make myself available at the House whenever I sense they really need to hunt me down.” He tapped his ears, willing a shadow to flit around it before disappearing once again.

“Do you think I’ll ever be able to control them? I mean, they seem to like me. I’ve gotten a few unasked-for whispers over the past week,” the words came out almost desperate. She just wanted some form of magical control over her body.

“I’m not sure.” Sensing her recoil at the answer, he rubbed her shoulder, her focus darting to the fact that he was still somehow holding her steady.

She shook him off, her insecurities heightened, and headed for the table on the patio. “What if I never get powers? What if they’re weak and silly and I can’t even do anything with them? My sisters both seem so strong, but I’m just nothing compared to them. It’s probably why they push me around all the time.”

“Has anyone ever told you about the Nephelle philosophy?” he murmured.

The what? “Never even heard of it.”

“I was just mentioning it to your sister, who believe it or not can be rather insecure herself, the other day, and I think you need to hear it.”

He launched into the tale, and Elain lost track of time as she listened. Right after he’d finished recounting the story to her, and she was about to ask him more about this Nephelle — Was she still alive? Could Elain meet her? — he suddenly tensed, and whispered, “I need you to get inside right now. Your sisters were just attacked and I need to guard the house. If you need me, just whisper your message. I’ll be on the roof, okay?”

She nodded as he ushered her out of her chair and escorted her to the door. She glanced behind her one last time before shutting it as she felt a powerful blast of air following the booming beating of his wings.

She didn’t call upon him, judging it better to let him maintain his focus. He’d surely let her know if there were any danger, and slowly but surely, the rest of the Inner Circle, minus Amren who was out hunting for Hybern spies, filed into the sitting room.

She tried to distract herself whilst wedged between Nesta and Mor on the couch, but had already run out of tiny, interesting features of the room to stare at. The wallpaper patterns could only hold her attention for so long.

Finally, Az silently stepped out of a shadow and joined them in the room. 

She let them talk strategy, tuning it all about until, the fireplace across from her faded and she beheld a breathtaking crowned woman walking toward her, waving as if they were friends. 

The image shifted to reveal a bird of molten flame continuing on her path, toward Elain and her family. Elain recognized her as one and the same in a heartbeat. She’d seen the shift so often in her dreams.

“The queen might come,” she murmured.

“What queen?” Nesta.

“The one who was cursed.” Obviously.

“Cursed by the Cauldron. When it threw its tantrum after you...left.” Feyre addressed Nesta directly, not even acknowledging Elain, but she was so wrong.

“No.” Elain stared at Feyre. “Not that one. The other.” 

How were they not getting this? She was about to lose it and just escape up to her room, but Azriel slowly approached her. He was her saving grace.

“What other?” At least he knew she was serious, was interested in enlightening himself.

She furrowed her brows, trying to remember if she’d ever heard the queen’s name. “The queen — with feathers of flame.”

He tilted his head at her. Please let him understand her. Please.

If she hadn’t already been at the edge of her rope, she got there the moment Lucien whispered to Feyre as if she couldn’t hear, “Should we — does she need…?”

But Azriel cut him off without even acknowledging the other male’s presence. “She doesn’t need anything.”

If she could send him a shadow filled with nothing but pure joy and thankfulness, she would. He stared directly into her eyes, his molten gaze assessing, and she matched his stare, unblinkingly.

“We’re the ones who need...a seer.” He lowered his head in thought, as if all the puzzle pieces were falling into place in his mind. “The Cauldron made you a seer.”

Elain breathed a sigh of relief, the weight of weeks worth of worry suddenly lifted from her shoulders.

Chapter Text

Mor, who was seated next to her on the couch seemed like the most knowledgeable person in the room on this topic. Elain had seen her go into a different sort of trance a few months ago when the queens had visited her father’s home.

“Is that what this is?” Finally. An answer. At least, she hoped. But something about the weight of Azriel’s words had struck a chord deep inside her, knowing it in her heart to be the truth.

Mor just blinked back at her, seemingly also testing out the words for whether they be truth or lies before gently nodding.

Elain didn’t fail to notice Lucien finally deigning to sit down, though his strange metal eye roamed over her, feeling oddly violating, as if he were trying to get a sense of her magic with it for himself. Shivers ran down her spine.

Congratulations. It seems more of our little testing exercises won’t be necessary after all.

A seer. What does this mean?

Seers are exceptionally rare. I haven’t encountered one myself since Rhys’ father was High Lord, but they — you — are beings of exceptional power. You have the gifts of scrying the present and seeing many possible futures. I’m unsure if they are destined to pass or can be changed. With a little practice, soon you’ll be able to better control when your visions occur. You can try to call on one at will or delay a pressing vision until you’re somewhere where you can process it. But, on another note…

“There is another queen?” Elain knew Az voiced his question aloud for the benefit of the others in the room.

She squinted at him, recalling all her previous visions of the fire queen, viewing them in a different light now before murmuring, “Yes.”

“The sixth queen,” Mor breathed. “The queen who the golden one said wasn’t ill…” She cast a worried glance around the room.

“She said not to trust the other queens because of it,” amended Feyre.

After a moment of carefully considering the situation, Feyre turned to Nesta, saying, “You stole from the Cauldron, but what if the Cauldron gave something to Elain?”

Gave something to me?

The Cauldron works in mysterious ways. Perhaps it took a liking to your tender spirit.

“What?” The blood drained out from Nesta’s face as she seemed ready to jump at a moment’s notice, the revelation that Elain had some deeper form of magic shaking her to the core.

Azriel just nodded, continuing to address her. “You knew. About the young queen turning into a crone.”

He had been listening, his astute mind now replaying every single dream she’d told him and putting the pieces together for her. It was a tremendous help, as she hadn’t had the time to sort through them all since she figured out what they were mere minutes ago.

She just blinked, gradually forming a solid mental image out of all of those visions as well.

“The sixth queen is alive?” Azriel pressed on, patiently, steadily, as if he had all the time in the world for her to answer, as long as she believed it was truthful.

Try to call a vision now. I’m not sure exactly how it’s done, but reach out with your mind and feel for the queen. Like how you reach out to speak through the shadows, but with different intent. Try to see her.

She cocked her head, focusing intently on what she knew about the red-haired beauty, her mind going to the crown of flames she so often bore before — there. A window had opened in her mind showing the young woman emerging from a lake, vicious and furious, shedding molten feathers of liquid flame into the water against the stunning twilight background. “Yes.”

Everyone in the cramped sitting room was gaping at her, except Azriel, his calm, measured face steadying her as she drifted between reality and the sharp image taking up a place on the border of her mind.

“What sort of curse?” Rhysand pressed her.

Elain shifted the vision of the queen back into view, this time panning around the periphery for others. There — just on the edge of the vision, she could sense a pit of darkness, a magic-wielding soul. Yet she couldn’t focus on him. Come to think of it, she’d never seen his face before.

Spread around him were an assortment of other women, mostly in their prime, yet some as young as schoolgirls. The feathers molting off them were white — demure, resigned to their fates. She could feel the entitlement radiating off him as held held that wicked box in his lap. She’d never learned what it contained, what use it might have, although she’d speculated that perhaps it helped bind them to him.

“They sold her — to...to some darkness, to some...sorcerer-lord.” She shook her head, attempting to focus in on the details the High Lord desired.

You’re doing great.

“I can never see him. What he is. There is an onyx box that he possesses, more vital than anything...save for them. The girls. He keeps other girls — others so like her — but she...By day, she is one form, by night, human again.”

Yes, that was the best way to describe what she knew about the queen.

“A bird of burning feathers,” Feyre remembered. She remembered.

“Firebird by day, woman by night...So she’s held captive by this sorcerer-lord?” Rhysand mused.

Possibly? Elain shook her head again, trying to refocus on the woman. There was only heated screaming, words Elain couldn’t make out as she quickly muted the vision, and the queen approached the lord.

“I don’t know. I hear her — her screaming. With rage. Utter rage…” As the vision tried to assert itself at the forefront of her mind, Elain shivered, tamping it down for later.

Mor addressed her again. “Do you know why the other queens cursed her — sold her to him?”

Elain had already tested the edges of this vision, not finding any more relevant information. “No. No — that is all mist and shadow.” Yes. That’s what the boundaries felt like to her.

Rhysand let out a breath he must’ve been holding for a minute. “Can you sense where she is?”

“There is...a lake. Deep in — in the continent, I think. Hidden amongst the mountains and ancient forests.” She swallowed dryly. This was getting quite exhausting. She’d have to learn how to stretch this mental muscle.

Breathe. Don’t push it.

I can do this.

Even she could tell how shaky her mental voice sounded as the wisp danced away from her ear.

“He keeps them all at the lake.”

“Other women like her?”

“Yes — and no. Their feathers are white as snow. They glide across the water — while she rages through the skies above it.” That was one dream she’d never forget.

Mor distracted Rhysand for her, and Elain shot the female a grateful smile. “What information do we have on the sixth queen?”

“Little.” It was Azriel who cut in here, ever the spymaster with information to divulge. “We know little. Young — somewhere in her mid-twenties. Scythia lies along the wall, to the east. It’s the smallest amongst the human queens’ realms, but rich in trade and arms. She goes by Vassa, but I never got a report with her full name.”

Vassa. The name clanged around in Elain’s head. Yes. This woman was definitely a ‘Vassa’. It just felt like it fit.

“She must have posed a considerable threat to the queens if they turned on her. And considering their agenda…” Rhysand thought out loud.

“If we can find Vassa,” Feyre interrupted, “she could be vital in convincing the human forces to fight. And giving us an ally on the continent.”

“If we can find her.” Cassian approached Azriel’s side, weighing the likelihood that they’d be able to hunt down this mysterious lake. “It could take months. Not to mention, facing the male who holds her captive could be harder than expected. We can’t afford all those potential risks. Or the time it’d take. We should focus on this meeting with the other High Lords first.”

Elain shrank back against the plush couch cushions as Mor began to argue that she should be allowed to search for the human queen against all the bossy males’ opinions that she was needed here in Velaris. Whatever.

She shut her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose as she took hold of the vision she had summoned and worked on banishing it, attempting to send it to the back of her mind, only to be seen again if she willed it.

Everything all right?

Her eyes flew open, revealing the hazel-eyed male glancing sidelong at her, causing her cheeks to flush. For once, she’d actually hoped nobody would notice as she tried to disappear in this room full of large personalities.

I’ve just got a bit of a headache now, but it’s fine.

I’ll have Cerridwen whip you up a tonic. Don’t overwork yourself, even if they continue to hound you for information.

Thank you. I’m sure I can handle it.

You need to grow into the powers. Soon enough, you’ll be able to sort through them at a whim, yet summoning a vision will likely always drain a hefty portion of your reserve. You need to learn how to take care of yourself, learn how to prioritize. Because one day they will inevitably decide to ask too much of you.

I get it. Really, she snapped. Her headache was just intensifying, made worse by the fact that Vassa was still lingering on the edge of Elain’s consciousness, refusing to listen to orders.

Deep breath.

She inhaled.

Good. Now close your eyes. Nobody’s watching but me, and perhaps Vanserra. But you like to ignore him. Pretend it’s just you and me.

She willed herself to forget that she was in a room of powerful fae arguing about the fate of the world.

Deep breath again. Now command it. You are its master, not the other way around. Your will is its law.

She pictured herself grabbing the vision with both hands and flinging it into the back of her mind. Crude, but...suddenly she could think straight again, her headache lessening.

I did it!, she squealed, opening her eyes. Only to realize that while there’d still been a raucous going on in her mind, the room had quieted around her, and Lucien turned to stare straight at her.

“I’ll go.”

Every pair of eyes in the room whipped to him, and thankfully his migrated to her sister and Rhysand.

“I’ll go. To find this sixth queen,” Lucien repeated for emphasis.

Elain let out a sigh of relief. If he truly went through with this, there’d be slightly more room for her to breathe here in Velaris, without having to worry about being set up with or left alone with the male in the town house.

“What makes you think you could find her?” Rhysand questioned.

Please no. Don’t turn him down. Don’t make him change his mind.

“This eye…” His hand moved toward the golden orb. “It can see things that others...can’t. Spells, glamours… Perhaps it can help me find her. And break her curse.”

Mother above. Can he see these?

She knew Az would figure she was referring to the shadows which darted between them, which had been for the past week. She’d thought perhaps she’d seen him look at her oddly over tea the other day, but the whole situation had been peculiar. She’d just brushed it off as coincidence.

Elain’s throat bobbed as she made an effort to look anywhere but at Lucien, the skirt of her gown proving an interesting target.

I...don’t know. He certainly can’t hear them with the eye, if that’s what your worried about. A light chuckle. But perhaps he can tell that we’ve been communicating. I’ve always been curious about that eye. We all know he got it from Dawn, but they’ve always been very secretive with their healing practices and inventions.

Shit.

What’s he going to do about it? Tell everyone that we’re friends against your will? He won’t do anything of the sort. Not if it would garner ill will with you.

You don’t know that.

I do. Without a shadow of a doubt. He is your mate, and as such, his instinct is not to betray you in any way. Even if you aren’t yet together.

Never together. I’m not interested.

That seemed to have left the shadowsinger speechless.

“I’m not needed here. I’ll fight if you need me to, but… I do not belong in the Autumn Court. And I’m willing to bet I’m no longer welcome at h — the Spring Court.” Lucien’s words brought her back to the present. “But I cannot sit here and do nothing. Those queens with their armies — there is a threat in that regard, too. So use me. Send me. I will find Vassa, see if she can...bring help.”

Well, at least he was being rather noble about this. Elain respected him in that regard.

“You will be going into the human territory,” Rhysand warned. “I can’t spare a force to guard you —”

“I don’t need one,” interrupted Lucien. “I travel faster on my own.”

The words saddened something in Elain, as she saw for a split second an image of his loneliness, of how he’d always been an outlier, amongst his family, then after with his friend, and now…here in the Night Court. Even though she should be comforting him.

Where had that come from? That insufferable bond must’ve been tampering with her emotions. She didn’t feel that closeness with him. They didn’t even know the first thing about each other. Not really.

You look like you’re about to throw up. There was a hint of worry.

She schooled her expression. Let him think that she felt sick.

It’s passed.

“I will find her. And if there’s an army to bring back, or at least some way for her own story to sway the human forces...I’ll find a way to do that too.”

Mor cut in, “It will be — very dangerous.”

Elain certainly could have tested this theory by pulling at a vision, but she didn’t want to see the fate of the male sitting before her.

She only turned to watch him cautiously.

A slight grin graced his lips. “Good. It’d be boring otherwise.”

Cassian quickly extended an offer to arm him to the teeth.

How could he be so brave in the face of danger? She blinked, taking in her mate, this male she truly did know nothing about. She could at least admire this about him.

Elain blushed, dropping her gaze to the arm of the couch, inspecting the stitching as she decided to tune out the rest of this nonsense, but she still couldn’t fully block out his plea to help in whichever way he could and that he was leaving tomorrow.

Tomorrow. The word held so much promise for her, but it was tinged with regret.

She wasn’t interested in romance — she was still in love with Graysen — but she couldn’t help but wonder if she shouldn’t have attempted to befriend him just a little. Now that he was going off, perhaps to his demise, it was too late anyways.

The room was utterly silent.

Elain… Az’s voice was hesitant. I need to go report to Amren, but Cerridwen will be in momentarily with your tonic. She’s just finishing it up now. Would you like me to check in later tonight? We can talk about your —

No. The word echoed in the silence.

I’m sorry, I —

It’s not your fault. I just want to be alone tonight.

As you wish.

Elain wished she could unhear the tinge of hurt in that statement.

Rhysand gave orders to the remainder of the circle, and everyone filed out of the sitting room. Everyone, that is except for Lucien and Elain. Today just kept getting better…

Get me out of here. Please. She wasn’t sure why she sent it to him instead of simply getting up and walking out. She was a grown lady and could excuse herself, yet she somehow didn’t want to hurt Lucien’s feelings. Not right now.

No response. Fine.

“Elain, I —” Lucien began, but at that moment, Cerridwen entered the room with Elain’s tray.

“Lady Elain, here is your tonic as promised.”

“Are you feeling unwell?” Lucien looked worried.

“Just a bit queasy, but I’ll be fine.” Elain attempted a shy smile at him.

Cerridwen, however, had not simply exited the room as expected. “Your bath is ready as well. Right this way.”

Oh.

Thank you.

Silence still. Fine, if he was going to give her the cold shoulder, she wouldn’t give him another thought tonight. Suddenly, Elain was desperate to climb in the steaming tub of relaxing water, something that had been causing her anxiety ever since that night she’d been changed.

She knew it wasn’t the same, and that hadn’t stopped her from bathing regularly. But she lived with the constant fear that her head would go under again and would not emerge. One night, she’d finally become terrified enough that she’d meekly asked Nuala, who was attending her to stay in the room while she bathed.

The female had been more than accommodating, chatting with Elain throughout and subtly reminding her that she wasn’t alone. And ever since, one of the twins had wordlessly followed her into the bathing chambers, keeping her company with their friendship. The two were full of endless stories — benefits, they said, of being able to easily fade into the background and observe.

They’d agreed to help her obtain more seeds and starter plants from the town this week, and were eager to get their hands dirty with her when they weren’t seeing to other chores around the house.

In return, Elain had promised to help out in the kitchens, casually waving off their objections that it was unnecessary for such a lady of high status to help them. She really needed more to do with her hands during the endless days which were to be her eternity, and she’d always wanted to learn how to bake. Doing so in the company of two females who were fast becoming friends would just be a bonus.

Elain woke to the sound of voices in the foyer at the foot of the stairs. She’d been so exhausted from summoning that vision last night that she appeared to have completely slept through breakfast. The sun was already high in the sky.

She hurried to throw on a simple gown. Lucien was to leave today, and she hoped she at least hadn’t missed his departure.

Opening the door, the muffled voices became clearer.

“It was time. For me to do something.” Lucien.

“Thank you.” Feyre.

She stepped onto the landing and gazed upon the scene. Lucien was fitted with an assortment of weapons as he took Rhysand’s hand in his own, likely about to winnow away, but he paused, sensing her staring at him.

Their gazes locked, and Elain knew she should say something. Perhaps a farewell. Perhaps some blessing for good luck, but she was frozen, unable to open her mouth or move an inch closer to him.

And he was just staring back at her with such longing...a longing she couldn’t return. And the sorrow in his eyes — it was killing her, but only because of the insipid bond. There was nothing lying further beneath the surface, no natural feelings of her own.

He bowed his head to her in parting, and when she didn’t show any sign of returning the sentiment, he took it as dismissal, turning back towards Rhysand.

Only then did she have control of her body again, only then did she begin to take a step towards him, unsure what exactly she would say when she reached him. Just as Rhysand whisked him away into nothingness.

Elain didn’t wait around for the others to remark on the interaction, swiftly turning on her heel and marching back to her bedroom. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see anyone today. All of these emotions were swirling around in her heart, and she needed to figure out what to make of them herself.

She collapsed on her bed, only allowing Nuala and Cerridwen into her room to deliver her a breakfast she didn’t particularly find appetizing and to silently sit with her as she bathed. All other attempts at contact were dutifully ignored, and eventually, when she’d failed to respond to enough pleads to at least make sure she was okay, if nothing else, she felt the shadows leave her room altogether.

Chapter Text

Azriel?

Elain attempted to send a frantic shadow message tumbling out into the night. 

Nothing happened. She searched everywhere, drawing on the power of the shadows that had become so familiar to her over the past week, but she couldn’t sense a lick of Az’s lingering magic.

Nesta had come banging on her door quite a while after Elain had fled back to the relative safety of her room. When Elain had tried to ignore her, Nesta had just barreled in, relaying the news that the Summer Court was under attack and everyone else besides Amren had gone to their aid.

She felt guilty now for shutting her friend out. Her own confusion about her feelings for Lucien had perhaps blinded her to the fact that he’d just been checking in on her, trying to make sure she was coping fine with her powers and the difficult situations her family kept putting her in.

In fact, he was the only one who truly seemed to care. Even Nesta, with her ferocious protectiveness saw her as no more than a favored doll to shelter, not someone with her own complexities who could prove useful. Not really.

And now she’d wounded him. His parting tone last night had been clipped and aggravated, and the few times he tried to interact with her this morning had felt rote — as if he knew he had a duty to her as his friend, but was hesitant to hear what she really had to say about her parting from Lucien.

Well into the evening, with no word from the Shadowsinger, she finally summoned Nuala, asking perhaps a bit desperately how she could send Az a shadow message when she couldn’t find a trace of one to grab onto.

She’d never explored creating her own shadows before or harnessing those natural to her surroundings — if that was even possible — but surely the twins had to know how to get in touch with him.

“Oh, of course. I’d be happy to carry the message for you. Generally we just slip into the shadows ourselves and deliver our messages to him that way.”

Elain wasn’t sure how she felt about the twins intercepting their private communications. Not that there was anything to keep secret, but she was embarrassed about someone else — even the twins she was beginning to regard as true friends — having any doorway into the candid emotions she’d sometimes laid bare to him.

The heat she felt slowly creeping onto her cheeks must have lit up her face like a firecracker because Nuala quickly headed her off before she could refuse.

“I’ll give you a simple tendril of my own shadows to latch onto. All you have to do is convey your message to it, as you would one of the spymaster’s. I can transport it directly to him without having to listen to it. I promise. Your secrets are safe with me, and from me as well, I guess,” the delicate wraith giggled.

She must’ve known the gesture would tickle Elain’s sensibilities and lighten her mood just a bit, as she waited expectantly, a wisp of blackest night unfurling from the palm she’d laid open in an indication of friendship toward Elain.

Elain targeted all her energy on the small fragment, uttering within her mind, Please. Just tell me that everyone is okay. Please.

The desperation poured out of her, and she didn’t care how much of it he picked up on as long as he was going to be on the other end of that shadow, as long as he was there to ease her mind.

And now she waited. Amren had been receiving reports from Varian about the bloodshed in general, but nothing had come through about how any of her family and friends were faring.

There was such silence filling her head, as she feared for those she loved that might not return, especially considering the fact that the only person she had a lifeline to didn’t deign to respond.

Minutes felt like hours, as Elain laid in bed, the dour atmosphere not lifting her already tread-upon spirits.

She’d had to kick Nesta out, shutting the door behind her when her sister proceeded to pace back and forth throughout the room, obviously worried about Cassian, though she’d be remiss to admit it.

She could still hear the echo of footsteps through the floorboards as Nesta had only shifted her pacing over a room, barely an improvement upon doing it in front of Elain.

As the sun set and Amren still bore them no news, she began to worry in earnest.

Elain had begun to lose all hope when —

It wasn’t pretty, but we all survived. Tarquin’s forces fared miserably, and our own Illyrian legions took a beating, but it’s over.

Nuala suddenly appeared next to her, rippling into existence. Elain smiled at her friend, thanking her for conveying the message and shyly asking whether or not she’d mind delivering another.

“It should be much quicker this time, now that I’ve pinpointed his location,” the wraith smiled at her.

“I’m so sorry to be imposing upon you like this,” Elain blushed.

“Not a problem at all, Elain. You’re actually saving me from a bland night of prepping tomorrow’s pastries. We were instructed not to mobilize today, to look after your needs and those of your sister. I must admit that being commanded to transport messages for you is one of the more favorable tasks I could be asked to perform.”

Nuala flashed her a wicked grin, and Elain could swear the wraith’s energy was palpable, her desire to fling herself into the night on an adventure practically contagious. So she made quick work of relaying her message to the tendril which had snuggled onto her ear as if it were a common tabby come home to rest at last.

Thank the Cauldron. She couldn’t believe she was using the phrase — she must’ve picked it up from Rhysand — but it just exploded out of her as relief coursed through her body. You all left so suddenly, and I only heard about it later from Nesta and Amren, and we’ve been so worried about you all. I fear that Nesta might wear a hole in her floorboards with all the pacing she’s doing. She was rambling but couldn’t bring herself to care as her words and sentences got smashed together.

This time perhaps only a handful of minutes passed. Cerridwen had brought her supper, which after having skipped breakfast this morning, Elain graciously began devouring.

Elain had invited her to sit and stay for awhile and the two were engaged in polite conversation upon Elain’s bed when the next message poured into her ear, Nuala not even bothering to appear this time.

War is war. Many battles hit unexpectedly. We got lucky this time that we had enough forces close enough in position.

He sounded cold, distant. She did realize that he’d just been in combat, but he hadn’t even responded to her quip about Nesta, and the two of them had been trading observations back and forth all week about how ridiculous this hot-and-cold situation between Nesta and Cassian was.

He must’ve still been upset with her over her dismissal these past two days.

Cerridwen just paused their own conversation, fully aware of the silent one taking place, and gesturing that she should reply before they continued their own.

Azriel, I’m so sorry. Really, I do want to train with you and practice controlling my visions. I’ve just been in a daze these past couple of days. The vision of Vassa yesterday left me drained, and I just needed some time to myself. When you get back tonight, I’d love to go sit out in the garden and train.

Elain cringed a little, embarrassed that the wraith was so comfortable taking a back seat when it came to their friendship and their gossip about the Inner Circle.

“I — I…”

“Oh please. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to watch someone go silent to have some other conversation of their own. Plus, you’re corresponding with Az, and I’m always happy to cede to his requests.”

“You truly don’t mind?” Her upbringing had deeply instilled in her that it was terribly rude to shift her attention so suddenly, ignoring the person present with her in the room.

“I am very lucky to be given these opportunities to serve with the spymaster and the High Lord. Most of my kind are not so Cauldron-blessed. So no — I don’t mind. Their wishes and desires come first. And you’re forgetting that I’ve been subjected to Lord Rhysand and Lady Feyre doing practically all their private communication down the mating bond since they discovered how useful it can be. There’s nothing like fixing up the High Lady’s hair as her cheeks gradually begin to redden and I can sense other parts of her coming to life as well.”

Elain couldn’t help but laugh at the audacity of her sister and her mate. Those two were truly a rare breed indeed.

I’m not coming back tonight.

She waited a few seconds for him to expand upon that, but nothing else came with the message.

Okay. Tomorrow then. My headache is gone, and I’ve come to terms with Lucien leaving. It was just strange for me, seeing him in such a selfless light and then having him whisked away to the continent without really being able to decide if that made me want to like him just a bit. I wasn’t even sure if I should say goodbye to him. I’m still rather upset at him for messing with our bond last week. That’s all. She let out a deep breath. She felt like she was just digging herself deeper into this hole. My mood had nothing to do with you. If anything, you’ve been brightening it lately.

“Do you see that?” Cerridwen asked as the smoky shadow flew off into the night, and she stuffed her mouth full of some of the cheese Elain had graciously offered her.

“What?” Elain wasn’t sure what exactly she’d missed whilst she’d been so focused with selecting the words which would accurately convey how she’d been feeling to Azriel.

“The slippery little minx has just quit materializing altogether. I swear she’s afraid that if she does, I’ll come up with some excuse as to why I should be the one out there riding the currents through the twilight. I mean she’s right — not that I’m not having a lovely time with you, Elain…” She stumbled over those last few words, clearly embarrassed that she’d let such bold thought slip through her lips.

Elain headed her off before she could begin to try to explain further. “No, I get it. I’m enjoying myself too, but sometimes this house can feel like a cage. I try to spend as much time as I can in the gardens, but sometimes I wish I could just soar into the sky, sprout wings like my sister and just lose myself above the clouds.”

“I’ve ridden a few times with Azriel, and while it was lovely, I couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to be completely free, to not have to rely on him — or any of them to achieve that feeling,” she continued as she flopped longingly back onto the mattress.

Cerridwen followed suit, and the two found themselves gossiping about Nesta and Cassian after a minute, after Elain had mused that she worried about how Nesta was handling the limited news from the warfront.

It’s not you — it’s — I’m sorry. We still can’t figure out where Hybern’s base camp is. I’ve been sending a majority of my shadows out hunting for it all day and there’s just nothing. They swear they’ve searched every inch of Prythian, but there’s no trace of Hybern. Something isn’t right here. I’ve just been scouring every piece of data, sending out other scouts, and trying to figure out this puzzle. It’s up to me to figure out where to lead our armies next, and I have no idea what to do.

Oh. This was all that was on his mind? Elain could’ve laughed with relief that he hadn’t been bogged down with negative musings about her.

Should I — should I try to find it? I can try conjuring his camp in a vision.

She listened on and on as Cerridwen fed her juicy details about all the exchanges she’d missed when she’d refused to leave her bedroom in the House of Wind and a handful of what she called “lover’s catfights” they’d had in the past week.

“Are they — lovers?”

“Cauldron, no. I don’t think Nesta will let him within thirty feet of her bedroom for awhile yet. But that doesn’t mean we haven’t gotten some earfuls spicy enough to send even our blood boiling at some of the prospects they discussed a time or two.”

No. Not tonight at least. I’m going to work with the team of strategists here, and we’ll try to predict where to move the legion. I want to be there when you attempt it. There’s likely a powerful cloaking magic on his camp, possibly fueled by the Cauldron itself. You shouldn’t experiment with those magics alone. I should return by tomorrow evening. We’ll meet up, either in the gardens or the House. I promise.

A promise? It seemed like such a silly thing to commit to, when war was raging all around them, and he might very well be called away at a moment’s notice again to lead the armies or go on a spying mission for Rhysand.

Thank you. Goodnight, Az. I’ll leave you to your important duties.

Sleep tight, Elain. I’m very glad you asked for Nuala’s services tonight. It lightened up this dusty war tent a bit.

Elain called for Nuala to reappear. The conversation was over.

That didn’t stop the wraith from pouting a bit as she too took a spot on Elain’s overly-sized mattress, and the three chatted and laughed until Elain was yawning and her friends dismissed themselves.

Even without the wraiths to keep her company, Elain doubted she could’ve remained in a foul mood any longer. She couldn’t help the warm, fuzzy feeling that chased her through the rest of the evening as she lingered on those words he’d spoken to her — that promise.

As she headed down to the kitchens the next morning, even Elain noted the subtle skip in her step. She’d made the twins promise to teach her how to bake last night, and she was in the mood for a fresh, hot loaf of bread.

“No, of course not. Let us serve you. We’ve already made some pastries and can get started on the bread now, but...” Cerridwen protested as she waltzed through the door, grabbed an apron, and asked around eagerly for what she should grab first.

“Oh.” The smiled dropped from her face. “You promised me last night, and I was really looking forward to it…”

“It’s just...how would it look if the High Lord walked in and saw that we weren’t doing our duties?” Nuala murmured under her breath.

“Surely you can’t think he would actually mind? He seems honorable and fair, and it’s not like me wanting to participate in the daily running of this house should be frowned upon. I’ve already taken over the gardens. And if he does, who cares? I’ll just inform them that it was all my doing.”

Nuala and Cerridwen just shrugged, and that was that.

Thirty minutes and one messy dough ball of Elain’s own design later, Rhysand swung open the kitchen door, clearly looking to scrounge up some food, but the second his eyes and Feyre’s landed on Elain, the two froze.

They took in the scene, the flour that was coating Elain’s day dress and apron, and Elain grinned at her sister.

Nuala quickly raised her dusky hands in a surrendering gesture, “The lady said she was hungry, so we went to make her something. But — she said she wanted to learn how so…We’re making bread.”

It was difficult for Elain not to laugh at the wraith for the sheer innocence she was trying to convey, still feeling as if she were a child who’d just stolen a cookie, even though Rhysand and her sister seemed to show not a care in the world that Elain was getting her hands dirty.

The only thing that halted her was the tug of a vision on the forefront of her mind as she continued to scan the room, attempting to appear normal as she worked to shove it away. But there it was, wings cracking as they slammed into a tree, the sound reverberating through her skull.

Feyre was saying something likely directed at her, as Elain internally wrestled with her vision, all sound drowned out by the sickening crunching noise.

No. Not now. She was its master. Leave, she commanded silently, throwing the entirety of her being at the vision as it finally disappeared from view.

She struggled to plaster a gentle smile on her face whilst nodding at her sister to confirm Nuala’s story, her head pounding at the effort she’d needed to command the vision.

“We’re going to bathe. We’ll leave you to your baking,” her sister announced, as the pair flounced out of the room, to surely do much more than bathing.

Elain stumbled at bit after they left, Cerridwen catching her and settling her down in a chair with a hot mug of tea. After gradually sipping on the calming beverage and taking a series of deep breaths, she could feel the headache lighten as she made her way back to the counter, determined to finish tackling this loaf of bread before she retired for her training session with Azriel this afternoon.

“What’re you so worried about?” Az asked her as he flew her up to the House of Wind.

She just looked up at him with a question in her eyes.

“Your brow’s been furrowed practically since we took off, and you’re holding onto me much tighter than usual. What’s on your mind?”

Crack. The noise echoed in her head again as she recalled the vision now hovering towards the rear of her mind, but obviously still not leaving her completely. It seemed her reaction to it had manifested itself in other ways.

“I had a vision this morning in the kitchen. Of Illyrian wings crunching as someone hit a tree. I couldn’t quite make out who it was. I guess my body just tensed up when we got into the air. It could’ve been you, you know.”

“I sincerely doubt it will happen while we’re still in Velaris.” He gestured at the relative scarcity of large trees below them as they soared across the city. “And none can reach as high as the House balconies. I’ll take my chances today,” he chuckled.

“Fine, but don’t come crying to me if you suddenly find yourself in some serious wing-related pain in the near future. I warned you.”

“Duly noted. Have your visions always come true? I’ve never had the pleasure of knowing a seer well personally, so I’m still looking into how your powers work. The texts seem murky as to whether or not you get to see the absolute future or just possible future outcomes.”

“I don’t know. I haven’t really known about any of my visions long enough to see if it came to fruition so I guess we’ll just have to try to keep track.”

“Do you have any way of doing that?”

She blushed. “I can read and write, but I don’t exactly have any parchment at the townhouse.”

He settled them onto the balcony connected to the sitting room and held up a finger to her.

Wait here just a moment if you don’t mind. He had already slipped into the shadows by the time the final word rang through her ears.

When he returned seconds later, he was holding out a battered turquoise blue leather journal to her.

“I’ve never been much for writing down my own feelings, but a friend got this diary for me as a gift ages ago, probably hoping I’d spill all my secrets into it and they could snoop on me. I figured it might be of more use to you.”

She gingerly took the journal from him, wondering which of his friends exactly had given him this diary which he couldn’t fathom ever using but had still held onto all these years, perhaps even centuries. But her gaze caught on the three little letters engraved into the bottom right corner.

“A.K.L.” she breathed, tracing the imprints in the tattered leather with a finger. “What does that stand for?”

Azriel blushed in earnest, one hand reaching behind his head to scratch the back of his neck.

“They’re...my initials. It’s not important. I prefer not to think too much about my family name...what it represents.”

He breathed a heavy sigh, and Elain wanted to pry further. But...she knew how it felt — to have a disconnect from your family and your past life — and he’d never willingly brought it up so…

“If you ever need to someone to confide in, I promise your secrets are safe with me.”

“Thank you, Elain. I just, sometimes want to forget my heritage, my family, my people, but I realize that if I didn’t have this torturous upbringing, I never would’ve met my true family. And likely wouldn’t have been of any use to them.” For emphasis, he let his shadows run wild, swirling uncontrollably around the two of them as if they were in a vortex of inky liquid.

“Was it truly that horrendous?” She automatically glanced towards his hands, but averted her gaze as soon as she realized what her body was doing of its own accord.

“Yes, but that’s for another time. Perhaps one day, I’ll be able to discuss it with you. I wasn’t born with these powers, you know. They evolved when I was trapped in that darkness. The others know, but mostly just because Rhys and Cass grew up with me. I haven’t...I haven’t told a soul since I was a child, recently freed from that hellhole.”

“Take your time,” Elain murmured, clasping his hands unflinchingly to show him that she was not afraid, that she wasn’t going to balk and run from him just because of a sordid past or the fact that he couldn’t find the words to describe it to her. But as a friend, she’d be ready to listen if he ever needed to get the words off his chest.

Mother knew that she had so much pent up baggage from being stolen in the night from her human life as well. There could be no judgment between them on that accord, though she knew his story had to be far more traumatic than hers.

“And thank you. For this journal. I’ll do my best to keep a record of everything I see.”

He nodded demurely, gesturing for her to settle on the couch, and handing her a pen.

“Here. Why don’t you record what you saw this morning. A description of the vision and how it came about. Who were you with? What were you doing? What steps did you take to suppress it? How did you feel? Those are some good baseline questions to ask yourself.”

Elain took her time, carefully recounting the scene in the kitchens to the best of her ability. The hardest part was describing how she’d attacked it. How did one describe fighting a mental battle on paper? She just did the best she could and knew eventually she could figure out a system of rating her attempts.

“Here. How does this look?”

“Excellent.” Az took the journal out of her hands, the better to study her spidery letters. She’d always been a little jealous of the way Nesta could make perfectly flowing lines sprout onto the page, but her schooling had ended not long after learning how to write, and Elain hadn’t had much need to practice in those miserable years in the cottage.

“So you were with Rhys, Feyre, Nuala, and Cerridwen?”

Elain nodded, as Az’s face turned thoughtful.

“Interesting. I wonder if our High Lord and Lady are in for a treat during their next flight.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Back when you saw the vision of the twin ravens, you were in a room with your sisters, and I remember you recalling that it seemed very important to warn Nesta of their approach. A few days later, Nesta was targeted in an attack from Hybern. 

Vassa keeps coming to you in your dreams at night, and we know there’s something involved with her shifting forms at twilight. Perhaps your unintentional visions are prompted by your surroundings.”

“Hmm...perhaps.” Elain was going to have to muse on this further. Hopefully keeping notes from now on would enlighten her as to how this worked.

“Do you feel up to trying to call one on your own?” he asked tentatively. “I know I said I’d help you practice, but if you’re too worn out, we can call it a day. I’ll be more-or-less around until the meeting with the High Lords, so we can keep working on this together until then. And after of course, as much as this war allows.”

He was definitely rambling, perhaps afraid that she’d call off the sessions now that she had her journal and had proven capable of banishing a vision on her own, though at great cost to her physical well-being.

“Do you think...do you think it’ll grow easier? The more I practice?”

“Indeed. Think of your magic as you would any other muscle. The more you stretch and push it, the easier using it becomes, the less painful it is to exert pressure on it. Just like with my shadows — you struggled to send messages to me simply by directing your thoughts at first, but now they flow out of you as effortlessly as breathing, no?”

She grinned up at him, her resolve reinvigorated. “Then I want to try again.”

“Your task for today is to try to find out where Hybern’s war camps are. Just like you scryed on Vassa the other day. It doesn’t need to be an exact location, but any surroundings — anything you can describe in the background — they could prove invaluable to our efforts.”

She just nodded at him as the two of them sat down, preparing for a perhaps taxing afternoon of summoning visions, facing each other on opposing sofas.

“Let’s begin,” she breathed as she closed her eyes.

Chapter Text

It was difficult sometimes for him to put his protective instincts on the backburner, but he had to remind himself that the female in front of him was strong, was a survivor.

A lot had changed since the moment he’d met the doe-eyed woman in her father’s estate in the human lands. She’d been through her own personal hell and back, and if he were being quite honest, she was recovering astoundingly — all things considered.

Sure, her body had wasted away in these past few months — her silky, coppery hair gone lank and her warm, chestnut eyes fogged over in a haze — but he’d seen the small sparkle of life ignite in them the other day. When he’d solved the puzzle which was her magic, he saw the switch, the sudden recognition of her place in this world.

He knew what it was like to be the boy, lost in the dark, dreaming of the days when he’d be allowed out into the sunlight. He still didn’t enjoy discussing those years with anyone, so he knew that no matter how incredibly curious he was, he’d never drum up the courage to ask her what her time submerged in the inky depths of the Cauldron had been like — how long those few seconds really were for her.

He suspected that the Cauldron’s eddys significantly distorted reality. So he would encourage her to spend as much time as she could in the sunlight, to soak it all in, to not let the shadows overwhelm her.

He’d felt a bit guilty when he learned that they were pestering her that day in her bedroom, knowing that the horrors she’d been subjected to in order for them to take a liking to the kind hearted female must’ve been unimaginable.

Shadowsingers were only born out of an lightless abyss so deep and endless that few ever survived long enough to emerge from their prisons to make use of the powers.

He had been told he was “lucky” as he was finally granted his father’s family name at eleven and packed off to Windhaven to train. Not that he had wanted any of it.

But as the week had worn on, and he’d realized that the shadow messages were helping her cope with moving into the townhouse and keeping her sane when he’d been packed off to Adriata, he’d come to think of them as a darkness that could be healing. Perhaps a gift for the lovely fawn who so desperately needed to be guided back into the light.

So he could indulge her for now.

And he had to admit that he was appreciating her friendship. In this family full of loud, bossy, know-it-alls, it was a nice change of pace to interact with this gentle soul.

He’d already instructed Nuala and Cerridwen to cease reporting on her movements. As soon as he’d returned, they’d instantly informed him of their gossiping into the wee hours of the morning in her bedroom coupled with her desire to bake with them — to actually do something other than mope — earlier today.

He no longer had to worry about Elain harming herself further, and as such, he didn’t see a reason for them to spy for him. She deserved a chance at independence, away from prying eyes.

He did, however, demand that they always assist her in contacting him if she should need it. If he hadn’t been so caught up in finding Hybern’s camp, he might’ve noticed that the shadow fragment he’d been leaving for her convenience had left its post there to obey a higher command.

He’d try to be more mindful about that in the future, but there was no guarantee he’d always have some to spare, especially with this war threatening to demand everything of him, his family.

The wraiths who were also her companions would be useful in that regard.

Now, as he watched her scrunch her face in concentration, he couldn’t help but be proud of her progress.

They’d been sitting here for hours, him having fetched her a few cups of tea in the meantime and having completed some paperwork for Rhys as he attempted not to watch her too closely.

It was important that she know that he was here for anything she needed as she tested the limitations of her magic, but he knew all too well how it felt to be scrutinized by another while trying to perform strenuous tasks.

He got the impression that she, like himself, did not appreciate being the center of attention for too long, did not desire errant sets of eyes upon her while she went about her business.

So he busied himself, becoming her silent companion until the moment she slumped back in her chair and practically fainted.

“Mmmm sorry. Still...can’t...see...anything,” she mumbled a bit too breathlessly.

Shit. He should’ve stopped her an hour ago. Two. But he didn’t want her to think he knew what was best for her, what her boundaries were.

He’d just been so hopeful that someone with a gift from the Cauldron would be able to find the camp even through all of its cloaking, but he wasn’t going to make that mistake again. Or at least not let her try for any extended period of time.

Her next few tasks would be simpler. He’d come up with some smaller bits of information he’d like to know about others. Things which she should be able to gleam with minimal effort — relatively speaking of course.

He had no idea how much mental force she was having to exert in her everyday life. It was a miracle she hadn’t gone mad in the months before they’d discovered her gift.

As he laid her down on the sofa, fetching her some pillows and a throw blanket from a nearby closet, he assured her that a little nap after such a taxing day was no big deal. He’d stay up here in the House while she rested and fly her back down when she awoke.

When the middle of the night came, and she still showed no signs of stirring, he gently bundled her in his arms and glided off the nearest balcony, immediately stepping through the shadows until he was standing in her bedroom.

He summoned Cerridwen, filling her in on everything which had passed in the House and asking her to kindly look after Elain as he laid her journal on her nightstand — a journal Mor had gifted him centuries ago which he hadn’t found it in his heart to throw away.

She would likely be more than a little confused when she awoke at home in her own bed, but he was not sure she would appreciate the impropriety of showing up at the doorstep of the townhouse the next morning.

Even though she would’ve innocently dozed on her island of a couch, he knew how proper of an upbringing Elain had had, and he wouldn’t want her to be upset with him for putting her in that position.

Because this had all been his fault.

The next day as he continued Feyre’s training, he was agitated to say the least. Feyre had brought him no news of her sister, so it was likely unknown that she’d been out unreasonably late last night, and she thankfully wasn’t sick. But he hadn’t heard received any messages from Elain yet either, and it was already almost the evening as he watched Feyre struggle, their session about to come to an end.

“I swear, you Illyrians must come out of the womb with abs,” Feyre swore as she swerved again, this time wing-first into a tree as an updraft caught her off-guard.

Shit. Az wasn’t sure whether to cringe or laugh. Feyre was a damnable tree magnet. Mother above.

As she began to dust herself off, and he could tell that no permanent damage had been done, he settled on a faint chuckle.

No more need to worry about your troublesome vision from yesterday.

Oh?

At least she didn’t sound too worried, his own levity being enough to assuage her as she waited for his response.

A simple training accident. Your sister will probably be limping it off for a day or two, but nothing too serious. And honestly, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve seen her slam into a tree. I have no idea how I didn’t put that together yesterday when you told me.

Oh good. Not that she crashed, I mean. But that it wasn’t a big deal. I’ll write that down. Is that why she comes home from her sessions with you so cranky?

Among other things, though I think the painful reminders of her failure likely hold the most sway in her moods. How are you today?

Tired, but otherwise fine. Thank you. For bringing me home last night. Cerridwen told me that you didn’t want to wake me.

Anytime. And I’m sorry. I should’ve realized that I’d pushed you too far with my ask. I knew you’d been trying for far too long and should’ve interrupted you. I won’t let it happen again.

It’s okay. Nobody around here really knows anything about my powers. That’s why we’re trying to discover what I can do. You’re not to be blamed for that. I could’ve stopped myself as well, but I didn’t.

He winced. Why was she being so kind to him? He couldn’t let go of the fact that she wouldn’t have been put in that position if not for his request.

Just promise me one thing, he sighed.

And what would that be?

Please don’t attempt that again anytime soon. We’ll try a few smaller tasks, and then we can revisit it if you want. I just don’t want this to happen again. And I’m not sure how beneficial this harrowing task is to actually training your powers.

All right, but if they ask it of me…

Let me deal with that for now. If I do my job right, they won’t have to ask it of you. And if they do...I’ll work with you.

I promise.

Good. I’ll be seeing you shortly when I come to deliver your beloved sister back to your doorstep.

He knelt next to Feyre, inspecting the damage to her wings. Not terrible. An Illyrian’s natural healing would have them flying within the next couple of days. He suspected her gifts from Dawn would work even faster.

“That’s all for today. No use practicing when you won’t make it off the ground with those sprains.”

“Mother’s tits. Is it that bad?” she ground out, though he could tell she was trying to mask the pain.

“I suspect if you keep them out and let your healing abilities take over, you’ll feel right as rain by tomorrow morning. And I’ll personally go buy you another tin of salve for them.”

“Shit. Okay. Help me up.”

“Easy,” he murmured as he grabbed her beneath the arms and eased her off the ground. “Now tuck them in slowly.”

Gradually, her wings folded up onto her back.

“Excellent. Can you winnow us back to the town house or should I?” A pointed question.

“You know, you can really be a prick sometimes, Az,” she shot back, but she took his hand anyways and stuck out her tongue at his smirk as she spirited them back to Velaris.

They’d planned for this for weeks. He’d gone over every possible option, every High Lord’s palace that might be suggested as the meeting place.

When they’d found out it would be at Thesan’s palace, he’d breathed a sigh of relief.

Thesan had always been one of their closer allies, being the lord of a sibling Solar Court. Before Amarantha, they’d had countless meetings in that palace of sunstone — a bit bright and cheery for his tastes, but he would gladly trade the aesthetics for the familiarity of not having to go somewhere as far away as the Spring or Summer Courts.

And thankfully none of them would consider the Sacred Mountain. There were too many lasting scars there.

Yet still he prepared vigilantly. Trying to predict anywhere Thesan could sneakily lay a trap. Attempting to sense any wicked magics that a jumpy High Lord might employ to ensnare the seven equals in his power, if he were unsure of their intentions. Going through every map he had of the palace, plotting out escape routes if the worst should happen and they were trapped as they had been in Hybern’s castle.

The afternoon beforehand, he’d worked with Elain, having her sense out the High Lord’s manor. It proved difficult work for her. Many aspects of the castle were hidden from curious eyes, especially any hint of its residents.

After a couple hours of attempting to scry, she’d managed to obtain views of the gardens, glancing the manor from the outside, and a few of guest rooms. Less protected, he mused, because surely their occupants would throw up their own wards once they arrived. And also, the limited protection allowed more access for Thesan’s own spies.

Elain had noted that there were ornate cages of vibrant birds positioned in each of the chambers, all singing their sweet songs which floated their way right into Thesan’s ears.

It hadn’t been unexpected — the birds being a constant presence in the Dawn Court — but was mildly comforting to confirm. It hinted that the High Lord truly intended to treat them as guests and not prisoners.

He’d bid her farewell as they returned to the town house for him to sit down at the dining table with Rhys and Mor to spend the rest of his evening going over all his plans with them. The more they were aware of the potential dangers they would be facing, the better they would fare in the worst case scenario. And those two were the top priority to escape — them and Feyre who would not sit still long enough to pore over the plans with them.

He and Cassian would fight to protect their backs for as long as possible. They’d met this morning to discuss that contingency in private, knowing that it would be a sensitive topic of discussion for the others. Their valiant, sacrificial leaders who would throw their lives away in a heartbeat for their loved ones. They’d proven it time and time again, so Cass and Az would take no chances.

Az waited anxiously in the town house foyer.

He’d awoken early this morning, taking his time in the bath, and selecting one of his favorite sets of leathers — those he usually wore anytime he needed to visit an arrogant Illyrian lord and wanted to scare the shit out of him. He knew that those, along with the full seven siphons on display would paint an intimidating picture to the other parties.

And they’d need that today. Someone had to play the stoic role in this meeting, and with his Lord and Lady demonstrating their more peaceable sides, the job would pass to the rest of their court.

They’d laughed and joked, mocking Cassian’s failed attempts to compliment Feyre’s attire. She did look stunning, but his eyes were caught on the midnight blue gown gently hugging Mor’s curves. It was somehow more reserved than her usual attire, but he had a feeling he knew why.

Beron’s brood hadn’t confirmed their attendance, but he knew she’d picked out the muted shade, a change from her usual vibrant hues, as a sign that she was utterly terrified. She only veered from her typical lively wardrobe when the panic was strong enough that even she couldn’t provide her own light in the darkness.

Az’s stomach clenched. He wouldn’t allow them to victimize her.

Unfortunately, he had to hope they would show up — would ally with the rest of the courts — but he’d allow her to fade into the background, as she clearly desired to do and divert their focus.

If he was able to let her fade out of view completely into his own shadows, he would, but he knew there was no way she would allow it. She always kept her distance from him, not allowing him to get too close. Even after all these centuries.

Why so morose this morning?

He almost jumped. It was like Elain was reading his thoughts. He quickly scanned the room again, wondering if she’d snuck downstairs and he’d forgotten to school his facial expression. The others had been too distracted and jittery anyways to spare him more than a passing glance, but there was no sign of her. She must’ve still been in bed.

And who says I am?

I have a handful of shadow pets in here complaining to me about you.

I’m not sure how well they take to being called “pets,” but be my guest. They are rather catlike sometimes, like when I can’t get them to stop yowling in my ear when I’m trying to focus.

His own wreath of shadows, kept invisible to the naked eye for now, flared a bit at that comment, a few more of them breaking off to go visit their new mistress. Interesting. It was as if they were flocking to her more now that she was glowing again. Only faintly — yes — but they apparently deemed her an even more interesting companion now that they were familiar with her presence.

He’d never seen them react like this to someone else before. He’d noticed how they always shied away from Mor’s radiance, and everyone else in his family who gave off dull shines of their own.

But now, for this girl who lived for the sunshine in order to banish her own demons, they rallied by her side. At times, perhaps they liked her even more than they did him.

He’d have to remind them who their master was, yet...he couldn’t help but enjoy picturing her up in that bedroom, the darkness swirling around her delicate form.

A faint giggle tickled his ear, followed by another shadow.

How long will you be gone? They haven’t really told me anything. I’ve only picked up bits and pieces from roaming around the house.

I’m not really sure. We’re preparing as if we’ll be staying at least one night, but who knows. If things go to shit, we might be winnowing back here within the first few hours, minutes even.

Okay. Let me know how it goes.

I’ll leave a shadow behind with you, but if I have to call on my power for any reason, it may vanish. Ask Nuala or Cerridwen to send word to me if you must.

Be safe.

I’ll do my best.

He didn’t bother to tell her that his best involved being the first one directly in the line of fire should anything go amiss. He had a feeling she’d already guessed as much.

In the time that he’d been hung up on contemplating Elain’s attractiveness to the shadows, it seemed Nesta had descended the stairs, and she was staring daggers at Cassian.

Oh boy.

His brother swallowed slowly, turning on his heels to ask Az one more time what the plan of attack was.

Cass didn’t need this info. Always the soldier, he only needed to be told his orders once, but Az bit back a sigh and gave his brother what he needed — a momentary distraction from the eldest Archeron sister.

“You look beautiful,” she told Feyre.

Well, that was unexpected. It was the first vaguely complimentary phrase he’d ever heard out of Nesta’s mouth that wasn’t directed at Elain.

Mor, ever the one to break the ice, said in that heartrendingly cheerful voice of hers, “That, Cassian, was what you were attempting to say.”

“Oh, piss off,” Cassian mumbled in her general direction, yet Mor, thankfully, chose to ignore him instead of getting in a spat moments before they left.

“Thank you. You do as well,” Feyre replied.

Az wasn’t sure what to do with this info as he caught Rhys’ attention and asked mind-to-mind,

Should I go scout for traps?

Let them...work this out first, I guess. A few more minutes can’t hurt if Nesta’s actually in a good mood for once.

Az hesitated, shrinking back towards the doorway so he could observe in peace.

“Why are you dressed so nicely? Shouldn’t you be practicing with Amren?” Feyre kept pushing.

Cass slowly slid his focus off of Az and back to Nesta, as she was preoccupied elsewhere.

“I’m going with you… I...I do not want to be remembered as a coward.” It was the first time Azriel had heard her stumble over words, heard anything come out of her mouth that wasn’t barbed.

“No one would say that,” her sister murmured.

“I would. It was some distant thing. War. Battle. It...it’s not anymore. I will help, if I can. If it means...telling them what happened.” Az didn’t miss Cassian honing in on her with approval, didn’t miss her gaze gliding over him seamlessly as she scanned the room, but mostly he didn’t miss what she’d implied.

She was perhaps going to actually divulge what had happened in the Cauldron. He was dying to know.

It was one of the few pieces of knowledge he couldn’t ascertain by utilizing his shadows. He tamped down his excitement, only because he knew that if he lost too much control of it, he’d let the shadows run free.

He always seemed to lose that edge he had for keeping them contained and invisible when he was too fixated on something else.

“You’ve given enough. Amren claimed you were close to mastering whatever skill you need. You should stay — focus on that.”

“No.”

It was perhaps the first time Az had agreed with Nesta. She had to come now.

“A day or two delay with my training won’t make any difference. Perhaps by the time we return, Amren will have decoded the spell in the Book. You went off to battle for a court you barely know — who barely see you as friends. Amren showed me the blood ruby. And when I asked you why...you said because it was the right thing. People needed help. No one is going to fight to save the humans beneath the wall. No one cares. But I do.” Holy gods, this was actually a shred of emotion from her. “I do.”

And Rhys — Rhys — approached Nesta with a hesitant smile. “As High Lady, Feyre is no longer my emissary to the human world. Want the job?”

Nesta merely gritted in that fiery way of hers, “Consider this meeting a trial basis. And I’ll make you pay through the teeth for my services.”

Azriel had no doubt that she meant every word of it.

Rhys playfully bowed and drawled, “I would expect nothing less of an Archeron sister.” He laughed as Feyre needled him for the comment. “Welcome to the court. You’re about to have one hell of a first day.”

Azriel bit back a shocked laugh as Nesta actually smiled back at his brother.

“No going back now.” Cassian gestured to the wings Rhys would finally display for all to see, proof of his Illyrian heritage that he’d hidden for so long. If only Az could separate himself so easily.

“I figure it’s time for the world to know who really has the largest wingspan.”

Az bit his lip as it curled up in smile, and surprisingly noted how Feyre and Mor shared a devious glance. It’s almost as if...they discussed these sorts of things. He tried not to blush at the prospect that at least Rhys’ and Cass’ “wingspans” had come up.

None of the females here knew about his own though. That was for sure.

They’d coined the euphemism back in the days when they’d been riled up teenagers. They’d even gone so far as to measure themselves once, and had seen each other in their full glory plenty of times in the centuries since. There was no way either of those proud pricks would have admitted the truth.

“Twenty gold marks says there’s a fight in the first hour,” Cassian bet, playing on the lightened mood in the room.

“Thirty, and I say within forty-five minutes,” Mor retorted.

“You do remember there are vows and wards of neutrality,” Rhys gently attempted to remind everyone.

“You don’t need fists or magic to fight,” Mor cut in.

Azriel finally decided to weigh in. “Fifty, and I say within thirty minutes. Started by Autumn.” For if Autumn were there, there was no way Beron would play nice, and with Mor in attendance… Az shuddered to think about the possibilities.

Rhys just rolled his eyes at the room. “Try not to look like you’re all gambling on them. And no cheating by provoking fights. A hundred marks on a fight within fifteen minutes.”

As Nesta laughed and all eyes turned to Feyre, she simply shrugged. “Rhys and I are a team. He can gamble away our money on this bullshit.”

Bullshit? Oh his High Lady was in for a treat in the coming centuries. They gambled behind the scenes on practically everything. The only reason she wasn’t clued into it already was because their last major wager involved how long it would take her to fall in love with Rhys, back when she first arrived in the Night Court.

Rhys laced their arms together, and began, “A queen in appearance —”

“Don’t even finish that,” Feyre bit back.

He chuckled. “Shall we?” And gave Azriel the nod of confirmation.

Az slipped into the shadows, and emerged in the Dawn Court.

Chapter Text

The light reflecting off the sunstone was blinding, the natural veins in the rock refracting it in all directions. He supposed it could be considered beautiful, if you lived for the sunrise like the inhabitants of Thesan’s court did, but his shadows were spitting and hissing at the nature of the stone. It was hard to find a dark cove in which they could hide.

Elain would’ve loved this. Here, where even indoors, the sun was heavily asserting its dominance in the morning light, the sunrise still fresh in the early morning.

The attendant set to meet them on this particular veranda stilled as Azriel approached, but Az ignored him, igniting the power within his siphons and creating an orb of his magic around him. He expanded it, eyes anywhere but on the servant as it swept through the palace of the Dawn Court, searching for the slightest hint of malicious magic. His shadows he sent out to the far corners, to sniff for anything the broader orb might’ve missed.

A minute went by in silence. Two. And then his power retracted back into him, no traps or threats to be found. Thesan, Helion, and Kallias were already getting friendly in the meeting chamber at the top of the adjacent tower. What a pleasant surprise.

All clear.

Rhys had left a mind-bridge open between them for this exact reason, and perhaps thirty seconds later, the rest of his companions joined him.

Az sat back and watched as the others took in Thesan’s palace, Feyre and Mor being the most in awe of the the magnificence of the place. This veranda was clearly chosen to impress. It’s views of the sprawling lands and gardens below the cliffs, morning glory-covered pillars, and opalescent stone surely presented the best the Dawn Court had to offer.

The attendant bowed to Rhys, gesturing down the hallway. “This way, High Lord.”

The rest of their group fell into step behind Rhys and Feyre, letting their Lord and Lady lead the way.

Mor muttered under her breath, though pointedly loud enough that Rhys could hear, “If you ever feel like building a new house, Rhys, let’s use this one for inspiration.”

Az couldn’t help but let a soft chuckle escape from his lips at her suggestion. Though lovely, he wasn’t sure any of them could truly stomach living in a palace this opulent.

They continued on uneventfully until they could hear some muted voices floating down toward them from the meeting chamber.

He quickly whispered an explanation of who all was already in attendance to Mor and Cassian before they, as a unit, shadowed Rhys and Feyre inside.

Cassian and Az took up defensive positions immediately, moving as one unit, as he and his brother had trained their whole lives to achieve. There were a handful of moments which put them both on edge, but Az simply watched as Rhys and Feyre made their introductions, always on alert, his fingers itching to draw a weapon out of his siphons, but...

It was peaceful here. If not a bit strained as all these High Lords attempted to sense the power dynamic after Amarantha — and got shocked with the news that Feyre was indeed High Lady of the Night Court.

The members of all four assembled courts took their seats, Azriel and Cassian flanking the edges of the party, ensuring that none of their family were forced to stomach being seated any closer than necessary to the rest of the rabble.

Tarquin strolled into the room, barely sparing the Night Court a passing glance as he made his way to greet Thesan, the only one it seemed that the fledgling High Lord was on good terms with at the moment. What with the prick handing out Blood Rubies right and left, Azriel couldn’t say that it was much of a shock.

And then Az heard the attendant quietly breathe the words, “Lord Beron has arrived, along with all of his sons.”

He wasn’t sure he was breathing. They’d hoped that Beron might come, just so they could build a sturdier alliance, with more of the courts in attendance. But Eris... Eris, Azriel was not prepared for.

When he’d gone into those woods a couple of weeks ago, he’d been so incredibly enraged. Beron’s other two sons had been fairly straightforward to deal with, but he’d yet to get a read on Eris’ location.

Everything about that forest brought back memories of that day almost six centuries ago. He would never be able to unsee the image of the woman he loved pallid and on the cusp of dying on a bed of fiery leaves, the blood from the nails in her womb pooling around her torso.

She had been silent for too long.

Mor had sobbed, kicking and screaming as Kier and the High Lord stole her away from the camp days ago. Days.

And yet Rhys had forbade them from interfering — their ties with Keir and his Darkbringer Legion tenuous enough that they couldn’t act until they knew she was truly in danger. And Rhys’ father would not bail an Illyrian bastard out of a war with Keir or Autumn, shadowsinger or not.

Mor had ruined her value to Eris and Beron’s brood, yes, but Keir had still insisted that this marriage was to be seen to fruition.

He still couldn’t stomach the thought of it. Az had heard countless stories about the Morrigan, or Mor, as Rhys called her, throughout his years in Windhaven.

His brother had regaled them with the tale of that time they’d sledded down the steps of the fancy library in his home. He recounted the time the fiesty female had dared him to lick the iron railing of the bridge over some river Az had never heard mention of before. But mostly Rhys had shared the quiet moments, where the two of them had dreamed of their future, before an eight-year-old Rhys had been spirited away to Illyria and hadn’t seen her since.

Those stories always secretly brought tears to Az’s eyes as he imagined what it would’ve been like to have friends in his first eleven years.

He hid them from his brothers, only letting them flow in the dead of night, when no one was around to see them. But he’d hoped and wished for a companion as he’d lain curled into a ball on the floor of his cell, the room not even wide enough for him to begin to spread the wings on his back.

And then one day, when they were seventeen, she strolled into camp, and Az’s heart cracked irreparably.

It was as if the sun couldn’t get enough of her. Every inch of her skin glowed, as she waltzed over to the training ring with Rhys to greet them.

Her blonde hair flowed and shimmered in the light as if he were drowning in a sea of the finest treasure. Her molten caramel eyes enveloped him completely. And that smile. He would’ve crawled on his hands and knees to get her to smile at him like that forever.

And she offered it so freely, as if somehow, all the atrocities of this world had never even glanced in her direction. His own shadows fled at the sight of her radiance, and he could...breathe. Mother above, he could breathe again.

Az couldn’t remember a time in the past six years in which he hadn’t been suffocated by the swarm. The High Lord had practically swooned at his scrawny form as they brought him into the blinding light of his father’s keep, informing him that these constant companions would prove most useful someday, but Az had seen none of that use so far. Unless constantly sharing useless, innocuous secrets of the villagers was prized by the High Lord, but he highly doubted it.

She laughed at some idiotic thing Cassian had said, and Az silently remarked that he’d never heard anything so beautiful — her honeyed voice marked with notes of eternal cheer.

She’d hugged him in greeting, and he was a goner. For upwards of five centuries, the feel of that embrace would linger in his waking and sleeping dreams of her.

She was simply part of the family for that week — eating meals with them every evening, sharing a bedroom with Rhys, and playing games with the three of them into the early hours of the morning.

But Azriel wanted more. He’d contemplated pulling her aside many times when his brothers were distracted with training or some new weapon or another or just approaching her one evening after supper, but he couldn’t work up the courage.

He’d never been with a female before, and he wasn’t quite sure how these things were handled. Should he express his feelings to her? Just kiss her?

He was totally stuck in his head, his shadows whispering about how some of the other camp whelp’s dreamed about her not helping his confidence. Why would she want someone broken like him when she could have her pick of the litter?

And then he’d been sent off on an overnight mission with Rhys, and when he’d asked about her relationship status over the campfire, he’d been heartbroken to learn she was engaged to Eris of the Autumn Court. Rhys assured him that it wasn’t a love match, but Azriel couldn’t bear to think of trying to woo her anymore.

But then they’d returned to the camp the next day, and everything had gone to shit. It seemed that with the buffer of Azriel and her cousin out of the way, she’d finally claimed what she truly wanted. And that was Cassian.

Az didn’t know whether to pummel the shit out of his brother, who he knew had an inkling of what Az felt for her or to find another deep, dark hole to sink into. Not to mention the fact that her virginity had been a condition of the engagement.

Women had been executed for far less in the Night Court.

Thankfully, Rhys made the decision for him, beating Cassian to a pulp in the middle of the town square, while Mor had been frantically escorted back to the Hewn City by none other than the High Lord himself.

Days later, and still nothing. It was as if she’d disappeared. He’d talked to the shadows in those days, learning about them, beginning to figure out how to send them on scouting missions about the town.

He’d never cared to embrace his identity before, but if they could see things, hear things that others missed, perhaps they’d bring back news of her as their reach expanded.

They could stretch over the length of the entire continent. Farther even.

But Az couldn’t concern himself with extending them that far right now. And there. Near the exit from the passageway under the Sacred Mountain, barely within the borders of the Autumn Court. A whisper of her.

He told only Cassian where he was going, knowing that Rhys was powerful enough to stop him if he truly dared to.

He flew with reckless abandon to the Night Court’s entrance to the tunnel. Thankfully the wards were more focused on keeping others out than Azriel in.

On the Autumn side, he paused for a moment, wondering if his siphons would hold enough power to shred through the barrier.

In that moment, his shadows began whispering to him, guiding him into the shadows with them until he looked down and realized he had lost his physical form. He took a deep breath and stepped through the barrier. Nothing happened.

He speared onto the tendril which had found her, demanding it lock on and guide him. In response, it showed him a shadow right next to her. All he had to do was step into one here and emerge over there. Simple enough, they assured him. With nothing left to lose, he closed his eyes, picturing himself simply vanishing and reappearing in the clearing next to Mor, as he’d seen so many High Fae with the power of winnowing do.

His stomach jolted, but when he opened his eyes, there she was.

She stirred slightly at the sound of footsteps, but couldn’t even open her eyes as he gently lifted her in his arms. There were huge iron spikes — nails — in her womb. And that note. That she was now Eris’ problem. An icy rage surged through his veins. He was going to rip Keir apart piece by piece for forcing her to suffer through this.

He knew enough about battlefield healing to know that he couldn’t remove the nails yet. He had no healing magics of his own. She needed to see a healer. Immediately. It was already almost too late.

As if in answer to his needs, the shadows flitted around him, that trip into the shadow realm and back out into Windhaven feeling like nothing.

He knew there had to be a cost to come later, but he was beyond the ability to care.

He rushed her to the healer’s cabin, not knowing what else to do for her before summoning his brothers and Rhys’ mother.

The Lady of the Night Court brought in extra healers, who serviced their home back in the city, and once they’d inspected Mor and told him that she would survive this, he promptly fainted.

When he awoke, she was at his side. He’d been out cold for four days, a side effect of overusing his powers, she’d said.

She opened her mouth, beginning with an apology and trying to explain away her decision to fuck Cassian, but he didn’t want to hear it. “Azriel...Az, I’m going to tell you the exact same thing I told Cassian —”

He didn’t want to hear her speak about another male. He didn’t want anything other than for her to hear how he felt.

“Mor, I —” he stumbled. “Rhys told me all about you these past few years.” Okay that was creepy. “When I saw you walking through camp I —” No, that wasn’t right either.

But he’d already blown his shot. She gave him a small frown and simply walked out the door. Maybe he shouldn’t have interrupted her. Maybe he should’ve tried to arrange his thoughts before expressing them to her.

But it didn’t matter anymore. She was gone. She was probably better off without him.

And he’d waited five centuries for her to approach him in that vulnerable way again. For there to be a moment when he might feel worthy of telling her he was in love with her. For her to provide him with that opening when she would let him love her.

For him to finally put into words what he hoped they had both come to know over the centuries. That he couldn’t — wouldn’t — let her go.

And in his distraction, the piece of shit had snuck up behind him and disabled him. Az prepared himself to die. He deserved it for failing so miserably at his task. But Eris simply wanted to talk, to form an alliance.

It killed him to bring him into that council room, to be the cause of her suffering, but the alliance he offered from both himself and Keir — that was something they could not ignore.

He’d hoped that he’d seen the last of the prick until the power transfer took place when they left that room in the Hewn City. Keir could deal with him as he pleased, but Mor…

Az shrank back in his seat, covertly keeping an eye trained on Mor’s reaction as the entire mood in the room shifted.

As Beron entered the room, his wife at his side and his entire boorish brood trailing behind them, all light left Mor’s eyes, the smile slipping off her face.

Most of the pack sneered at the other gathered parties, until Eris himself halted the despicable behavior.

Beron paused halfway across the room as Rhys rose to the task of greeting the bastard.

Az didn’t miss the small invitation Eris flashed at Cassian though, rearing for another fight after their bout in Winter.

Az would gladly be the first to take him up on it. If Feyre hadn’t stopped them that day they’d come to bring her home...well little Lucien would be much closer to regaining that seat on the throne he’d surrendered.

But then Eris’ gaze passed to Mor, lingering too long with a look of utter distaste which froze Azriel to the core.

She pretended not to notice, her face devoid of any expression, but he knew. He knew what she was reliving in her mind, what he was partially responsible for her reliving.

He would deserve it if she hated him forever. He was absolute scum. The lowest of the low for bringing her abuser into the room with her and not warning her. And all because he couldn’t look past his duty, his oath to his friend who was the High Lord.

The High Lords had barely begun talking of forming a unified army when a loud booming crack filled the chamber, and Tamlin himself winnowed right into it.

He could feel Rhys reinforce the shield surrounding them, rage rippling off his friend at being confronted with this monster. Rhys clearly hadn’t thought there was a chance Tamlin would show himself. Neither did the others, apparently.

Az willed himself not to summon a dagger as the sheer force of Tamlin’s wrathful gaze was fixed on Rhys and Feyre. They could handle him. They would handle him. And this was one battle Az knew not to interfere in. The roots of this conflict were tangled too deep.

Thesan forced his cowering attendants to fetch the beast a chair while the others remarked on his unexpected appearance. Helion even tried to begin the discussion in earnest again, but there was a tidal wave of silence pouring out of Tamlin, disabling anyone else from making a move as he ate up every detail about Feyre’s appearance.

“It would seem congratulations are in order.” Tamlin.

“We can discuss the matter at hand later.” Rhys.

Their sharp-edged comments flew through Azriel’s ear as he envisioned the battle waging between them under the surface. Each comment a jab, a block, a parry aimed at the other.

“Don’t stop on my account.” Tamlin.

“I’m not in the business of discussing our plans with enemies.” Rhys.

“No, you’re just in the business of fucking them.” Tamlin

Rage sluiced off Azriel at that off-handed comment. How dare Tamlin imply that Rhys would ever do so out of pleasure. He knew, they all knew, these people sitting here why Rhys had bedded Amarantha. And it killed him that Rhys had ever needed to do so in the first place.

“Seems a far less destructive alternative to war.” Rhys.

“And yet here you are, having started it in the first place.” Tamlin.

What was the moron implying?

“If you hadn’t stolen my bride away in the night, Rhysand, I would not have been forced to take such drastic measures to get her back.” Tamlin.

“The sun was shining when I left you.” All the fight had gone out of Feyre’s voice.

“Why are you here Tamlin?” Kallias. At least one of the other High Lords was willing to intervene.

“I bartered access to my lands to get back the woman I love from a sadist who plays with minds as if they are toys. I meant to fight Hybern — to find a way around the bargain I made with the king once she was back. Only Rhysand and his cabal had turned her into one of them. And she delighted in ripping open my territory for Hybern to invade. All for a petty grudge — either her own or her...master’s”

“You don’t get to rewrite the narrative. You don’t get to spin this to your advantage.” Feyre’s voice was nearly a whisper. Azriel wanted to reach across the chairs in between them to comfort her. She wasn’t alone in this. She could face him. And win. She had in the past.

Tamlin simply ignored her though, cocking his head in Rhys’ direction. “When you fuck her, have you ever noticed that little noise she makes right before she climaxes?”

No. Tamlin didn’t get to get away with this. It was too far, belittling her by trying to shred at her dignity, one small scrap at a time. He could feel his brother’s rage about to boil over — a sure sign that the meeting would end swiftly before it had even begun if he was allowed to unleash his darkness on the room.

Azriel carefully honed his voice, making sure it was as sharp and cold as Truth-Teller’s edge before he said, “Be careful how you speak about my High Lady.”

He then sat back, content to watch the proceedings now that he’d said his piece.

He saw the surprise light in Tamlin’s eyes as he went on the attack again, trying to garner pity from the other High Lords for what Feyre did to his court as a High Lady.

He flinched as Kallias brought up the two dozen younglings and stilled in grief as Rhys described being chained up in her bedroom as she shredded their minds using his powers.

He delighted in Mor defending Feyre when Tamlin tried to call her a whore.

He was skeptical when Tamlin presented supposed documents containing information devastating to Hybern’s war plans.

He fumed when Tamlin tried to insinuate Rhys and Feyre had ties to Hybern.

He was proud of Cassian for sticking up for Nesta when she finally used her wicked tongue for good.

And he had to stifle a laugh when Rhys got sick of Tamlin’s shit and took away his ability to speak.

Oh, now the others remembered. Remembered that Rhys had more magic flowing through the veins in his pinky finger than they had in their entire bodies. Rhys had always tried to put a damper on that power in the presence of others to mask it, but the Inner Circle had known.

Tarquin finally cleared his throat and reached out to Rhys and Feyre. “Despite Varian’s unsanctioned warning… You were the only ones who came to help. The only ones. And yet you asked for nothing in return. Why?”

Rhys asked hoarsely, “Isn’t that what friends do?”

Tarquin paused for a moment, contemplating the lot of them. “I rescind the blood rubies. Let there be no debts between us.”

Phew. They were one step closer to an amicable agreement with everyone who wasn’t Tamlin or Beron.

“Don’t expect Amren to return hers. She’s grown rather attached to it,” he heard Cassian mutter, and a weight was lifted off the entire room as every breathed a sigh of relief, Varian even practically smiling at the comment.

Interesting. He’d have to send Nuala to see if he and Amren were corresponding as something more than friends.

Rhys turned to Tamlin, lifting the spell suffocating his voice, and managed to say, “I believe you. That you will fight for Prythian.”

His brother always had been the best of them at political maneuvering because even as Tamlin snarled at him, he simply continued. “War is upon us. I have no interest in wasting energy arguing amongst ourselves.”

“You may be inclined to believe him, Rhysand, but as someone who shares a border with his court, I am not so easily swayed,” Beron shot back. “Perhaps my errant son can clarify. Pray, where is he?”

Everyone turned to their corner.

“Helping to guard our city,” Feyre lied.

Eris snorted and drank Nesta in with his eyes. “Pity you didn’t bring the other sister. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty.”

How did they know about Elain? Azriel made a mental note to have Rhys redouble the security efforts. Nobody outside of Velaris should’ve even seen Elain...other than Tamlin, the King, and those spiteful queens.

If they were going to try to use her to get back at Lucien… If they were going to hurt her just for some twisted revenge… Azriel’s blood froze in his veins.

After the meeting he’d send Amren a message, let her know to be on her guard and not to let Elain out of her sight.

“You still certainly like to hear yourself talk, Eris. Good to know some things don’t change over the centuries,” Mor casually replied.

“Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.”

It was then that something fundamental snapped inside Azriel, and he lunged at the asshole.

Chapter Text

The greater wards Thesan had placed were no match for his shadows, which helped him slip through their protection unnoticed. With half a thought, his siphons had shredded Eris’ shield, and Azriel was straddling him on the ground, bits of the chair splintered underneath them as he locked them inside a shield of his own making.

Just the two of them. They would settle the debt that he should’ve gone to collect centuries ago, and Eris was no match for his strength as he wrapped his mottled hands around Eris’ throat and squeezed.

Oh this felt good. This felt right. Fitting that something so marred and damaged should leave an equally disgusting, everlasting impression on Eris’ corpse.

He could faintly sense Cassian trying to approach him as he rebounded off the shield, and he heard Rhys nonchalantly trying to call him off for show—to tell him that he’d had enough.

But this would never be enough. Nothing would ever be enough. Even after every single male who’d ever wronged her was rotting in the ground, it still could never be enough.

She’d been scarred by them. Both mentally and physically. He’d seen the marks those nails had left on her abdomen. He’d been too late in saving her for them not to have left a scar, and sometimes he’d see the barest hint of one peeking out from one of the cleverly placed cut-outs she liked to have designed into her gowns.

He’d also seen her pallor when she sometimes interacted with Keir and during these past two meetings with Eris.

And now the mongrel was thrashing in his grip, desperately trying to break free, to get a breath of fresh air.

Not allowed. Azriel plunged his knee deep into Eris’ gut. He’d trained centuries for this. Even a primped and powerful High Lord’s son had no business defeating him in physical combat. There would be no mercy.

His shadows howled around him, constantly shielding him in their own way from those silly bindings Thesan had tried to put in place around the meeting. As if they did any good with the eight supposedly most powerful beings on the continent in the room.

But as Beron’s flame couldn’t even penetrate Az’s shield, barely trickling off it in his futile efforts to rescue his eldest son, Az couldn’t help but relish the fact that he was stronger than this despicable male. How easily he would switch his attentions to Beron once Eris had breathed his last.

And then, a whisper of a touch on his shield, the gesture friendly and comforting. Feyre. All she had to say was, “Come, Azriel,” and he felt the pull, the soft command in her voice. His hands just halted their assault, Eris sputtering as he choked air into his lungs, as Azriel turned to his High Lady, nothing about his wrath abated as he looked her up and down.

This was supposed to be his kill. Even Rhys didn’t give a shit, his half-hearted attempts proof that his brother would be all too happy if Eris’ life had ended today.

It was his duty to make this up to Mor. He was still haunted by the fact that she’d felt she needed to yank her hand away from his touch after discovering his deception in that dreaded council chamber last week.

Even though they’d never been romantically involved, she’d never shied away from casual touch between the two of them over the centuries. He could still hear her screams in his ears as she laid into Rhys in the townhouse afterwards.

Az had done that to them. He was to blame, and his shot at retribution had been stolen from him.

But still, he couldn’t resist yielding to Feyre’s gentle command. She was his High Lady, and he could not give the others further ammunition to use against her. The Inner Circle was in agreement that they need to present a unified front.

She simply reached out a hand to him, an offering, should he choose to take it. “Come sit beside me.”

He knew she was sparing him, proffering him the seat at her right-hand side and cementing with the other High Lords that he was still in her good graces. And saving him from having to sit next to the trembling Mor, trembling not only at the insult Eris had bandied at her...but also at the raw show of aggression he’d just displayed in the attempt to defend her honor.

Before lifting his shields, Az returned his gaze to the piece of shit still prostrate beneath him. He leaned down, until only Eris would be able to hear the low, raspy words which now flowed from his lips. “If you ever speak to Morrigan again, if you ever so much as deign to look upon her with anything other than absolute apology and reverence in your words and respect in your eyes, I will make what I did today look like a fucking picnic in the meadows of Spring. I will haunt your every move, watch your every breath until the moment I can strike. And you know I will be victorious. I’m far stronger than you, far more powerful than anyone in your wretched court. I will string you up and make you sing under my blade for eons, until I finally decide it is time for you to meet your end.”

At that, he dropped his shield, willing his shadows to disappear from sight as he beheld his High Lady.

Beron attempted to use the moment to send his own blast of fire at Azriel in his vulnerability, but Feyre simply shielded it herself, fixing Beron in her gaze and telling him, “That’s twice now we’ve handed you your asses. I’d think you’d be sick of the humiliation.”

But Azriel could feel Beron squirming under those allegations, that the Autumn Court was inherently weaker than Night. This wasn’t going to end pleasantly, one way or another.

He finally grabbed her hand with his own, her skin burning beneath his own clammy fingers, as she led him to the seat which had now appeared between her own and Nesta’s and brought him a glass of wine.

“They are my family,” Feyre addressed the still-silent room. “I don’t care if we are allies in this war. If you insult my friend again, I won’t stop him the next time.”

Azriel still hadn’t touched his wine. He would not. He wanted to be completely sober for the rest of this proceeding.

He could feel every set of eyes on him as he bore his own into Eris.

Apologize. Now. He sent an invisible tendril into the asshole’s ear, his gaze never wavering.

Eris at least showed some sensibility for once, averting his eyes from Azriel’s gaze and murmuring, “Apologies, Morrigan.”

Good. If only he could make him beg for her forgiveness, though he never deserved for her to deign to give it to him.

Azriel simply sat, seething for the rest of the meeting. A Dawn female named Nuan showed off her antidote to counteract the faebane, which sounded extremely useful. He made a note to test it out when they returned home.

He would use himself as a test subject. If for some reason the concoction didn’t work, he deserved to be the one who suffered for it. He couldn’t do anything right at the moment.

He took no pity on Tamlin revealing that he had no way to protect his people and would have to evacuate into the Autumn Court, and he especially took no pity on Beron for being designated to house the refugees, though Tarquin eventually stepped in and offered his own court.

But then, Beron was back to insulting his own, as Feyre tried to convince the room to take pity on the humans beneath the wall.

“The same could be claimed of you,” Beron retorted to Feyre’s assertion that he was a coward.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“No, but perhaps to that girl’s family—but they’re dead, too, aren’t they? Butchered and burned to death in their own beds. Funny, that you should now seek to defend humans when you were all too happy to offer them up to save yourself.”

Azriel could tell she was about to lose it. The accusations flung at her today had to be draining her completely, but he admired that fact that she held strong, even as Rhys decided to come to the rescue.

“As my lady said, she does not need to explain herself to you.”

“Then I suppose I don’t need to explain my motivations, either.”

Rhys simply raised an inquisitive brow. “Your staggering generosity aside, will you be joining our forces?”

“I have not yet decided.”

Of course. Beron would hold out until someone offered him something he truly wanted, even if his territory was likely to be the next in the line of fire. Even Eris went so far as to look aghast at his father’s unwillingness to form an alliance. Azriel supposed that their own bargain wouldn’t do him much good if he inherited a court already in ruins.

“Armies take time to raise,” Cassian cut in. “You don’t have the luxury of sitting on your ass. You need to rally your soldiers now.”

He was right. If Beron didn’t join with them soon, any numbers he might eventually commit to the effort would likely be too little, too late.

“I don’t take orders from the bastards of lesser fae whores,” Beron jeered.

Azriel didn’t need to look at his friend to know that the rage rippling off his own face as ice coursed through his veins was mirrored there. Nobody spoke of their mothers that way and survived. Nobody.

But he was powerless to do anything about it, Feyre still holding his leash and looking tentatively at him. He knew she was praying he wouldn’t snap again.

Mor just looked on with disgust written on her face. Probably more for Cassian than for him...but still, the fact that she was showing some emotion which didn’t involve trembling in fear was encouraging to him.

But it was Nesta who replied, with her dagger-like tongue. “That bastard may wind up being the only person standing in the way of Hybern’s forces and your people.”

Cassian was gaping at her, as if he couldn’t believe the words that had just come out of her mouth. The fact that she was sticking up for him instead of belittling him for once.

Feyre followed it up with a simple, bored, “Get out if you’re not going to be helpful.”

Beron ignored all the eyes staring unbelievingly at the atrocities he was spouting as he hissed, “Did you know that while your mate was warming Amarantha’s bed, most of our people were locked beneath that mountain?”

He could feel Rhys and Feyre tense at the memories of what had been done to him, but they ignored Beron, letting him continue.

“Did you know that while he had his head between her legs, most of us were fighting to keep our families from becoming the nightly entertainment?”

He could sense Cassian on the verge of jumping out of his seat, barely containing the need to stick up for their brother, but Azriel stilled himself, letting his stony mask speak volumes to the room. Rhys could shut Beron up as soon as he wanted to without sparing a second thought. He wouldn’t get in the middle of this little power game.

It was Tarquin who stepped in, cautiously murmuring, “That’s enough, Beron.”

But Beron chose to ignore him. “And now Rhysand wants to play hero. Amarantha’s Whore becomes Hybern’s Destroyer. But if it goes badly… Will he get on his knees for Hybern? Or just spread his—”

And it was Feyre—Feyre—who exploded at Beron in a glow of a heavenly light. No—fire. It was Beron’s own fire gift that she speared directly at him.

His own shield was barely enough to deflect it as the sheer heat of it still singed Eris and the Lady of Autumn, whom Beron hadn’t even considered protecting.

It was then that the water from the reflection pool bloomed up, a perfectly spherical bubble launching itself straight at Beron as, with a flash of daylight, she tore through his shields, pressing onward.

She intended to drown him in that bubble, and Az relished in her wickedness, a similar grin spreading across his cheeks.

This was exactly what he needed today. He’d failed to murder Eris, but his revered High Lady taking out the beast’s father was still delightful. Az was willing to take it as a consolation prize.

Even as Rhys attempted to soothe her, trying to talk her down from starting an all-out civil war throughout Prythian, Az sat back, quietly, waiting, shadows hissing about his ears.

She almost has him in her thrall. Only a few more moments now, and she’ll begin sucking the life out of him. The younger one cannot be more pleased.

Az scoffed. If only Eris wasn’t getting the same pleasure out of this that he was.

And then it stopped. Water came crashing down on the floor as Feyre released her hold on it, the koi which had risen with it flopping uselessly on the sunstone floor.

Beron struck back at her, as his powers harmlessly rebounded off of their own shields.

“That was how you got through my wards,” Tarquin breathed, recognition flashing in his eyes.

“I wondered where it went—that little bit. So small—like a fish missing a single scale. But I still felt whenever something brushed against that empty spot. No wonder you made her High Lady,” he mused at Rhys.

“I made her High Lady because I love her. Her power was the last thing I considered.” Her brother removed his hands from Feyre’s face, still remaining at her side though.

“You knew of her powers?” Helion directed this question toward Tamlin.

Tamlin’s eyes didn’t leave Rhys and Feyre as he simply replied, “It was none of your business.”

“The powers belong to us. I think it is.” Beron’s wrath seemed about to explode out of him. Az didn’t fail to notice Mor fixing Beron in a scathing glare which would’ve sent Az to his knees as Feyre apologized to the Lady of Autumn for burning her.

“Don’t talk to her, you human filth,” Beron spat.

Az felt the room shift as Rhys disintegrated Beron’s shields, knocked him backwards in his chair, and then dissolved that chair beneath him, leaving Beron prostrate as he fell on his ass.

“Don’t ever speak to my mate like that again.” His friend tried to look casual, as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

His hands are balling into fists. He’s more likely than not to simply punch the other High Lord.

Az would pay good money to see that.

Beron shot to his feet, addressing the room. “This meeting is over. I hope Hybern butchers you all.”

“This meeting is not over.” Nesta finally stood from her chair. Interesting, that she was making such a bold move now.

“You are all there is. You are all that there is between Hybern and the end of everything that is good and decent. You fought against Hybern in the last war. Why do you refuse to do so now?”

She cares. About the humans. About the seer. About the winged one. She could not live with herself if they were to come to harm and she did nothing to stop it.

Nesta held the attention of everyone in the room as even Eris motioned to his brothers to take up their seats once more.

“You may hate us. I don’t care if you do. But I do care if you let innocents suffer and die. At least stand for them. Your people. For Hybern will make an example of them. Of all of us.”

“And you know this how?” Beron asked incredulously.

“I went into the Cauldron. It showed me his heart. He will bring down the wall, and butcher those on either side of it.”

She speaks the truth.

It was the first real tidbit of information he’d gotten from either Archeron sister.

More. She needed to keep speaking of her time spent there. He almost lost his good sense and had opened his mouth to implore her to tell him its secrets, when she turned to Kallias and Viviane.

“I am sorry for the loss of those children. The loss of one is abhorrent. But beneath the wall, I witnessed children—entire families—starve to death.” She gestured with her chin to Feyre. “Were it not for my sister... I would be among them. Too long. For too long have humans beneath the wall suffered and died while you in Prythian thrived. Not during that—queen’s reign. But long before. If you fight for anything—fight now, to protect those you forgot. Let them know they’re not forgotten. Just this once.”

Indeed, she would be a formidable emissary for the humans if she decided to take Rhys up on his offer. It was the first time Azriel felt like he could actually stomach working with the aloof female.

“While a noble sentiment, the details of the Treaty did not demand we provide for our human neighbors. They were to be left alone. So we obeyed,” Thesan replied.

Fairly true, though anyone with even halfway-decent spies knew exactly what had been happening in the small strip of land since the holes in the wall had been formed. They were all equally guilty of choosing to ignore that knowledge though.

“The past is the past. What I care about is the road ahead. What I care about is making sure no children—Fae or human—are harmed. You have been entrusted with protecting this land. How can you not fight for it?”

Cassian looked for all the world like he was going to march across the few feet between them and kiss her, speechlessly staring at the female Az knew had long ago stolen his heart, whether she knew how much she was on his mind or not.

“I shall consider it.” And with that, Beron and his family winnowed away.

At least the other High Lords finally all discussed and came to terms with Feyre’s display of their powers, though Az was certain at least one of them was trying to determine if the risk of regaining that scrap of power was worth it or not.

Nobody would dare be stupid enough to go against Rhys and Feyre though, at least not at their full strength.

Az made a mental note to watch her back during battle though. They didn’t need any of these so-called allies taking advantage of their momentary distractions. Even if killing her would set them back in the war, Beron at least might be willing to try. Kallias and Thesan he couldn’t get a read on either. Best to be safe.

In the end, they got six out of seven of the courts to join the allegiance. Better than expected, and they still had Beron’s promise to consider it—even if Az knew it to be a simple placation before he disappeared out of their lives until after the war was over. Perhaps they would get lucky and Hybern really would raze Autumn to the ground before the dust was settled.

For the next couple of hours, Azriel simply took notes as the rulers bickered. They didn’t learn much of use about any of their new allies, and with Tamlin in attendance, Az couldn’t blame the others for holding back. He certainly didn’t trust the beast.

He’d been there that day, disabling guards with Cassian before spiriting themselves away as Mor walked Feyre out the long way so no rules were technically broken.

He’d seen what the monster had done to her, how she was screaming in that cocoon of darkness, so like the own he had accidentally created with shadows as a child when he’d begged to be let out of that cell.

He’d been forced to watch Tamlin try to steal her back, physically attempting to grab her and winnow away that day in Hybern. He’d been in agony, yes, but he hadn’t missed a thing where that was concerned. He’d promised to protect his brother’s mate with his life and had been doing everything in his power to achieve it, even though he’d been so useless with that ash bolt protruding from his chest.

Thesan began escorting the other High Lords out one-at-a-time until they were left with only Kallias and Viviane.

Rhys finally rose to his feet, and ran a hand through his hair. “That went well. It would seem none of us won our bet about who’d fight first.”

Azriel remained seated. He’d been spacing out, staring at the floor, and he couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes, to see the tepid rejection in them as he simply said as evenly as he could, “Sorry.”

He was. And he wasn’t. 

He would go to the edges of the world to get Mor to forgive him for frightening her, for stealing her retribution from her, but he wasn’t truly apologetic for almost killing Eris. He was only sorry he hadn’t succeeded. He would do it again in a heartbeat.

He couldn’t shake the image of Mor trembling for practically half an hour out of his head. He saw it every time he closed his eyes and knew he couldn’t face her right now. The answers he could give her about his behavior would not be satisfactory, would only push her away further. And he needed her close. He would be lost without her.

“He had it coming. Eris is a piece of shit.” Well put, Viviane.

Az didn’t see what must’ve been a questioning look from someone in the room before she added, “What? He is.”

“Be that as it may, the question remains about whether Beron will fight with us,” Kallias replied coolly.

“If all the others are allying, Beron will join. He’s too smart to risk siding with Hybern and losing. And I’m sure if things go badly, he’ll easily switch over.” Mor’s voice was so hoarse that he thought his heart would rend itself in two. He had done this to her. Him. Not Eris.

“How many troops do you have?” Rhys asked of Kallias, finally getting down to business now that the one in Hybern’s pocket was gone.

“Not enough. Amarantha did her job well. We’ve got the army that Viv commanded and hid, but not much else. You?”

“We have sizable forces. Mostly Illyrian legions. And a few thousand Darkbringers. But we’ll need every soldier who can march.

Viviane made her way over until she was next to Mor. “I always knew we’d fight alongside each other one day.”

“It’s almost enough to make me feel bad for Hybern.” Her voice was returning. At least she had this one friend to lean on. One that didn’t continually let her down like Az had been doing lately.

“Almost, but not quite.” If Az had glanced up, he knew without even having the shadows whisper to him that she would be grinning.

And he couldn’t bring himself to look at that smile which would destroy him.

Chapter Text

Thesan’s attendants led the way to their suite as Az sent tendrils out ahead of their party to scout the room, finding no harmful spells placed upon it.

The cage full of birds was there, as expected, but he sensed his brother throw a shield around it the moment they entered the room, so that they couldn’t hear anything to report back to their master.

The others marvelled at Thesan’s generosity as Az made a beeline for the large window overlooking the gardens at the far side of the room.

The flowers here were rather spectacular, and he knew there would be plenty to draw his eyes’ attention as he tried to look anywhere but at her.

He didn’t bother veiling the shadows which were now furiously swirling around him, agitated by his own mood. The others needed to be reminded that he was a dangerous thing, not to be trifled with at the moment, when he was more capable of doing harm than good.

Rhys had tried to speak with him mind-to-mind on the trek up here, but he’d blocked the High Lord out. He didn’t give two shits who knew he was pissed as hell right now. The only one he’d consider speaking to was Mor, but only if she approached him.

He’d never be able to live with himself if he initiated a raw apology with her and she recoiled from him. Best to let it wait until she had calmed down.

Even Cassian had planted himself directly between them, acting as a physical barrier between Az and the woman he loved. Cassian wasn’t stupid. He knew about the feelings Az had been harboring for Mor for centuries, but he always seemed to know how to protect Mor from Az. And perhaps to protect Az from getting hurt by her rejecting him once and for all.

But she hadn’t. They’d never been together, but she’d left that doorway open. Whenever she decided to pull him through it, he’d lock the door so tightly that no other male could dare enter their sanctuary and come between them.

But as nothing was changing at the moment, Az was left alone in the corner to brood.

Eventually, a knock sounded on the door. He sent a shadow to check on who might be bothering them, or plotting an attack on them after the day they’d had today.

It is the Spell-Cleaver.

Shit. Well, this wouldn’t exactly be the sort of attack Azriel had been expecting, but he wasn’t looking forward to dealing with Helion’s wily ways at the moment.

Mor even tried to get Rhys not to open the door, and Az rubbed at his temples as he mentally prepared for the other High Lord’s entrance.

“How’d you convince Thesan to give you the better view?” Helion drawled at Rhys.

“He finds my males to be prettier than yours, I think.”

“I think it’s a wing fetish.”

Rhys invited him inside. “You’ve really mastered the swaggering prick performance, by the way. Expertly done.”

“Apologies for the bastard act. Old habits and all.” Helion bowed to Feyre as he swept into the room.

“You were on unnaturally nice behavior today. I was betting Beron would be dead by the end of it — you can’t imagine my shock that he walked out alive.” He directed this last comment at Rhys.

“My mate suggested it would be in our favor to appear as we truly are.”

“Well, now I look as bad as Beron. You handing Eris’s ass to him will be my new fantasy at night by the way.”

Azriel wasn’t going to deign to even acknowledge him. He had no desire to be flirted with right now, and especially not if it was coming from Helion.

The High Lord had been casually throwing sly compliments his way for centuries, and nothing about them even remotely appealed to Az. He had eyes for only one person, one female. Az also didn’t need Helion reminding her exactly what Az had done to upset her today. The prick could fuck off. Now would be lovely.

Cassian chuckled. “I was wondering when the come-ons would begin.”

He heard as Helion made himself comfortable on a couch. Thankfully not Mor and Cassian’s as there had been little room for another last Az had checked.

“It’s been what — four centuries now, and you three still haven’t accepted my offer.”

Mor just drawled, “I don’t like to share, unfortunately.”

Az’s heart stopped dead in his chest. He knew she was likely only putting on a front for Helion, but… What if perhaps… Just maybe…

She is highly uncomfortable. Her body is shifting ever so slightly as she squirms in her seat. The winged one thinks the Spell-Cleaver is hilarious.

I told you not to spy on her movements or report them to me.

Yes, but we thought you would like to know. She is —

He willed the tendril away from his ear and back into the writhing mass flitting around him before it could finish its sentence. He had an inkling of what it might say, but he didn’t want to hear it from anyone but her. If it were even true. He had his doubts.

“You never know until you try,” Helion purred.

Seconds passed in silence before Mor cleared her throat and blurted out, “Whatever you’re saying mind to mind, either share it or go to another room so we don’t have to sit here stewing in your scents.”

Rhys laughed at her. “Apologies for offending your delicate sensibilities, cousin.”

Cassian began quizzing Helion on his troops, and though Az knew he should be listening, he so desperately wanted to be anywhere but here.

He stayed in the room, still frozen at the window he’d been staring blankly out of, but he let the shadows fully envelope him, tuning the rest of the world out. Cassian would do a thorough job on his own, and he trusted his brother to recount the information Az needed to know at a later date.

The Spell-Cleaver is upset that they sold the Lady of Autumn to Beron. He was in love with her.

Interesting. But that language. Sold. It only reminded him of another female who’d been sold into a marriage of convenience, and it took everything in his power not to stalk up to her and sweep her into his arms. He only let his body tense a bit, wings tucking in tighter so he wouldn’t accidentally let them flare out in a show of extreme emotion.

He still wouldn’t let the sounds of the room into his cocoon, until —

The viper approaches. She is panicking. Something is wrong, but we cannot sense it ourselves.

Azriel unveiled himself just in time to hear Nesta turn down one of Helion’s propositions before he could even finish his introduction to her as Cassian did his best to bite back his laughter at the shock on the High Lord’s face. Even though they weren’t the least bit interested, none of the Inner Circle had ever dared turn Helion down outright. They just gave coy answers and redirections.

She stomped off toward her bedroom, Feyre in tow. As the door shut behind them, Mor asked nobody in particular, “What do you think that is about?”

“She senses that something is wrong, but even my shadows cannot detect whatever it is. I’m hoping to find out more whenever Feyre reemerges,” Az answered, coolly, not wanting to get too close to her.

“Something’s wrong with Nesta?” Cassian interjected.

“Like I said —” but Cassian wasn’t listening. He’d already gone barrelling toward her doorway, face a stony mask.

Within a minute, he was already returning to the sitting room, telling them what they’d already slightly overheard through the open doorway. About her sense of dread. The feeling that they all needed to leave immediately.

They each took to the skies, Rhys going so far as to winnow through the courts, checking for any signs of disturbance, and even promising to check in with Amren about Elain for Nesta’s sake.

Cassian was to take to the skies of the Dawn Court, circling for miles, checking for any signs of attack or traps.

Az perched himself on the rooftop of Thesan’s palace, closing his eyes and spreading his tendrils far and wide across the land, allowing the shadows to play images in his head of their findings. A few bumps along the way, but nothing to be worried about. There was no sign of anything being amiss here. As his brothers returned to him half an hour later, he recalled his spies, letting them settle into orbit around him once more.

Elain was safe and sound. Neither of them had found anything to worry over either. The trio headed back inside, solemnly shaking their heads and trying not to look like they were doubting Nesta — Cassian especially. But even Az’s shadows had picked up on the disturbance in the world. They just couldn’t place it and could find nothing to be the cause of it.

Azriel stayed silent, subdued, during dinner, letting his shadows hang off of him. He wasn’t even hungry and would’ve simply resumed his post by the window if they hadn’t been dining as a court with Helion and eventually Viviane and Kallias.

Mor had gone back to coolly ignoring his presence as well, but he saw her throwing glances at Helion, heard the murmurings in his ear that the High Lord would ask her into his bed and that she would likely accept. He tried to drown it out, but he couldn’t, so he just stared blankly ahead, wishing he was anywhere but here.

Nesta finally broke the truce which had kept everyone hostage at the dinner table as she excused herself for bed.

They did one more sweep of the grounds before Az began returning to the balcony — and halted mid-flight. There she was, sitting knee-to-knee with Helion, talking him up with a coy smile on her lips, laughing at practically every other sentence the High Lord uttered, and Azriel knew he wouldn’t be returning to his room tonight.

He was not going to listen to her bed him. He had thought there was a chance that... Well clearly not if she were taking a male to bed, one of a long string of males to be honest… But, perhaps that would’ve lessened the sting of rejection.

He was nothing. He was less than nothing, and he didn’t deserve her anyway. But the gaping wound in his chest refused to close up as he flew up to the roof, settling himself down and placing his head in his hands, knees curled to his chest.

A few heartbeats later, another pair of wing beats sounded, and he did not need the shadows’ announcement of his arrival to know it was Cassian who followed him up here.

“All right, brother?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.”

Cassian just sat there, knowing that the best thing he could give his brother was silence to piece his thoughts together.

“I don’t deserve...I don’t deserve what I want. But it still hurts. Every damn time. I’m not sure it will ever get better. It’s been centuries, and I’ve tried to distract myself, to not pay attention, but I still get whispers of it, see it as blatantly as it was laid out in front of me today, and...”

He didn’t know how to voice what was really in his heart. He couldn’t even say her name aloud. He knew that Cassian had figured it out. He wasn’t great about hiding it, and despite the cocky, know-it-all air that Cassian presented to outsiders, he might’ve been the most caring among them. He was a passionate friend, and as such, he was unabashedly observant of their emotions. So he could be there for them. Like he was now.

Cass placed a hand on Az’s tight shoulder, trying to lessen the burden there. “Perhaps...” he began cautiously, “Perhaps it’s time to realign yourself. Perhaps you should really take a good long look in the mirror and think about what you really want, and find someone who could give that to you.”

What he was implying… Did Cassian know more about why Mor never sought him out than he’d let on?

“Do you think I haven’t tried? For centuries, I’ve tried. But every single time I see that face, hear that voice, I get swept into the undertow again. I’ve barely been able to come up for air.”

“Have you really given it your all though? Sure, you take home lovers, but is it not just to go through the motions? Have you ever really tried to...love someone else?”

“No, but —”

“I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, and I’m not saying it’s something you need to do cold turkey. But...just consider it sometime. Doesn’t even need to be soon. But you deserve someone who doesn’t hold you at arms length for over five hundred years.”

“No. I don’t deserve anything from anyone. I’m a mess.”

“Maybe you’re using that as an excuse to keep yourself precariously dangling at the end of that string, torturing yourself, but I promise you it’s not true. You’re one of the most caring people I’ve ever met. I wouldn’t be calling you my brother otherwise. You’re my best friend, and I know that one day you could truly be happy, if you just let yourself.”

Azriel had heard several versions of this speech already, and he wasn’t in the mood to let it continue tonight. “I...hurt people. Even those that I love. Nobody is safe around me. Nobody deserves that burden. And nobody deserves to be burdened by my own baggage.” He choked out the words, as he stood, needing to get away from Cassian, to let the night swallow him whole in silence.

“Stay.” Cassian had already risen himself, hands raised in surrender. “I need to go check on something myself. I’ll leave you to it.”

Azriel bit back the urge to snap something out about how he hoped Nesta’s bed was warm enough for the little traitor, but he knew Cassian had truly been trying to help him. And it wasn’t his business, this thing he knew was brewing between his brother and the irritable female.

Cassian simply flew down from the roof when he refused to respond, and Az saw him drop down suspiciously close to where he expected Nesta’s balcony to be. Maybe they were fooling the others, but he suspected Cassian knew it was futile to pretend with Az. He’d find out one way or another anyhow.

He laid back on the thatched tiles, trying to control his breathing. Now that he was alone, with no one but the crickets chirping in the background to witness his reaction, he was having trouble breathing evenly.

Here he was, the fearsome shadowsinger who brought other courts to their knees, and he was having a panic attack as he went back over the day’s proceedings in his head. How had everything gone so wrong? He poured over every tiny detail of his attack on Eris, analyzing each thing he could’ve done differently, mostly involving some snide comment he could’ve made instead of launching himself into the fight.

How would the day have gone differently? Would she have smiled at him instead of Helion?

Probably not, but at least she wouldn’t have been terrified of him. Perhaps she wouldn’t have felt the need to blatantly sleep with someone else when they shared a wall.

It wasn’t helping. The breaths still came jagged and unevenly, tears about to escape the corners of his eyes as his body fought to stay stable during his hyperventilation, as he lingered on the details of the predicament he’d put them all in.

And then all of a sudden Cerridwen tapped on his shoulder, still in wraith form, and he felt a message slither up to his ear.

Is everything okay? My shadows disappeared a long time ago, and I wanted to make sure it wasn’t because, well the worst had happened. Amren doesn’t seem inclined to tell me anything — if she even knows.

He sighed, grateful he didn’t have to speak words aloud in order to respond to her. His voice still sounded shaky and distant in his own head though as he replied.

It’s...fine. We got an alliance...with s-six of the High Lords. We’ve had...a few false alarms today, but otherwise...th-things have been quiet here.

He tried to school his breathing as he waited for the the reply.

Az, what is wrong? It sounds like you aren’t breathing!

Her voice was stern and slightly higher pitched than usual. Leave it to Elain to completely ignore his words and hone straight in on the weakness he was having trouble hiding from everyone.

N-nothing. I just...lost it today. I attacked Eris, and I scared the shit out of everyone here, and I just want to be alone.

Where are you right now?

You can’t possibly think of coming here.

I’m not. I’m sure nobody would agree to winnow me in anyways. But tell me where you are. Describe your surroundings.

He shakily tried to take a deep breath.

I’m on the roof. It’s made of these sunstone tiles, which are rather drab underneath only the moonlight. They have nothing on moonstone. And, there are crickets chirping all around me, and if I go to the edge, I can see down all the way across the estate. There are sprawling fields, a luscious garden, a fountain.

He sent the message there, unsure what else to add to the description. It took him a few moments to realize that somehow his breaths were coming more evenly, that he wasn’t teetering at the edge anymore, just freaking out a little.

Okay, sit on the edge overlooking the gardens. But be careful.

I do have wings you know. Sitting on top of tall towers is nothing to me. I could jump off it right now if you like and I probably would be able to save myself before I left an ugly stain on Thesan’s lawn.

Don’t...don’t joke about that.

Shit. He’d hit a nerve. Wait…

Have you actually...?

A little. I mean, I was pretty lost when I got to Velaris. I thought I was going mad, and I hated myself. I used to think about it sometimes. If I really could end it by pitching myself off the balcony of the House, or if this new body could pull through. I don’t think I was ever seriously close to doing it. Nesta was always watching me like a hawk anyways, and I knew that if I wanted to ever return to see Graysen again...well I’d have to be alive to do it.

I knew you were wasting away. You’ve become so thin. I didn’t...I didn’t know you were so miserable. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think you wanted us around. I should’ve talked to you.

It’s not your fault, and while I’m still not happy, I at least feel slightly better now. In part because I don’t think I’m going crazy anymore, and in part because I actually have friends. You and Nuala and Cerridwen. I like talking to you, and it’s so much better than having to tiptoe around my sisters. You know what? Let’s not talk about this. It’s not important anymore. Go look at the flowers.

His heart was breaking at how nonchalantly she was brushing this off. Sure, there had been plenty of times in which he’d wanted to end it before he’d met his brothers and Mor, but for him not to recognize the signs in someone so close to him... It didn’t sit right with him, and he’d have to find a way to make it up to her.

He slowly took to the sky and descended into the garden below.

Anything I should look for in particular?

Not really. I already saw them in my vision the other day. Thesan has some lovely patches of morning glories. Fitting, no? I believe there was an assortment of them around the perimeter if you care to look. I was mostly just trying to get you out of your own head. The flowers always calm me down.

Clever lady.

Indeed, as he strolled through the garden, he paused to take deep breaths, inhaling their perfume. Five minutes ago, he was pretty sure he’d never be able to come down from that roof, that his own anxiety would get the best of him, and nobody would ever bother looking for poor, old, broken Azriel after-the-fact.

But seriously, are you able to talk about it now? Do you even want to talk about it?

What more is there to say? The Autumn Court were being a bunch of pricks. They kept wondering at Lucien’s whereabouts, and somehow they figured out you were his mate and were flaunting the knowledge. The room got heated, and then Eris called Morrigan a slut, and I...I just lost it. One moment I was seated in my chair, the next I was strangling the life out of the asshole. And I could just see the look of terror on her face, not at being berated by him, but at the monster I had become.

You’re not a monster. Her voice was strained. Shit. He was scaring her as well. You’re fiercely loyal to those you love. Sometimes to a point where you lose control. I’ve seen similar behavior from Nesta at times back home. She could only use her words, but you would’ve thought she was throwing punches at any of the kids in town who made fun of me. It can be...jolting at first, but I get it.

You do?

Yes, Az. She sighed. I’m not saying you went about it the right way, but it doesn’t surprise me. Or scare me. If you were wondering.

It didn’t surprise her? Were his feelings for Mor that obvious to everyone that even Elain, who’d spent only months with them and perhaps only weeks really being in his presence, had picked up on them already? She was more perceptive than she let on to the others, but he would have to be more careful, try to control his reactions better.

Thank you. I’m still probably going to be upset about it for awhile. It’s eating away at me too much. but you’ve helped. Thank you, El.

It just slipped out. He’d thought about calling her the nickname before — sometimes referring to her that way in this thoughts — but he was never quite sure how close he had to be with her to do something like that. He hadn’t had a new friend other than Feyre in centuries, and he had no idea what the protocol was for something like this.

Anytime, Az. It’s what friends do.

Phew. It didn’t seem to have bothered her.

I’m glad to call you my friend too. I think I’m going to try to find sleep. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow before we return.

You’re coming back tomorrow?

That’s the plan.

Will we have time to train? Nuala is good company, but I wouldn’t mind getting out of the town house. And I want to try again. I just know I can do better this time.

I’m not sure, but if I don’t have tons of other duties heaped on my plate by the time we leave, I’ll pick you up tomorrow evening.

I can’t wait. Goodnight, Az.

Goodnight, El.

“El.” He liked the way it rolled off his tongue as he whispered it into the silence of the garden.

I heard that. Go to bed, and stop being so dramatic. It’s just a nickname. Which, yes, you may call me.

His cheeks flushed as he realized that by saying it and concentrating on her, a shadow must’ve picked it up and swept it across the territories.

Shit. It had been quite awhile since his control had slipped so far with his shadows. He’d gotten fairly skilled at directing his messages appropriately throughout the centuries.

What he hadn’t told Elain was about Mor bedding Helion, and that there was no way he could go back to his room tonight. Even though she’d hinted that she knew where his heart laid, it felt like too much of an admission to tell her that second part, the one that had truly spiraled him over the edge.

He opted instead for landing on Cassian’s balcony, his room positioned across the suite from hers. He would’ve simply asked to sleep on the couch, but when his suspicions were indeed confirmed, and Cassian still hadn’t returned, he planted himself in the plush bed. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be disturbed.

Chapter Text

Az barely slept.

Even though the bed was luxurious—surely Thesan’s finest—he tossed and turned, never able to get comfortable. He’d put as much distance as he could between himself and the lovebirds as he could without alerting Thesan that he wanted other sleeping arrangements.

He supposed he could’ve just slipped back to his apartment in Velaris for the night, but he couldn’t find it in him to leave his friends’ sides. If shit were to hit the fan, he needed to be there to defend them.

He heard the telltale clicks of two door handles, some footsteps in between to signal Helion leaving at around six in the morning. Well, at least Az didn’t have to sit cordially around the breakfast table with him.

Not that it really made breakfast any better. Everyone seemed to be miserable and exhausted, just as he was. He wasn’t going to say anything until a disarmingly cheerful Cassian strode through the front door, as if he’d been anywhere but here all evening, and greeted Mor. “You look terrible—Helion keep you up all night?”

There it was. The thing he most dreaded to hear about, but Mor simply chucked her spoon at the annoying brat, followed by her porridge.

Cassian, being the only one here who seemed as if he’d slept well, caught the spoon and deftly shielded against the porridge before it could soil his leathers. He wondered how long his brother had been flying around in circles under the guise of scouting after his bath just to have the wind whip away most traces of Nesta’s scent.

“Helion wanted you to join. Quite badly,” Mor simply replied as she poured herself another cup of tea. If Azriel hadn’t been so frozen with guilt and rage as she acknowledged the elephant in the room, he might’ve asked her to pass the pot. He was seriously in need of a pick-me-up. One cup was not cutting it today.

“Maybe next time.” Cassian took a seat next to Feyre before asking her, “How’s your sister?”

Az tried to catch the snarky bastard’s eye as he beautifully created his own little alibi for the evening.

“She seemed fine—still worried.” Feyre had gone in to check on her on her way to the table, and they’d all heard Nesta’s groans as she was awoken and grumbled that she needed a bath before she could stomach eating with them.

Cassian just served himself from the platter and asked, “Ready for another day full of arguing and plotting?”

Everyone else grumbled, as Rhys pranced in, grinning. “That’s the spirit.”

They all finished their meals and made their way to the same chamber as yesterday.

Az didn’t fail to notice that Helion was looking mighty cocky today, and his eyes hovered on Mor, as if he was reliving last night in his head.

Fine. He hadn’t bothered speaking with Mor yet today, and he certainly wasn’t going to acknowledge the High Lord of Day unless he was forced to. He would just watch.

Az just walked straight past him to his seat, letting his shadows be extra playful and dramatic today as they swirled around him, coating him like a second skin. The others seemed dressed to kill today, and so he figured he might as well keep up the intimidation factor.

Not that he was doing well at concealing them anyways. But if anyone asked, he could simply state that he was playing along before finding a way to calm his mood.

Helion began the proceedings. “I thoroughly reviewed the charts and figures you’ve compiled, Tamlin.”

“And?” Tamlin already sounded like he was on the verge of letting his claws out.

“And if you can rally your forces quickly, you and Tarquin might be able to hold the front line long enough for those of us above the Middle to bring the larger hosts.”

“It’s not that easy,” Tamlin gritted through his teeth. “I have a third of them left. After Feyre destroyed their faith in me.”

Az could tell all hell was about to break loose, but then Nesta jerked out of her chair with a vicious gasp. Feyre tried to reach her before she could lose her footing and trip into the reflection pool, but Mor caught her in her tender grasp.

“What’s wrong?” she demanded. Nesta looked like she was in so much pain.

Her pallor was quite unnatural as she began to sweat, her face contorting. “Something …” She couldn’t get out the sentence as a low groan escaped her and she sagged in Mor’s arms.

Cassian rushed to her side, placing his hand in the small of her back, teeth bared as he apparently decided not to put on airs anymore. It was a primal show of dominance among Illyrians, second only to flaring their wings in an attempt to literally prove they were bigger than their opponents.

Cassian was practically daring all the males in the room to take even one step in Nesta’s direction, his eyes promising a slow death for whoever had done this to her. His wings were likely tucked tight only for fear of knocking the two females he was protecting into the water.

Nesta whirled, only barely sparing Cassian as she proceeded to vomit her breakfast into the water below.

“Poison?” Kallias asked, as he was not subtle about trying to hide his own reluctant mate behind him.

Helion and Thesan both approached, and miraculously Cassian let them.

Helion lit himself up like a Solstice tree with the light of Day before extending a tendril of light to Nesta to check for any harmful spells upon her.

Thesan extended a hand to rest on Nesta’s arm as a softer glow brought his healing powers to life.

“Nothing,” the two useless High Lord’s murmured in unison.

Nesta could barely hold herself up any longer, her head flopping back against Mor’s shoulder as she panted erratically. “Something is wrong,” she somehow breathed out. “Not with me. Not me.”

It has to be the Cauldron. Rhys’ voice was instantly in his head.

Do you think it’s nearby? Have they come to attack Dawn? Cassian.

I don’t know. You’d have the best chance of interpreting what Nesta means.

Silence. Cassian had no idea either.

Az, you take the ground. Cass, you take the skies. Nothing gets through your perimeter. Alert me if you see or feel anything. Enlist any allies we have nearby. Whatever it takes.

Az knew Rhys was not so much worried for Nesta but for his own mate. They’d gone through so much, and he’d lost her twice already. His brother would burn down the world if it gave her even the slimmest chance of surviving this war.

They both merely nodded to Rhys, spreading their wings and heading to two open windows to launch themselves out into the sky.

Nesta moaned, and Cassian spared another glance back at her just as a shuddering ripped through the room. And then the impact blew them away. The entire mountain shook beneath them. Not even magic was enough to keep them from feeling the building wobble back and forth.

Mor finally lost her grip on Nesta, as Nesta emptied her stomach once again, the shock proving too much for her to hang on.

“What in hell—” Helion.

Rhys didn’t let him finish that thought though as he lifted himself off of Feyre and he focused his gaze southward. He turned back to the group, undiluted fear in his eyes before he rasped out, “The King of Hybern just used the Cauldron to attack the wall. The wall is gone. Shattered. Across Prythian, and on the continent. We were too late—too slow. Hybern just destroyed the wall.”

Elain had been in the garden when she felt the earth beneath her tremble as a momentous gust of wind blew in from the south. She paused for a moment, making sure the earth wouldn’t shudder beneath her feet once more before making haste into the town house.

She took one look into Amren’s glazed eyes and knew the otherworldly female was searching with her power to find the source of the disturbance, but Elain knew deep in the pit of her stomach that it had something to do with the Cauldron—with Nesta.

Az had mentioned her worries last night, and it seemed that whatever premonition Nesta had unwittingly had come to pass.

Amren returned to the sitting room, her gaze fixing on Elain as she simply stated, “The wall has come down. Hybern has used the Cauldron to destroy it.”

The blood in Elain’s veins turned to lead as she realized the implications of such an action. Hybern had previously been playing at going to war, but now he was fully committed. With no wall in place to protect the humans, he knew exactly where he could strike to hit Elain and her sisters the hardest.

That small strip of human lands which had been abandoned by the queens.

There was no way they’d be able to evacuate in time, and everyone they’d grown up with … he could wipe them out in a heartbeat, and they’d stand no chance.

Graysen. Oh gods. He had no idea that they were coming for him, and she had to warn him. His father’s estate was the closest thing to an anti-Fae stronghold they’d ever be able to find in the continent, but what were the odds that everyone made it out alive.

She had to make sure he knew to get in those escape tunnels and start running. Surely there were underground safe rooms with stocks of ash weaponry where he could have a chance of protecting himself.

She would write him a letter. She didn’t want to put any of her friends in danger, but maybe they could bring her close enough to his estate that she could slip it in with the rest of the post.

Elain was still chewing on how she’d ask Feyre for this favor when the entire rest of the Inner Circle winnowed right into the town house sitting room.

Barely anyone had said a word as most of them silently left to go freshen up before Nuala and Cerridwen served up a luscious lunch platter in the dining room.

Lunch was awkward at best as Elain watched everyone push the chicken around on their plates.

By the way they all cast wary glances at Nesta, she knew that more must have happened in that sunstone tower with all the other High Lords than they were letting on. Perhaps Nesta’s attachment to the Cauldron had manifested itself at the moment that blast launched itself across the realm.

She quickly pulled on her abilities, trying to glean what had happened ten minutes ago in Thesan’s palace. She was having difficulty getting much more than fuzzy images until ... there. Once the Cauldron blast had shaken the palace, it seemed many of the wards had weakened.

And she could see her sister, limp in Morrigan’s arms, spittle hanging off the corners of her mouth as she wretched once more and slid to the floor. So she was some sort of conduit for the Cauldron.

Though Nesta wouldn’t speak of it, she must’ve grabbed onto the heart of the Cauldron as she struggled to fight through its murky waters. There seemed like no other way the connection forged between them could be so strong while Elain’s was mostly just a fleeting power.

She struggled for a minute to neatly fold up the vision and file it away in her mind as she glanced at Azriel, eager to tell him what she’d just done. And so easily at that!

But Azriel ... she had never seen him so exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes heavily exaggerated in the early afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. Though he’d been the one to say goodnight to her and end their conversation the previous evening, it did not seem that he had slept.

Perhaps he hadn’t recounted everything that had happened during the meeting yesterday. Or, though he’d overcome his panic attack, the overwhelming anxiety had still eaten away at him during those dark hours between dusk and dawn. Either way, she’d try to push him for more if they ever got to be alone together this evening, but there was no way she was letting him train her before he got a good night’s rest.

“We should have evacuated months ago.” Nesta finally broke the silence, still staring at her untouched plate. Elain guessed that if you’d just been violently sick, even a mild meal of chicken wouldn’t sound the least bit appetizing.

Rhys turned to Nesta. “We can go to your estate tonight—evacuate your household and bring them back here.”

“They will not come.”

“Then they will likely die.”

“Can’t you spirit them away somewhere south—far from here?”

“That many people? Not without first finding a safe place, which would take time we don’t have. If we get a ship, they can sail—”

“They will demand their families and friends come.”

And that’s when it hit her.

“We could move them to Graysen’s estate.” Which would mean she could have an excuse to see him without them suspecting …

She swallowed dryly, twisting her engagement ring nervously under the table, knowing she had one shot to convince them.

“His father has high walls—made of thick stone. With space for plenty of people and supplies. His father has been planning for something like this for...a long time. They have defenses, stores … And a grove of ash trees, with a cache of weapons made from them.”

She knew she shouldn’t have admitted it. The more danger she presented to them, the less likely they’d let her go see her fiance. But she knew they needed to be adequately prepared. Even being reunited with the love of her life could not justify her leading them blind into the face of danger.

Cassian snarled, and she knew he was weighing the situation is his mind, as any good battlefield commander would. “If the faeries who attack possess magic, then thick stone won’t do much.”

Elain recoiled a bit at the bite in his words, but … “There are escape tunnels. Perhaps it is better than nothing.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper, utterly embarrassed as she knew they were all judging the soundness of her plan—of her mind.

Do you truly think they would save those less fortunate than them?

I ... I don’t know, but Graysen ... Graysen is a good man. A loving man. And I believe that he would fight his father on this, would grant me this request. And perhaps ... Perhaps if they can see that as a Fae, I’m the same ... same person that he fell in love with ... Perhaps we can change their hearts as well.

She didn’t dare voice that she wished that Graysen would offer to take her in as well, marry her then and there and tell her how much he’d missed her, worried about her these past few months. That he’d immediately see past the pointed ears, the enhanced beauty down to the girl he’d first kissed under the stars all those months ago.

Az glanced at Cassian, likely confirming with the general that they should go through with this scheme.

“We can set up a guard—”

Elain didn’t let Cassian finish the thought. “No. They ... Graysen and his father …”

“Then we cloak—”

“They have hounds. Bred and trained to hunt you. Detect you.” She wondered if that would apply to Azriel’s shadow form, but it wasn’t worth the risk if her hunch was incorrect.

“You can’t mean to leave their castle undefended. Even with the ash, it won’t be enough. We’d need to set wards at the very minimum.”

Elain appeared to consider his points, even though she’d already known what she must do from the beginning. “I can speak to him.”

“No,” blurted both her sisters in unison.

“If—if you and ... they come with me, your Fae scents might distract the dogs.”

“You’re Fae, too,” Nesta made sure to remind her.

She simply turned to Rhysand though and pleaded, “Glamour me. Make me look human. Just long enough to convince him to open his gates to those seeking sanctuary. Perhaps even let you set those wards around the estate.”

Once she was reunited with Graysen, she could reveal her Fae transformation to him in private. She just didn’t want to spook them before they’d received a promise that the rest of the humans in the village would be taken care of. He would take care of her though. He loved her enough.

“This could end very badly, Elain.”

“It’s already ended badly. Now it’s just a matter of deciding how we meet the consequences.”

Are you sure you’re ready to face him, El? Even with his prejudices?

Yes. He loves me. There’s no changing what I am, but it’s something we can get past. Once I explain why I couldn’t show up to our wedding. I know it.

Very well. We’ll begin preparations to make sure you stay safe.

“Wisely said.” Mor flashed a tentative smile at her before turning to Cassian. “You need to move the Illyrian legions today.”

Cassian simply nodded as he said to Rhys, “With the wall down, we need you to make a few things clear to the Illyrians. I need you at the camp with me—to give one of your pretty speeches before we go.” Would the Illyrians really ... take advantage of the now easily accessible humans? Elain’s mouth went dry.

“We can all go—then head to the human lands. We have an hour to prepare. Meet back here—then we leave.”

Azriel slipped into the shadows, followed by Mor winnowing away. Rhysand and Cassian began discussing mobilizing the Court of Nightmare soldiers as her sisters ambushed Elain.

“Are you sure?” and “I can go—let me talk to him.” They both demanded simultaneously.

Elain stood, needing to escape to her room where she could be alone for the brief period of time before they moved into the war camp.

“He doesn’t know you,” she told Feyre. “And he hates you,” she reminded Nesta.

“I need you to understand, Elain, that if this goes badly ... if he tries to harm you, or any of us …” Feyre began.

Elain sighed. “I know. You will defend your own.” Feyre would go to the ends of the earth—she already had—to protect this new family of hers. She’d let Tamlin take her back to the Spring Court.

“I will defend you.”

Oh. Instantly, the room faded as she saw her sister, within the walls of the Graysen’s estate launching flames at the the guards, their ash weapons already incinerated the instant things turned south. No, no, no. There was Graysen fleeing for the doors of the estate as Nesta locked her sights on him and chased him down, and …

She slammed all her force of will into the vision to banish it. She could not—would not—view the outcome. And she refused to let it happen. Azriel had said her visions may not be set in stone.

“No matter what, don’t kill him. Please,” she pleaded.

“We’ll try.”

“Swear it,” she growled. This. Would. Not. Happen. She didn’t care if she had to drag her sister’s mate over here by the ear and get him to coerce Feyre.

“I can’t make that promise. But I will do everything in my power to avoid it.”

It wasn’t enough, but would Feyre ever really give her what she wanted? Not when her own mate would be there. And all of her family. The love of Elain’s life would always come last.

She just looked down, not wanting to meet her sisters’ eyes and frowned at the blue frock she was wearing. It wasn’t elegant enough. She needed finery for this meeting which would determine the future of the human lands and perhaps the future of her own happiness.

“I need to dress.”

“I’ll help you,” Nesta instantly volunteered. Elain knew it was only because she felt guilty though so she shook her head.

“Nuala and Cerridwen will help me.” She held her head high and made her way up the stairs, hoping the twins would indeed follow her lead. She didn’t need them, but she wanted their company. They would provide a much-needed distraction during perhaps the last normal hour she’d have in this house for the foreseeable future.

The first thing she did was open her journal and hastily scrawl out the details of that devastating vision she’d had downstairs, hands shaking as she got to the part where Graysen’s fate lay on the line.

Will you be leading the armies? While we visit Graysen’s estate? Her nerves were getting to her now.

No, Cassian can handle that on his own. I’ll be in your guard detail. Nobody will be able to touch you, El.

It’s not me that I’m worried about, Az. I had a vision of my sisters battling on the estate grounds. They may have been going after Graysen, and I ... I can’t … She was beginning to sob now.

Did you ever think that they might have had a very good reason to want to kill him?

He would never …

You haven’t seen him in months, Elain. What if he’s so enraged that you stood him up at the wedding that he attacks you? Do you not expect us to protect you?

I just can’t believe he would do something like that.

People change. I’ve lived for almost six centuries, and I can tell you countless tales of those who have changed for better or for worse. I know it’s not what you want to hear right now, but you need to guard your heart.

I can’t guard what I don’t even have possession of myself. It’s still his. I’d marry him tonight if he took me back during our reunion.

I know. I’ve never seen you without that ring. Even though it slips right off your finger now, I see the way you hold onto it when you’re upset, twist it around your finger when you’re anxious. Just be careful tonight.

And if my vision comes true?

Do your best to alleviate the situation. We’ve wanted to test this theory before. Perhaps tonight is the night where we find that the future is malleable, your visions only a warning or suggestion. Take it one step at a time. If anyone can diffuse the tension, it’ll be you.

Why me?

Because out of all of us, you have the most tender heart. You’re not the most outspoken, but when you do speak up, it carries a weight which we cannot ignore. Use that to your advantage tonight. Make it your strength.

Thank you, Az.

I’ll see you once you’ve finished getting ready. I’ve got my own battle strategies to pore over in the meantime.

Nuala and Cerridwen helped her into the demure, blush pink gown, cut in a chaste but fashionable style for the human realm before pinning half of her hair up, half of it down in soft curls, the style designed to obscure the tips of her ears, in case the glamour failed her.

She took a quick glance in the mirror, admiring their handiwork before shakily descending the staircase, knowing she was heading toward one of the most difficult nights of her life.

Chapter Text

As they all assembled in the town house foyer, Elain watched as Feyre took her mate’s hand, the touch intimate, as they wove their fingers together with ease. They’d be winnowing together then.

Mor took hold of both Nesta and Cassian. Mother help her.

And that left—Azriel. And he was covered in seven of those strange gems they’d told her were called Siphons, as opposed to the usual two she’d noticed on the back of his hands.

She knew he could walk through the shadows with that power of his, but as they swirled around him, humming and hissing and purring as they readied themselves to be used, she wondered if she too would ever be able to travel that way.

They’d have to grant her permission of course. She held no thrall over Azriel’s powers herself, but perhaps, if she never became powerful enough to winnow by herself …

You’re staring at us, the shadows hissed in her ear.

Yes, because I too wish to be able to travel through the world on a whim.

She schooled her face, forcing it into a mask of calm acceptance.

To be free of the boundaries placed on you by your sisters and the Cauldron.

Yes, but also just to be powerful enough to travel and see this new world for myself, without having to depend on another. Right now I can only walk about the city and can’t even visit certain parts easily without an escort.

Perhaps one day, young one … Perhaps it is in the cards. As your gifts of sight grow stronger, perhaps other magic will as well.

What about your magic?

Be glad you do not wield us, for all that do wish otherwise. Be content with what you’ve been given and hope that the Cauldron’s blessing was indeed as bountiful as it appears to be.

Is he … Does he hate his gift?

There are times he resents us, but given his station, we are more useful to him now than he ever imagined as a boy. Back then …

Would you quit it? Azriel. Sometimes those busybodies don’t know how to leave well enough alone.

So you can truly carry me? Carry another through your shadows?

It’s a bit more taxing, but nothing I’m not used to after all these years.

Is it like flying? Or winnowing?

Mostly like winnowing, though more comfortable in my experience. You too may find that your affinity for the shadows makes stepping through them feel more … natural. None of that folding of worlds business that can turn your stomach.

Rhysand cleared his throat, a clear signal to stop dallying and leave already apparently as Mor, Nesta, and Cassian vanished.

Here. I’ll just take your hand, and let’s be off.

He reached out for her hand, cautiously, as if afraid she would balk from him as he presented this battered piece of himself.

As he plucked it from her side, ever so gently, she squeezed it back in affirmation. She wouldn’t run from him. This side of him did not frighten her.

I am not afraid. Quit treating me like I’m so fragile.

He had already taken that step into the shadows, but he winced a bit as they emerged into the bustling Illyrian war camp.

Back in this chilled, humid wasteland, he was at a loss for words.

I … I …

It’s fine. Just ... don’t treat me like the others do. You seem to think I care about the scars on your hands. I don’t. They’re just a part of you. I know you may hate how you came across those scars, but they don’t define you.

Most people shy away from all of this. The shadows, the burns, the … demeanor. I’m sorry.

I realize that, but you know me, Az. I know how it feels to have others only see what’s on the surface. You’re caring and kind, and I know you have a dark past, but that doesn’t matter. One day, you will tell me how you got those—I mean—if you ever feel comfortable enough to share that with me, but just know that I don’t judge you on your past. You … and the twins … You’re my only friends here.

What he’d done to deserve this tiny, fierce, caring female as his friend, he didn’t know. He’d simply been kind to her.

Originally, it’d just been because she seemed like she couldn’t find her own light, but then the shadows had flocked to her and …

Would he one day be able to share the story of his hands with her?

He honestly didn’t know. It’s not like Elain would tell anyone else, and she’d emphasized time and time again that she wouldn’t recoil from him. But there were things in his past that were truly haunting and chilling.

She had no idea.

All his friends, save Feyre, had known him since they were children. He hadn’t had to recount these things—unearth them—for centuries. Whatever Feyre knew about his past would’ve been recounted by Rhys himself.

I know, El. I’m sorry. Would you hate me if I asked you to stand behind me?

And why is that?

Mor was beginning to stare at them, mouth agape, as he sheepishly dropped the delicate hand he realized he was still holding. Not to mention the daggers Elain was staring at him. She’d apparently decided not to pretend like they were communicating in secret today.

Because the Illyrians are a brutal, backwards people who are not particularly kind to females. Rhys should be here any second, and honestly, if you’re amenable, it’d be preferable if you weren’t caught in the crossfire. Devlon, the camp lord, isn’t the most … pleasant person you’ll ever meet.

Thankfully, without further explanation, she shifted until she was partially obscured at least as Rhys and Feyre finally presented themselves.

Only then did Devlon deign to address them. “It’s true then. The wall came down.”

“A temporary failure,” Rhys assured him before launching into his barrage of commands about pushing the legion southward.

Cassian filled in the gaps, having some additions to add to Rhys’ instructions, some extra orders for certain war bands.

Az couldn’t have cared less that they were here, in the heart of the camp where he’d met his brothers. He just wanted to get out. A war camp would be better than this. At least then, he’d be dealing with less Illyrians, and they wouldn’t be … here. This place, these people brought back too many undesired memories.

He just settled on a hard stare. Let them wonder what was going through his head. Perhaps their own imaginations would surpass even the centuries worth of torments he’d imagined for most of these people.

Some lords tried to return his piercing, lethal gaze, but he only let it intensify. They couldn’t touch him.

But they would think they could touch …

Devlon’s gaze finally ventured over Rhys’ shoulder as he noticed the three females they hadn’t bothered to conceal. The order to shield Elain had come directly from Feyre, before his friend had descended from her room.

It really was true that they treated her differently. Perhaps once this all settled down, he could broach the subject with Feyre. He didn’t expect her to take it particularly well, but maybe they’d have a small quiet patch after this messy war in which he could bring it up.

It was only fair to Elain, and based on the comments she’d made, he had a feeling that she’d never bothered to speak her mind on this topic.

He lost all train of thought though as Devlon’s eyes roved over Mor with a scowl. The prick was intelligent enough not to show much disdain towards his High Lady, but then his eyes landed on Nesta.

“What is that.”

Thankfully, Nesta only glared right back at him, and Az had to bite back a wicked laugh as one camp lord went so far as to make a sign to ward off evil. Perhaps bringing Nesta would just be terrifying enough that this visit wouldn’t be too incredibly painful.

“That is none of your concern.” Nobody would mistake the bite in Cassian’s quiet voice for anything other than sheer malice and a promise to end anyone who even glanced twice at Nesta.

“Is she a witch.”

“Yes,” Nesta replied flatly.

This was a sight to behold. Nesta was Illyrian in her own right, bandying their fears right back at them. And indeed all nine of the centuries-old Illyrian warlords flinched at her response.

“She may act like one sometimes, but no—she is High Fae,” Cassian added.

“She is no more High Fae than we are,” Devlon retorted.

Az wondered whether this were partially true. Nesta was indeed High Fae, but whatever power she’d taken from the Cauldron, it had its own pulse.

“Keep her away from the females and children,” Devlon finally muttered, breaking the pregnant silence which had ensued after his last comment.

Mor let out a chuckle, shifting away from him in the meantime and accidentally revealing Elain, whom they’d kept so carefully concealed until now.

Devlon grunted as he spotted her. Just another female to belittle, yet he wisely refrained from saying anything.

Az was moments away from a conflict with the camp lord which would’ve been devastating for their war efforts.

Elain wrapped her cloak more tightly around herself as she shied away from all the Illyrian brutes she now had a full view of.

“Don’t be afraid of them,” Nesta murmured.

Wise words, reminiscent of the ones Az had almost slipped into a shadow message.

They can’t touch you. As much as Devlon might be a bastard, as much as this is his camp, he holds no power here—not with us outranking him. We will always protect you. Just focus on the mission at hand. On seeing Graysen again.

I’m trying. It’s all I’ve been thinking about all afternoon.

Good.

Have they always been this cruel?

He grimaced, unsure how to answer her without going too deep into his past.

For as long as I’ve been alive. There are some days when I’d give anything not to be Illyrian, not to be associated with these brutes. I’ve never told anyone that before.

He was sure his brothers had probably guessed at it, but it was one vulnerability he’d never wanted to voice before—that he hated who he was. Life would’ve been so different if he could’ve just been born as someone else.

Your secret’s safe with me. And you didn’t get to choose the life you were born into, just who you became. I don’t associate you with them at all. They look like you, but they don’t feel like you or act like you. You’re just Azriel, and they’re just ancient assholes you share some genes with.

Despite her harsh words, Elain was still wisely staring at the ground and pretending not to acknowledge the Illyrians as Feyre finally suggested that she take her sisters back to their tent to grab a warm beverage and all the females headed inside.

He listened to another five minutes of Rhys and Cassian grilling Devlon before the three of them made their way to the tent so they could be off. Rhys had made sure to emphasize the fact that they would be returning shortly, and if even one measly lord bothered Cassian during his preparations or touched any of their tents, there would be hell to pay.

Devlon would never typically be so brash as to mess with them so brazenly, but the arrival of such unusual females might’ve piqued his interest to the point where he couldn’t resist getting a better look at them.

Mor had glamoured Elain, and while she’d lost that ethereal beauty she’d gained upon her transformation, she was still gorgeous—just muted somehow. And she was nervously twisting that iron engagement ring on her finger.

Though he’d miss her if she went back to the human lands, he truly hoped things worked out for her and Graysen today. She’d finally seemed so passionate earlier this afternoon when she suggested the rendezvous, and his shadows had been whispering to him about her increased heart rate all afternoon since.

Though he could tell that Elain was gradually recovering from the shock of her transformation and the ensuing depression, having her fiance welcome her back with open arms would surely catapult her further in the right direction, and he wanted that for his friend, even if he’d miss her once she left.

This time he took Mor’s hand as she winnowed him and Nesta in. Feyre had wanted to be the one holding Elain’s hand on this most difficult of journeys.

As they materialized, Az realized that he’d seen this monstrosity of an estate before. Last year, when he and Cassian had been scouting Feyre’s old village for threats. He’d always thought it looked like a prison, with the spikes topping the gargantuan stone walls surrounding the lands and the manor.

Really, the property was the size of a small village itself, capable of fully sustaining itself in the case its occupants were trapped inside.

There were a dozen ash-armed guards standing watch outside the gate, as Az took up a defensive flank on Elain’s right-hand side.

She may not look Fae at the moment, but the weapons were still as much of a threat to her as they were to the rest of their party.

Elain finally stood tall, holding her head high, commanding. “Tell Graysen that his betrothed has come for him. Tell him … tell him that Elain Archeron begs for sanctuary.”

They just had to stand and watch as a solitary guard mounted his horse and took off down the dusty patch, passing through gate after gate of built-in defense. Did these morons really think this would keep them safe? A blast from his Siphons could evaporate their weapons, and he had wings for Cauldron’s sake. This was honestly so pitiful he wanted to cringe.

“How did you ever meet him if he’s locked up in there?” Feyre asked. A fair question. Az had begun wondering the same thing himself.

“At a ball—his father’s ball.” Of course. Somehow he didn’t think the whelp got out often. And he had to force back a shudder at the thought that Elain still wanted to be the mistress of this estate. This beauty who had only minutes ago expressed her desire for freedom to his shadows.

He was now secretly hoping it didn’t work out. It killed him inside to think of the pain she’d be in, but she would be completely lost to them if she disappeared inside those walls. He didn’t imagine the father would ever deign to let Elain and Graysen out.

“I’ve been to funerals that were merrier,” Nesta murmured under her breath.

Az was about to chuckle, but Elain bit back, “This house has needed a woman’s touch for years.”

He faded into the shadows, obscuring himself from the view of the guards. He did not like this one bit, and knew that Elain wasn’t thinking straight.

Needed a woman’s touch for years? A woman’s touch couldn’t undo all the wrong he sensed. A woman’s touch would be silenced the moment she was under their thrall.

Perhaps the son wasn’t as horrible as the father, but waiting for the father to kick the bucket wasn’t a sound life-planning strategy. Az was already plotting ways the elder could meet an unfortunate accident. He sent his shadows onto the grounds to scour every inch of the damn place.

A grungy, yellow flag got raised in the distance, and Az instantly had Truth-Teller in his hand.

But one of the guards cut the tension by muttering unenthusiastically, “He’ll come out to see you.”

They were ushered into the guardhouse, as far into the estate as they would be allowed to enter. Mother forbid they learn a little of the foolish traps lying within. Child’s play really. He already knew the location of every single one, and was fighting the urge to growl back at the insidious attack dogs lining the wall of the hut which were thankfully let out rather hastily.

He remained in the shadows in the corner of the room as he watched Elain stand proudly—anxiously—as her eyes wouldn’t budge from that useless iron door.

The sound of horses approaching interrupted some clipped conversation between Feyre and Nesta as he looked through the eyes of his shadows standing guard outside the door.

“Two dozen guards,” he lowered his voice as he addressed Rhys. But he couldn’t help the wary glance he gave Elain as he announced, “And Lord Graysen and his father, Lord Nolan.”

Elain was stock-still, as if any movement might give her away—her emotions, her desires, her glamour.

Just breathe. I’m sure it’ll be alright.

And then the door shot open with a resounding bang, and he entered.

He looked so average, so human. Unremarkable muddy brown hair, dull blue eyes, and muscles which Az assumed might be impressive for a human man. But if the little lordling could only get a glimpse of what hid underneath Az’s armor, he’d have a complex for years.

Az’s wings almost flared out at the small thought, at the desire to show this man who couldn’t even see him right now a display of dominance, a showing of how worthless he really was.

A delicate mewling sound came out of Elain’s throat as she beheld him, and to his character, Graysen was breathlessly inspecting her before allowing Nolan to halt his attempt to move toward Elain.

Elain was trembling as she tried to addressed her future-father-in-law. “Sir—Lord Nolan …” She turned her attention back to Graysen, who’d had his eyes locked on her since the moment he’d entered the room.

“The wall has come down,” Nesta finally intervened, taking up a place at Elain’s side.

This got Graysen’s gaze to finally waver. “How.” His husky voice was still a bit shellshocked and out-of-breath.

“I was kidnapped. I was taken by the army invading these lands and turned against my will.” This was part of the story they’d come up with which would hopefully explain both the sisters’ absences but only Nesta’s transformation.

“How.” Lord Nolan was exasperated.

“There is a Cauldron—a weapon. It grants its owner power to … do such things. I was a test. Your human queens were also eager to find out how the King of Hybern—the King who brought down the wall and is going to try to take over these lands—could transform them as well.”

“And who are your companions?”

Feyre boldly took a step toward the two men. “My name is Feyre Archeron. I am High Lady of the Night Court. This is Rhysand, my—husband.”

Rhys joined his mate, gesturing behind him to Mor and an Azriel who lifted the veil of shadows he’d layered over himself. “Our third in command, Morrigan. And our spymaster, Azriel.”

Az made sure to flash them a wicked grin. Let them wonder how much he’d already gleaned of their defenses.

Graysen blanched and turned to Elain.

“Elain.” The words came out in a panting rasp. “Elain—why are you with them?”

“Because she is our sister,” Nesta shot back. “And there is no safer place for her during this war than with us.”

Elain’s voice was merely a whisper. “Graysen—we’ve come to beg you … Both of you … Open your gates to any humans who can get here. To families. With the wall down … We—” Oh, Cauldron, she’d slipped up. “They believe … There is not enough time for an evacuation. The queens will not send aid from the continent. But here—they might stand a chance.”

Nice work. A soothing message.

No response. She was wholly focused on the man in front of her.

Graysen’s eyes shot to the ring still engulfing her shrunken finger. “I would be inclined to believe you, if you were not lying to me with every breath.”

What? How had he seen through the glamour? The meeting had actually seemed to be going well, or as well as could’ve been hoped for in this hovel.

“I—I am not, I—”

She was not a very good liar—an endearing trait, yet a bit of a hindrance in situations like these. He’d have to teach her how to become more practiced. Along with her other training.

“Did you think that you could come to my house and deceive me with your faerie magic?” Nolan spat.

“We don’t care what you believe. We only come to ask you to help those who cannot defend themselves,” Rhys finally cut in.

“At what gain? What risk of your own?”

“You have an arsenal of ash weapons. I’d think the risk to us is apparent,” Feyre retorted.

“And to your sister as well,” he gestured toward Elain—not Nesta. “Don’t forget to include her.”

“Any weapon can hurt a mortal.” Mor sounded almost bored. Smart.

“But she isn’t mortal is she?” Nolan jeered. “No, I have it on good authority that it was Elain Archeron who was turned Fae first. And who now has a High Lord’s son as a mate.”

Every muscle in Az’s body tightened. What the hell? And how did he know so much?

Another party approaches.

“And who, exactly, told you this?” Rhys inquired with a raised brow.

Who is it?

Jurian, and a company of human guards.

Indeed, footsteps sounded, someone else Az wouldn’t have heard approaching without the tip from his sentinels as he’d become so enraptured in the conversation taking place in the room.

He didn’t even have a chance to issue a warning to his High Lord as his hands, along with all his companions’ went straight to their weapons, and Jurian sauntered into the guardhouse, smirking. “I did.”

Chapter Text

Elain vaguely remembered the sound of his voice. This man had been in the throne room the night this human life of hers had ended. And now he was responsible for Graysen spitting those horrible words at her.

Yes, she’d lied, but only out of terror. She’d hoped to tell him alone later, once his father was out of the picture. The glamour wouldn’t hold forever, but she’d hoped …

Now this insidious man was raising his hands in a gesture of surrender, as if that changed anything, as if that could have turned back time.

She realized that she was trembling involuntarily, as she lived that night over again.

The shock and terror of being stolen from her room in the night. Spotting their Fae guards murdered outside the estate as, still in her flimsy nightgown, she was dragged away and teleported to that soulless castle.

Only to be thrown into that Cauldron. Though she knew that she’d eventually come out of those frigid waters, she still could feel the Cauldron dragging her down. It had felt like hours that she’d been pulled around, breathlessly, against her will.

Yet she didn’t die. Or at least not permanently.

Somehow, its magics had kept her conscious even as her heart stopped, as she flailed and tried to scream for Nesta to save her, only hearing the slight reverberations in those murky depths.

Nobody was coming for her. Nobody could come for her. Surely, if Feyre and her companions could make no move to stop the guards from throwing her in, they wouldn’t be able to rescue her from this hell.

She closed her eyes, and curled into a ball, trying desperately to warm herself and shield herself from the pain wracking through her limbs. But it was so endlessly cold, and she could feel her own joints cracking as her fingers elongated, feel the cartilage of her ears molding itself into a familiar, pointed shape. And her heart began to beat once more.

No. No.

She clenched her hands into fists, not wanting to lose her ring in these depths. Feyre had told her that the iron couldn’t burn her, but she almost wished it would. Let it end her, end this existence.

She waited like that, lost in the dark, teetering on the edge of consciousness for ages before she felt herself begin to surface. There—a pinprick of rippling light was growing stronger by the second until she felt herself not emerging from the surface of the water but being dumped onto an equally freezing stone floor, soaked and shivering.

And then that red-headed male—Lucien—had given her his coat and said that word which meant nothing to her at the time.

And she’d seen another lying blood-slicked on the floor, wings shredded.

And yet another male who would certainly die from the ash arrow embedded in his chest.

And—

Elain!

A pause.

Elain! Azriel was screaming her name through the shadows.

Yes? She realized that she’d completely zoned out, and found herself in the middle of some speech Jurian was giving about how he wasn’t truly their enemy and had only played the part after five hundred years of torture in order to undermine the evil king. And that there would be another attack on Summer tomorrow.

She just stood, locking eyes with Graysen and trying to calm her body.

See me. See me. See me. Nothing has changed. Not on the inside. She knew Graysen wouldn’t be able to magically hear her. He had none in his blood, but she hoped the desperation and longing would be conveyed in her eyes—that he could realize that for himself. Choose her again.

Where did you go? Azriel asked.

I … I … I don’t want to talk about it. She was biting back tears.

Okay. That’s alright. Just, if you ever need to talk about that night ...

How did he know? Oh, it must be obvious—must be written on her face. And he wasn’t a spymaster for nothing. His shadows were likely whispering all about her terror to him.

Now she understood why he was always so reserved about telling her about his childhood. If it was even a fraction as miserable as this—and she suspected his story was far worse—she may never be able to voice it. Right now she just wished to back home, the home she could easily run to from this estate and crawl into her bed. Perhaps she wouldn’t ever leave it again. The servants would think her odd, but if she could ask Mor to upkeep the glamour, they’d never have to know. Everything could be normal again.

We need to move the legion. I’m going to return to Cassian. Stay safe, and guard your heart. Remember that you deserve better than someone who will judge you so superficially. You deserve better than being locked up in here.

Why was he saying all this to her? This was to be her home. Graysen still loved her. He’d called her a liar, but that had just been in a moment of shock. And she had been lying to him with every breath. She deserved the reprimand.

Why?

She was genuinely confused, but Azriel had already begun fading, a pained expression on his face.

Jurian gave an explanation about how the queens had sold Vassa off to an old death-lord, and Mor simply confirmed that they were already aware of the situation.

What she didn’t mention was that Lucien had already gone off in search of the lost queen.

Elain couldn’t stay silent any longer, this staring match with Graysen taking its toll on her.

“I did not mean to deceive you,” she whispered.

“I find I have trouble believing that,” Lord Nolan answered.

Her eyes hovered on the bob of Graysen’s throat as he swallowed before asking her, “Did you think you could come back here—live with me as this ... lie?”

Not as a lie.

“No. Yes. I—I don’t know what I wanted—” Except him. She just wanted him. Please. Please let him want her back still.

“And you are bound to some … Fae male. A High Lord’s son.”

Why did everyone think the mating bond was so important? It did not define her. She and Lucien would never be together. She still had a choice in the matter.

“His name is Lucien.” She wasn’t sure why she’d told him, why it even mattered that he know.

But he interrupted, sharply, before she could continue. “I don’t care what his name is. You are his mate. Do you even know what that means?”

She doubted Graysen even truly knew what it meant.

“It means nothing. It means nothing. I don’t care who decided it or why they did—” She was choking back sobs now, and any second, she was going to break if he wasn’t able to look past the surface.

“You belong to him.”

“I belong to no one. But my heart belongs to you.” She was not some doll, to be the property of these men, these males.

At that, Graysen’s face became an unreadable mask. “I don’t want it.”

And something fractured deep inside her, some vital piece of herself she might never be able to recover.

She’d always expected that Graysen would take her back no matter what, that he loved her enough to see her through the new body. And she wasn’t even wearing that skin right now.

Feyre stepped up to Graysen, forcing Elain behind her, so she couldn’t stare into his now-hate-filled eyes anymore. “Here is what is going to happen. You are going to take in any people who can make it here. We will supply these walls with wards.”

Elain wasn’t sure she was still breathing, the pain in her chest too visceral for her to be able to draw breath.

“We don’t need them,” Lord Nolan protested.

“Shall I demonstrate for you how wrong you are? Or shall you take my word for it that I could reduce this wall to rubble with half a thought? And that is to say nothing of my friends. You will find, Lord Nolan, that you want our wards, and our help. All in exchange for taking in whatever humans need the safety.”

She knew her sister was now forcing the issue in order to save her, to get them out as quickly as possible, yet still, she didn’t want to leave.

“I don’t want riffraff wandering through here.”

“So only the rich and chosen will walk through the gates? I can’t imagine the aristocracy being content to work your land and fish in your lake or butcher your meat.” Her sister’s mate was practically scowling at her future father-in-law.

“We have plenty of workers here to do that.”

Yet somehow Jurian, of all people, interjected, “I fought beside your ancestor. And he would be ashamed if you locked out those who needed it. You would spit on his grave to do so. I hold a position of trust with Hybern. One word from me, and I will make sure his legion takes a visit here. To you.”

“You’ll threaten to bring the very enemy you seek to protect us from?”

“I can also convince Hybern to steer clear. He trusts me that much. You let in those people … I will do my best to keep his armies far away.” The man just shrugged.

“I do not pretend to have a large army. Only a considerable unit of soldiers. If what you say is true … We will take them. Whoever can make it,” Lord Nolan finally conceded.

Thank the Mother. At least one thing had gone right today.

Graysen was glaring her once more. “Take that ring off,” he snapped.

She wouldn’t make it this easy for him. She would keep fighting. Just as she had in those lifeless depths, she curled her fingers into a fist, refusing to part with it.

“No.”

“Take. It. Off.”

She could barely hear Lord Nolan warning Graysen to back off before he was screaming at her, the words echoing off the too-narrow stone walls.

“Take it off!” He was seething, no love in his eyes anymore.

What had she done in the past five minutes to pull this reaction out of him? He’d looked so hopeful, as lost as she was, when he’d entered the room. And now he wanted nothing to do with her. She’d apologized for deceiving him, but the fib was such a small one compared to the fate of the world hanging in the balance.

“That’s enough,” Rhysand cut in. She could hear the protective lethalness in his tone as he tried to help shield her from her lover. “The lady keeps the ring, if she wants it. Though none of us will be particularly sad to see it go. Females tend to prefer gold or silver to iron.”

“Is this the start of it? You Fae males will come to take our women? Are your own not fuckable enough?”

Nobody had taken her. Hadn’t Rhysand been introduced as Feyre’s husband? And he was the only male still among them. She’d told them Lucien was insignificant, and the thought … the thought that Graysen just assumed she was sleeping with a male while she was still engaged to him, was enough to make her blanch.

“Watch your tongue, boy.” Gods, even Lord Nolan was being kinder to her than her betrothed.

Graysen just turned back to her and hissed, “I am not marrying you. Our engagement is over. I will take whatever people occupy your lands. But not you. Never you.”

She couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down her face now. No. It couldn’t be over. Not truly.

Elain hadn’t even noticed Nesta approaching until her eldest sister was right in front of Graysen and smacked him hard enough to jerk his head to the side.

“You never deserved her,” she growled at her ex-fiance, now doubled-over in pain.

The words echoed through Elain, deep into her very core. Az had told her something so similar only moments before he’d disappeared.

He had known. Somehow he had seen this within Graysen and known what would happen. He’d tried to protect her from the heartbreak in the only way he knew how, but she’d ignored his advice completely. What a fool she was.

Was she the only one who didn’t see it? Or did he only have the premonition because of the shadows which she’d swatted away who’d tried to speak to her, distract her, the moment Graysen stepped foot in the room.

She’d intentionally decided not to try to call visions of their meeting beforehand, wanting to meet Graysen full of love and joy and no preconceived notions of how he might be feeling. She hadn’t even scryed him since the wall came down and it became a possibility, knowing that he wouldn’t have appreciated the breach of privacy.

“I assume we’re done here,” Nesta continued, the malice still palpable in her voice.

At a nod from Feyre, Nesta led Elain and Mor out of the guardhouse and into the openness of the field in front of the gates.

Mor, guarded their backs, making sure none of the soldiers or hounds touched a hair on their heads as Lord Nolan and Graysen wordlessly rode back to the manor.

Elain did her best to hold it together as they waited in silence for Feyre to finish with Jurian. Mor just rested a comforting hand on her shoulder while Nesta glared at the backs of the two men, fading into the distance.

A few minutes passed before they were winnowed to the new war camp, situated with only their few tents and awaiting Cassian and the rest of the Illyrian army.

Her sister wordlessly led her to the tent she’d be sharing with Nesta, conveniently wedged between Az’s and Cassian’s—whenever they showed up. She assured her that she would be infinitely safe, nobody would be able to approach their tent without the two males being aware.

Elain had just nodded, unable to stop the river of tears now leaking out of her eyes and collapsing on the cot closest to Azriel’s tent. Her sisters periodically came to check on her, but she never responded. She just stared at the canvas of the tent walls, pretending not to notice their concerned glances at the ring she couldn’t make herself take off her finger.

Az had even sent a few probing shadows, but she was way too embarrassed by how she’d so naively neglected to consider his words—the fact that she had been so convinced Graysen would still love her and marry her—that she’d failed to let her friend protect her.

How was she supposed to ever find love with this mating bond hovering over her head? Was it even possible for anyone to love her with that knowledge? Or would men constantly fear her leaving them for someone she didn’t even know or love. Just because this damned Cauldron thought they should be together?

The thoughts clanged around her head as she mourned Graysen, mourned the final piece of hope that she’d latched onto about returning to her normal life, mourned for the girl she’d once been, before she’d been torn from her happiness.

She would never be able to smile again. It was as if a vital piece of her was missing now, and she would never be whole again.

She’d heard the battling going on, but it had been so intense, Az’s shadows so completely caught up in the fighting that she hadn’t gotten to check on how it was going. They’d either win or they’d all perish, and that wasn’t sounding like the most terrible outcome to her right now.

It’s not like she would be useful anyways or could even lift herself off her mattress. All the will to survive, to thrive had completely abandoned her. She was aware that she was wasting away, coated in tears, but it didn’t matter to her anymore. What use was physical attractiveness anyways when the love of your life couldn’t look past it to see the beauty within?

Long after the sounds of fighting had fled the battlefield, Mor came for her, tucking her into her arms with a murmur of encouragement before winnowing her to wherever their next camp awaited.

When they arrived, she found her tent looking exactly how she’d left it minutes ago and sank back into the gloom of her cot, sometimes feigning sleep when Nesta periodically came in to check on her.

It was easier that way. Though Nesta might not be the most versed in comforting and wanting to discuss what ailed them, she knew eventually her sister would cave and try to get Elain to open up. Which is exactly what Elain never ever desired to do.

She’d felt a shadow peek in earlier after the battle as well, but none of them had seemed to follow her to this new camp. Perhaps he was out scouting for clues as to where Hybern would attack next. 

Whatever. She knew he’d pry as well, and if he did, she might actually yield. So good that he was off, distracted from the trainwreck which had become her life over the past couple of days.

Elain?

It had been three days since they’d moved camps. Three days of crying in this cot, in this tent.

Yes, Az?

She supposed she owed it to him to answer. He’d picked up her need to be alone and not bothered her since the evening after Graysen had shattered her heart.

This isn’t easy for me to ask, but can you please scry the Cauldron again?

You still can’t find his armies?

Not a trace of them. I’ve been gone for days now, personally searching. It seems they are completely shielded from magical means of gathering information. My scouts and I have been having to manually sweep the continent. Perhaps...perhaps now that your powers have grown stronger, you’ll be able to see it.

And what if I can’t?

Then you take care of yourself. Stop when you feel like you’re hitting the bottom of your well of power and let Feyre or Rhys know. Give them firm confirmation that there’s no way for you to track what they seek, and tell them to leave the rest to me. This is my job … I just … If there’s any way …

Understood. I’ll begin shortly.

Please let me know when you’re finished. Either way it turns out, just fill me in. It’ll help me decide what to do next, if I need to order some fresh scouting troops again or not.

Will do.

Thank you, El. I’ll leave this here for you. Tell me the second it’s done.

The shadow hovered next to her, until she beckoned it closer, allowing it to rest upon her shoulders.

Okay, she could do this. She closed her eyes and focused. It was almost like meditating.

She pulled up images of the Cauldron and the King of Hybern from memory, willing her mind out into the world, searching for them.

For hours, she sat in the silence, until she could feel herself flagging. The Cauldron simply appeared to be … nowhere. She must not have been connected to it as much as Azriel thought. It had simply transformed her and sent her on her way because this was even more difficult than searching for images through a High Lord’s wards.

Anytime she felt herself possibly closing in, her mind muddied, and forced her to redirect her efforts.

She supposed she should stop now. Az had made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t to push herself, but what if she was able to finally make a break through if she kept up her efforts? Even if she passed out and the information would be delayed, it would be worth it.

And if she passed out … The last time she’d overworked herself, she’d fallen asleep in the late afternoon and awoken dreamlessly late the next morning. The burnout had sapped so much strength that her body had essentially shut down most other functions while it healed. And if she could sleep without dreaming …

It would be worth it. Though she hadn’t left her bed in days, her sleep had been restless, plagued with nightmares of that day—plagued with impossible dreams where he offered to take her back, which just made waking up all the more difficult.

She strained her mind, pushing outward as far as she could, with every fiber of her being, until she could feel her mental resolve leaving her.

As she began to feel the fade into unconsciousness, she had enough sense to try to send Az his message, so he wouldn’t be any the wiser to her plan. But all she managed was, Az, I didn’t—before slumber overtook her.

Chapter Text

“Elain?”

She struggled to open her eyes, as she tried to pull herself out of the murky gloom she was submerged in.

“I brought you lunch. You missed dinner last night and breakfast this morning. Your sister wanted me to check on you and make sure you were eating, so …” Nuala’s voice trailed off awkwardly as Elain finally began to focus on the willowy wraith.

Elain slowly managed to sit up in bed, her head throbbing from the blatant overuse of her powers. She’d likely need to take another nap shortly, but perhaps the food would help soothe the ache a bit.

“Thank you. Sorry I haven’t been around lately. I just …”

“No need.” Nuala cut her off. “These have been troubling times. If you need a break from the rest of the world, I take no personal offense to you stepping away. Just … Try to remember to take care of yourself. I’ll be next door if you need anything else.”

The wraith turned to slip through the fluttering tent flap before quickly remembering something.

“Oh. I was also instructed to give this to you.” A wispy tendril floated off her hand toward Elain, and Elain did everything in her power not to visibly cringe.

Now that she was finally taking note of her surroundings, she noticed several shadows—more than just the usual few—flying around her.

Shit.

He knew what she had done.

And judging by all the failed messages he’d sent last night and the fact that he’d felt the need to leave one with Nuala, he was going to be pissed as hell at her.

Nuala clearly had some inkling about what this was about because she made sure to be completely vanished by the time the shadow reached her ear.

How could you do that to yourself? We’ve practiced enough times since your burnout that I am well aware that you can decipher the signs of an impending one yourself. You barely even had enough time to shoot off a half-baked message to me. Was that only because you panicked? Because you knew that I would be livid about this? Is one measly little shit of a boy really enough to make you so reckless?

She could feel him practically seething behind the words. And she knew that the longer she delayed him, the more time he’d have to stew in his hatred of her. Still, it was difficult to find the right words to say.

I just … didn’t want to be awake anymore.

The admission made even her cringe. It sounded melodramatic and depressing and … like she’d fallen right back into that pit she’d been in once the shock of her transformation had worn off. Like that admission she’d given him last week after the High Lord’s meeting.

Nope. I’m not willing to accept that excuse, Elain. That’s not healthy. Listen, I spent the first eleven years of my life locked in a lightless cell. That’s how I earned these shadows. Eleven years of being a child and not knowing what it was like to live in the light. I was starving and cramped and wallowing in my own filth. I know. I know what it feels like. Not having any hope. I didn’t even know the meaning of the word until I met my brothers and Mor.

His response was immediate, as if he’d been waiting with baited breath. Nuala had likely informed him that she was up.

And holy gods. Locked. In a cell. For most of his childhood. Is that where he’d gotten those scars?

We were in love. I saw how he was looking at me when he entered the room. He still wanted to be with me, but this—this body and the lies I was forced to tell—made him hate me! He didn’t mean it. Surely, he was just overreacting. Maybe, if it were just me …

He’s not in love with you, El. He doesn’t deserve you. I could tell that his heart was hardened the moment he opened his mouth. I didn’t see how it ended, but I … heard enough. You shouldn’t put up with being treated so abysmally. You’re worth more than that. It’ll be rough for awhile, but you need to try to move on.

The icy rage in his voice was unmistakable.

I don’t want to move on. How … How would I even do that? I gave him everything, Az—everything—and he shattered my heart into a million little pieces. I’ll never be over that.

I’m not sure, actually. But you have centuries ahead of you now. Maybe every day or every week or every month the sting will lessen a bit, until it’s faint enough that you don’t feel it anymore.

In ten seconds, the switch had been flipped straight from anger to quiet confusion, and perhaps a little bit of heartbreak.

So you are in love with her.

It wasn’t really a question. Elain had observed the shadowsinger’s cautious eyes on Morrigan when he thought no one else was watching. She was close enough friends with him now to note small changes in his mood when the other female was around.

But that begged the question—Why hadn’t he asked her to be something more?

And here he was trying to coach her on her utter failure of a relationship.

It’s that obvious?

To me, at least. I mean, I won’t tell anyone, but I see the way you look at her. I may also have some shadowy friends who like to gossip, though I’ve told them off for it. I promise. How long have you been in love with her?

It took him quite a while to respond to her, as if he was now shying away from this conversation he had initiated in the first place.

Since I was seventeen …

And you’ve told her this?

No. I mean, I think she knows. She’s just not ready. When she wants to bring it up, I’ll let her. I tried to tell her once, and she … walked away from me.

She could practically hear the wince as this wounded predator was laying his heart before her.

Then how is this much different from what I have with Graysen? He may come around eventually. He was just shocked. Maybe after all this war is over, we can try again—when the world isn’t stressfully trying to kill us all.

This is infinitely different than what you have with Graysen. Mor is caring and vibrant and kind-hearted. Graysen is a snake. I’m sure you willfully chose to ignore what those shadows were spitting when we sat in that room, El, but I didn’t. His heart is like ice, and he’s too bigoted to ever truly accept you now. And I think you know that. Deep down. How could you ever want to be with someone like him anymore? Maybe he would’ve been a good husband to you as a human, but I still doubt that. I think there’s a lot more under the surface that you’ve been happy to overlook in the sake of this feeling you think is love.

There was little kindness in his voice. Perhaps her assumption about their situations was rather bold, but he’d just taken it a step too far.

Don’t you talk to me about love. Five centuries of moping after the same female, and you think you know what love is? You fell in what you call love at a younger age than I was when I met Graysen, and you still can’t let go of it even though it’s clearly never going to work out. Why hasn’t she ever approached you? Sure, Mor’s intimidating as hell, but she’s a wonderful person. She treats even me with more hospitality than any of the others do. So if she’s definitely going to fall in love with you one day, why hasn’t she? You don’t get to lecture me until you take a damn good look in the mirror, Azriel.

Elain was seething now, her head absolutely killing her. And those words. They were bitter and cruel and more wicked than anything she ever imagined she was capable of. They weren’t untrue, necessarily, but in the frenzy, she’d perhaps overstepped her bounds.

She needed to be alone, to think. She wasn’t ready to have this sort of conversation while her heart was hurting so terribly. She was just pushing away one of her only friends, and he’d only been trying to help her.

Silence.

I’m sorry. That’s none of my business, she added after a minute with no reply.

Mmm. It’s fine.

It most certainly was not fine. His voice was cracking as if he’d just broken down on the other side of these shadows, in whatever scouting camp he was holed up in.

Az, I—

I’m going to recall my shadows now. I’ll leave you this one for emergencies, but I’ve got a busy afternoon. Now that you’ve gotten my message, the others serve no more purpose there. And perhaps they’ll actually find something today. Who knows? It’s not like I’ve got any other choice.

His tone was hollow, the words clipped. And that last bit, a slight jab at her inability to procure a vision of the Cauldron.

Elain’s stomach suddenly turned, the small amount of food she’d managed before she’d messed everything up turning to lead within it.

She knew any response she could give him would go unanswered. He’d clearly signaled that the conversation was over. And she wasn’t willing to accidentally let go of this small piece he’d left behind, afraid that if she handed the shadow over to him now, he may never give it back.

So she called Nuala in, had her clear away the tray and let Feyre know that she’d been doing all she could to find Hybern’s armies, to no avail. And then she sunk back into her cot, willing the shadow to snuggle onto her chest and wept once more for all that she’d lost in this abysmal week.

Her shadow friend was twitching, itching to join the battle with its master, but still it remained with her.

She’d heard through its ears that Azriel had returned last night, looking haggard and out of breath as he announced that he’d finally located a mass of Hybern’s troops.

He hadn’t bothered to check in on her himself or give her any indication that he was back.

They’d forced her to move camps this morning with the rest of the army, and she could hear the melee in the distance now. And from the squeals and gasps coming from outside her tent, she didn’t think it was going particularly well.

Elain heard Feyre command Mor to go down to the battlefield, that Cassian and Azriel needed her. She didn’t want to know what that meant, and didn’t really have time to ponder it for long before she heard footsteps fast approaching her tent and knew that her sister had come to ask something of her.

Little did she know that Elain had nothing of value to give. She was a mess—a useless mess who couldn’t even do the one thing her powers should allow which could give them an advantage in this war.

She had no one. She was nothing.

Feyre didn’t even skip a beat when Elain refused to even look away from the bland, canvas ceiling.

“I need you to find something for me.”

Oh, but haven’t you heard? I’m terrible at that right now, she thought, but she still couldn’t voice the words aloud.

Something sopping wet was laid on her legs, causing with her jerk upright.

It was a map—of Prythian.

“It’s called the Suriel—it’s one of many who bear that name. But … but it looks like this,” her sister barrelled on, grabbing one of her hands. “May I show it to you?”

Elain just stared at her, considering. At least Feyre was asking now.

All of a sudden, what appeared to be large black blood stains appeared in droves on Feyre’s leathers. No, this was not real. What kind of vision was this? Blood wasn’t even that color. But at least it didn’t seem to be to any detriment to Feyre.

She simply focused past the stains, pushing it far back into the recesses of her mind as she tried to refocus on what her sister was saying to her.

“... mind. So you know where to look.”

“I don’t know how to look,” she muttered back. Surely this was just another failure waiting to happen, so she didn’t want to get Feyre’s hopes up for nothing.

“You can try.”

Elain simply regarded her sister and the map and figured that it was the least she could do right now. Clearly, the battle was going poorly, and perhaps finding this Suriel could turn the tides.

She nodded demurely, wondering what it would feel like for her sister to enter her mind, what things she might see. Could she hide her thoughts? Would Feyre even go so far as to disturb them, try to view the multitude of visions she had lingering at the edge of her consciousness at all times these days?

She was shaken from those thoughts as a skinless, weathered bone face suddenly appeared in her mind. It was disgusting, covered in a tattered black cloak, with elongated teeth and lifeless, milky eyes. 

Her sister was messing with forces better left alone. Anything which looked that corpse-like and could still survive had to be bad news.

She shivered as the vision faded of its own accord, and she felted Feyre recede from her mind. Still, the image of that Suriel—whatever it truly was—would haunt her nightmares for the foreseeable future.

“Why?” she breathed.

“It has answers I need. Immediately.”

Elain sighed, looking down at the map, memorizing the land, then looked back up at her sister before shutting her eyes.

Where are you? Where are you? 

Dozens of images popped up of flashes of black streaks as this otherworldly being raced across Prythian. Too fast. She’d found it, but it was going much too quickly for her to be able to pinpoint its location.

“It moves … It moves through the world like … like the breath of the western wind,” she whispered. An ephemeral being, nearly impossible to pin down.

“Where is it headed?”

Elain tried to get ahead of it, stretching out with her mind. 

Where are you going? What do you seek?

And there—a gigantic, bald mountain, as unmistakable as the one in the central region of the map Feyre had just shown her.

Her body was so incredibly heavy now. Two visions within minutes of each other were still a lot for her body to try to handle.

She opened her eyes, measuredly lowering her hand to the middle of the map.

“There. It is going there. Now.” The words were breathy as she tried to keep her voice steady.

Her sister merely vanished without another word, face gaunt as it drained itself of blood. Whatever business she had with this monster obviously couldn’t wait, not even for the pleasantries of thanking Elain for her services. The services which had her prostrate again already, eyes closed as if she could shut the headaches off with the simple action.

Little flits of information were whispered into her ears as she struggled to find the sweet release of unconsciousness in the wake of her migraine.

The battle is over. Our master’s side won, but only barely.

The winged commander is gravely injured. He disobeyed orders and got gutted by the enemy forces. His friends all circle him in worry. The shadowsinger is particularly distressed by the injury. He had to hold his friend together until the healers could look at him.

The viper is fretting on the outskirts. She fears she does not know her place when it comes to him and his friends. Particularly the brilliant one who does such a good job at provoking her.

The brilliant one is deeply upset at the High Lady. She was deceived. She was tricked into leaving the High Lady’s side so she could sneak away. The High Lady has made high accusations of her. Brought up unwanted feelings and questions things the brilliant one would rather keep hidden.

The creature has arrived to help the viper determine the location of the Cauldron. The High Lady has figured out a method of scrying it. They are attempting it now.

She didn’t care. She didn’t care. She didn’t care.

Of course Feyre and Nesta had managed to work together to find a solution to the problem Elain had tried to solve multiple times over the past few weeks. Just perfect.

The sun was beginning to set, and the throbbing in Elain’s head had finally subsided enough that she was able to turn over and find slumber at last.

“Elain?” The hushed voice was urgent, as if not wanting to get caught.

“Elain?” As the sleepy fog over her mind began to clear, she realized that she recognized that voice.

Graysen.

What was he doing here?

She glanced quickly around her tent. Nesta had not yet come to bed so there was no fear of waking her as Elain slipped on her cloak and tiptoed out of the tent.

Luckily, the general rabble of the war camp had died down already. It must’ve been the middle of the night.

And there she spotted him, just past the edge of the camp borders, where her Rhysand’s protective wards had likely kept him out, prevented him from coming any further to find her.

Which must be why he was calling to her so boldly, even knowing that the others who despised him were so close by. He had no other choice for trying to grab her attention.

They even seemed to trust these wards so thoroughly that there weren’t any guards posted. How lucky for her and for Graysen.

She worked her way over to him, the midnight air chilled even though they were still in the middle of summer.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed.

“The moment you left the estate, I knew I’d made a grave mistake. I’d let my father’s prejudices blind me, Elain. And I’m so, so sorry.” His eyes looked pained, as if he was unsure whether or not she’d truly take him back.

“I’ve been riding day and night, like a madman, trying to find you. With the wall down, it wasn’t that difficult for me to find my way into Prythian, but I’ve been having to try to pick up any hints of where the battling has been taking place. I knew I’d find you there, with the rest of your family.”

“Graysen, the things you said …” she whispered, fingering the ring still encircling her finger. Yes, this is what she’d been praying for, but she needed more from him. How could she know that he wasn’t going to hurt her again?

“Please, Elain. It was a lapse of judgment. I was just so on edge with all those Fae in a room—I’ve never seen one in real life before—and when you lied to me, I just lost it. You’re the only one for me. You’re going to be my wife, and I truly cannot wait to marry you. If you’ll take me back, we can go home. Pretend this never happened. We can get married next month, next week, even the day we arrive if you want. I’m begging you.”

She took a few hesitant steps toward him.

“You know I’ll love you no matter what form you wear, but I think there’s a way to … to change you back. If that’s something you want. If not, we’ll work through it.”

To shred this immortal form. To not have to deal with the visions. To be back in the arms of the man she loved. 

Yes, this was worth it.

She’d have to write to the others once she was home because she knew that if she woke any of them to tell them of her plans, they’d try to stop her. They’d try to keep their family together, even if it was against her will.

“Oh, Graysen,” she cried, perhaps a little too loudly as she ran out of the camp and into his arms, and they vanished. Which was strange because she was the only one of the two of them who had magic, and she had never winnowed before.

She was still reeling from the realization that perhaps she had discovered this power just in time to escape with her betrothed when she found herself awakening, as if from slumber in an unfamiliar tent, this one containing not her belongings … but the Cauldron.

Shit. She scrambled back to the far corners of the tent, desperate to put as much distance as she could between herself and the object of her nightmares.

Where was Graysen? Why didn’t he winnow with her? And why did she bring herself here? How did she bring herself here?

As she was frantically trying to figure this all out, the tent flap was brushed aside as two hated faces came for her.

All she could do was cower in the back of the tent, desperately trying to call on that power again.

Get me out of here. But there were none of his shadows here to carry the message.

“What’s this?” the King of Hybern crooned at her, something like shock flashing in his eyes. It was there and gone again in a heartbeat, but there was no mistaking it. Whatever the Cauldron had done to Elain, it hadn’t been on the king’s orders.

“The Cauldron was practically spitting and hissing when your witch of a sister tried to pull on its bond earlier. It wanted to take something of hers, and wouldn’t you know it? Now we have her beloved sister in our grasp.”

Her mind was still reeling as she began to sob.

No. It couldn’t be true. It had felt so real. She had been so sure he’d just made a mistake, and her life would go back to normal. But of course she wasn’t so lucky.

Jurian took a few steps in her direction, and Elain tried to scoot even further backwards. But her back was already hard-pressed into the canvas at the far side.

The liege turned back to look at his master, and the king merely nodded. “Restrain her. I need some time to decide exactly how best to use her to torment the High Lady of Night.”

With that the king turned on his heel and exited the tent, and Jurian returned his attention to her.

“No. No. Please,” she pleaded. He was on their side. He’d betrayed the king to them the other day. Surely, he wouldn’t let them harm her, to enact whatever unthinkable plan the king was preparing for.

“Sorry, girl. It’ll be easier this way.” He opened his clenched fist, and Elain beheld a small mound of bluish powder heaped there before he blew it in directly in her face. She choked on the dust as she felt all her power leaving her body, as if she’d been turned mortal once again.

She barely had time to think about how fitting that was given how she’d gotten here before her vision faded, and Elain lost consciousness completely.

Chapter Text

Something is not right.

And indeed, it did seem as if his own shadows were almost cringing, as he sat perched atop a tree, keeping watch of the camp’s western border. The wind was whipping around him restlessly as if fleeing from something as well.

In the murky hours before dawn, there was no light to be causing his shadows to flee, no Mor in his presence to banish them. 

In fact, he’d truly been thinking about all Elain had said the other evening. He probably didn’t stand a chance in hell. She was right, but why was that so hard to accept?

After almost six centuries with no encouragement, it should be easy for him to detach himself from her, but he’d still never met anyone who compared to her. No one who took away all his problems with ease, just by being in her presence. No one so warm and loving.

Sure, he’d been with other females—he had needs—but never in a relationship. He sought out only those whom his shadows informed him would be detached enough from the physical act not to seek him out and expect anything more from him.

What is it? he probed of a passing tendril.

We … cannot sense its source.

Just like in the Dawn Court, when the Cauldron was being activated.

Nesta. Nesta might be able to sense what this strange sensation was. So he stepped into a shadow, and emerged in the middle of the campsite.

“What is that,” he hissed at the assembled group of Rhys, Feyre, Amren, Varian, and Nesta.

Feyre lifted her brows in shock. “You hear it?”

He merely shook his head. “No—but the shadows, the wind … They recoil.”

“I think it’s leaving.” Her words were hushed, as if she thought that if she voiced her hopes too loudly, they may not come to pass.

Cassian ambled into their circle, one hand clutching his chest. He still was in no shape to be moving about, so the fact that he seemed inclined to join them was daunting. Mor was hot on his heels, probably having tried and failed to convince him not to leave his sickbed.

Rhys quickly explained to them that the Cauldron’s power had flung itself into their camp, and was looking at them, as Nesta had looked at it earlier when she scryed its location. Interesting.

“Hybern knows where we are by now. The Cauldron likely wanted to have a look for itself. After we taunted it,” Amren sighed.

Feyre scrubbed at her face in exhaustion and exasperation. “Let’s pray that’s the last we see of it.”

Varian was still wearing an expression of utter confusion. “So you three … because you were Made, you can hear it? Sense it?” he asked.

But … There were four who had been made. In the panic to figure out what had been happening, he’d totally missed the fact that the middle Archeron sister was absent. She hadn’t left her tent voluntarily in days, so it wasn’t completely unexpected …

But even Az had been shaken to the core from the panic of his shadows. Her own connection to the Cauldron and the tendril he’d left in her care should’ve been more than enough to rouse her from her slumbers and actually make her curious enough to emerge.

Elain, are you awake?

No response.

I don’t care if you’re upset with me. I need to know that you’re alright. Now.

“It would appear so,” Amren replied, the desire in her voice rather transparent. He had no doubt that they’d be retreating back to her tent to finish their business.

But …

“What about Elain?” he asked gently.

Please let them tell him she’d already poked her head out and decided it wasn’t worth getting worked up over. This was the one time he truly hoped her depression had won out over her desire to interact with the world. Because that would mean she’d still be safe in that tent. That would mean …

But Nesta just stared blankly at him like a frightened deer, and he knew. He knew.

Shit.

Nesta sprinted to their shared tent, Feyre hot on her trail, and Azriel not far behind her.

“Elain—” Nesta gasped as she slammed open the tent flap.

She froze, Feyre crashing into her as she didn’t have enough time to slow herself on the muddy ground.

He could see Nesta fall to her knees as she fruitlessly threw blankets from Elain’s cot across the tent. Where exactly in that sad mess of fabric she expected to find her sister, he could not fathom.

“Elain!” she cried, broken in a way Azriel had never seen before.

He put on a mask of calm—the sisters couldn’t see the worry which was pulsing through him with every ratcheting beat of his heart. It would only cause them more distress. And this was where he excelled. He needed to see the inside of the tent for himself.

He cursed the small opening for this tent clearly not made for an Illyrian, but he could only tuck his wings in as tightly as possible and squeeze his way through.

Cauldron. This was much too small for two people to be sleeping in, even if they were petite females. The close-pressed tent walls were already crowding him, taking him back to that cell ...

No. He’d escaped. He’d earned his freedom and it had been centuries. He needed to relax, take a few deep breaths.

Nesta’s snarl as he entered her territory brought him back to the task at hand. Right. He had to find Elain.

He reached out with a hand, stroking the disheveled blankets which still strongly held her rose and begonia scent, and …

“They’re still warm.”

This had happened very recently … But if the Cauldron had receded, it meant it had probably taken her and run as soon as its prey had succumb. Where was she?

El? Please be okay. Did the Cauldron take you to Hybern’s camp?

He knew it was likely in vain, but he had to try to send her messages. Perhaps, at any moment, one would find her, and he could at least ensure her safety. He was fairly certain he knew where she was, but any other information he could glean could only aid in her rescue. 

And Azriel was going to rescue her.

He could hear Cassian shouting orders, causing the camp to stir as they prepared for the unknown.

“The Cauldron. The Cauldron was fading away—going somewhere—” Feyre whispered in shock.

He silently followed the other two Archeron sisters who led the way intently to the eastern edge of the camp, right to a thicket of trees just past the boundary of their wards.

The Cauldron must have lured her here somehow, because even before Nesta let out a strangled sob, he spotted Elain’s tell-tale blue cloak in the mud. Perhaps it had simply fallen off. Perhaps the Cauldron had been so intent on quickly making its exit before the others discovered Elain was missing. Either way, there would be hell to pay.

But how did it convince her to run away with it? Had it simply put her in a trance? Had it given her a vision? Had it controlled her mind and body, forcing her limbs to carry her to the edge of safety against her will?

He could only hope that he’d be able to ask her about it himself soon enough.

Az, Cassian, and the sisters retreated to Rhys and Feyre’s luxurious, spacious tent for a bit of privacy to plan their next move.

Nesta was catatonic, curling into herself as she sat, unmoving, with her head in her hands.

“We’ll get her back,” Cassian said rather hoarsely as he kept a wary eye on Nesta.

At that, Nesta finally raised her head, exposing her bloodshot eyes and wan lips.

She jabbed a finger at the spot the bones had encircled on the map earlier that evening.

“No, you will not. I saw that army. Its size, who is in it. I saw it, and there is no chance of any of you getting into its heart. Even you,” she stared Cassian down as he made to object. “Especially not when you’re injured.”

Nesta knew nothing of we Az’s particular skill set—what he could do—then.

Hybern indeed has the girl. We have spotted her being carried unconscious through his tent. They used faebane on her and have her gagged and bound. They are taking no risks where she is concerned.

So she is near the king?

His very own tent lies at the heart of the camp. He is mulling over what to do with her as he watches over their festivities. We do not know what he intends to do with her, as he has not settled on anything yet, but it will likely be unpleasant.

How many soldiers?

Thousands. All of which you will need to avoid in order to reach her.

Can I bypass his wards through the shadows?

Perhaps, but it’d be more prudent to walk through them. They are only keyed to keep others from entering via magical means.

Then ...

“I’m getting her back,” he growled aloud, all the rage leaking out of him.

He’d been lurking in the shadows near the exit of the tent, but now all three pairs of eyes suddenly turned toward him, as he remained wraith-like, absorbing the energy from the tenebrous aura around him.

“Then you will die,” Nesta told him sharply.

He could feel the blood in his veins freezing over as he fixed her in that stare. She would seriously leave her own beloved sister to whatever hideous fate the King of Hybern had planned for her. It was despicable. He had to do something.

“I’m getting her back.” He threw all the calculated malice and wrath he could into that sentence, those words echoing in his head as he tried to bite back the sheer terror threatening to overwhelm him.

He’d never met another friend quite like her, so intuitive and down-to-earth. Truth be told, Azriel had come to consider her one of his best friends over the past month. They didn’t have the history he had with his brothers and Mor, but that was all circumstantial. He felt a calling in his very soul recognizing her fully and knowing that she saw all that he was, and did not shy away from him.

Cauldron, she’d even turned his last fit of rage right back at him. He could tell she’d been frightened and had bitten like she was cornered, but she’d pulled on threads that ran straight to his core. Nobody else perceived these things about him, or if they did, they didn’t have the pure nerve to confront him about them.

He needed to apologize. For ignoring her these past couple of days.

It seemed trivial for him to be having such thoughts at a time like this, but he could not help the guilt which was now pouring over him.

It’s just that she had struck deep and true with her accusations. And he didn’t know how to cope with them. He knew he should logically give Mor up, but … He couldn’t just force himself to fall out of love with her. If he could, he probably would’ve years ago. He still craved her with every breath that filled his lungs. He was still taken aback every time he saw her and the shadows fled.

He’d just learned how not to let the heartbreak of not being with her cause him to sulk everyday. Elain would learn too, and perhaps they could go back to the same ease their friendship had usually settled into. Because he missed her.

But first, he needed to return her to them safe and sound.

Feyre, finally met his stare. “I’m going with you.”

At least he would not be alone. He nodded at his friend, grateful that she cared enough to accompany him.

“You’ll never get far enough into the camp,” Cassian protested. His brother at least should know his skills better, shouldn’t be siding with Nesta’s worries right now.

“I’m going to walk right in,” Feyre stated coolly.

Before he could ask what that even meant, she’d shape-shifted, and Az had to fight the urge to wince. Standing before him was a spot-on replica of Ianthe. And while he knew the bitch had perished at the hands of the Weaver, he couldn’t help recalling some of his more unpleasant memories from the past century.

“Shit,” Cassian loosed a breath as he took in Feyre’s transformation.

“They might already know she’s dead,” Nesta worried aloud as she rose from her seat.

“I need one of your siphons,” Feyre commanded Azriel.

He didn’t even question her as he held out his hand, willing one of the five currently not in use into his palm.

She didn’t hesitate to pluck it out of his hand and ask Cassian, “Where is the blacksmith,” before she kindly asked Az to go to the camp priestess to find her an extra set of her robes.

Az stalked off into the camp, glad no eyes were on him anymore. He was about to lose it. He kept reaching out with his shadows for Elain, but she must still be under the effects of the faebane because they always returned to him empty handed.

He knew they needed Feyre’s completed disguise in order for her ruse to work, but he was anxious to get going. Who knew how long the king’s musings would take? He could be torturing Elain right now, and they’d be none the wiser.

As he walked, he clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to focus all his restless energy on his hands.

Elain was still alive. They would march into the camp, and find her a bit weary but otherwise none the worse for wear. She would be alright.

He repeated this mantra to himself until he got to the priestess’ tent.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes, shadowsinger.”

“May I please have a spare set of your robes? Our High Lady is in need of them.”

“Ah, yes. Of course. I heard about her sister. Pity.”

The female ducked her head back inside, shuffling through her pack for a fresh set of robes.

“We aren’t going to stand for this.” Breathe in. Breathe out. Only a few more minutes.

“Well I certainly hope Miss Archeron is returned to us safely. I have been beseeching the Cauldron for her safe and expedient return,” the priestess said somberly as she pressed the clothing along with some jewelry he hadn’t requested but was grateful to receive into Az’s hands.

“I wouldn’t bother,” he snapped, perhaps a bit too harshly. “The bloody Cauldron is what stole her away from us in the first place.” He wasn’t in the mood to hear her try to placate him and take back the words she hadn’t known would cut him so deeply so he turned on his heels and made his way over to the blacksmith’s tent to check in on Feyre.

Luckily, it appeared the male was almost done recreating Ianthe’s trademark circlet, complete with his lended siphon as the jewel. 

Brilliant. The outfit wasn’t quite identical, yet it was a close enough match that it shouldn’t arouse suspicion as long as the news of Ianthe’s demise wasn’t too wide-spread.

He took a seat, whipping out Truth-Teller and making use of one of the grindstones in the forge to give his hands something else to do.

Might as well make sure it was in peak condition, though he already sharpened the blade daily. Cassian took a handful of other knives, sharpening them for Feyre’s armoury. She’d be wearing her leathers underneath the robes. And luckily they would be billowing enough for her to conceal whatever she wanted beneath them with little issue.

Rhys stalked in, worry lining every crease in his brother’s face as he approached his mate.

“He’ll sense your power,” she breathed, cutting him off before he could argue that he should be accompanying her on this mission.

“I know,” he rasped, completely at a loss for what else to do, and striding toward Feyre.

Az averted his gaze, trying to give the two a bit of privacy, but he couldn’t help overhearing the conversation they took no measure to hide.

“There are wards around the camp. You can’t winnow. You have to walk in—and out. Then you can make the jump back here.” Rhys informed her. “Ianthe sold out your sisters. It’s only fitting that you use her to get Elain back.”

Damn right. Ianthe had already gotten what was coming to her, the wicked snake, but this would be one more nail in her coffin.

“Do not get distracted. Do not linger. You are a warrior, and warriors know when to pick their fights,” he continued.

Az had a feeling that he’d still have to remind Feyre of this once they got to the camp. She felt too deeply, and there were atrocities going on in that camp which she would not be pleased about. He’d seen them torturing humans for sport through the eyes of his shadows only minutes ago.

“They took what is ours. And we do not allow those crimes to go unpunished.”

He could feel Rhys start to lose control of his grip over his power as he began to conclude his pep talk, knowing that once his mate left his side, there was no guarantee she was returning. At least Feyre was showing some mettle in being able to die for her sister along with Az if need be.

He would never forgive himself for this happening while he was on watch. Granted, he’d been on the opposite side of the camp, some Illyrian soldiers who’d been knocked unconscious supposed to be covering her exit point.

“You do not fear. You do not falter. You do not yield. You go in, you get her, and you come out again. Remember that you are a wolf. And you cannot be caged,” Rhys breathed.

Az turned back towards them after he heard Feyre begin to strap knives to herself. It was time.

Any news?

Nothing’s changed since last we spoke. The girl is conscious now but still not able to tap into her magic. She likely won’t be able to for hours, perhaps most of the day.

A day. A day without being able to communicate with her in the small silences. It would eat him alive. If they were both still around to go through the pain of the loss of their secret conversations.

Feyre donned the circlet, and instantly Az felt the tether between them. Interesting. It was as if her wearing his siphon had formed a bond between the two of them. He could sense her movements, and had a feeling that so long as she wore it, they would be connected in some mystical way.

He’d never handed a siphon over to anyone but another Illyrian in need before, but since Illyrians must override each others signatures, claiming the siphons as their own, Az had never experienced such a phenomenon.

He wondered if he could more easily pull her into his shadows, but the experimentation would have to wait for a later time, when so much wasn’t at stake.

She walked over to his side, and Rhys turned his attention to Az, his eyes pleading.

“You get them in and out again, shadowsinger.” This was no time for friendship. This moment was all about duty, and Az knew his. His High Lady came before all else, and Elain. He would gladly sacrifice himself for her—no—he’d make sure it wouldn’t be necessary. “I don’t care how many of them you have to kill to do it. They both come out.”

Az wholeheartedly agreed with him, giving him a somber nod. “I swear it, High Lord.”

Feyre determinedly took his hand as they glanced one last time at his friends. He felt Mor approaching the tent as well, but decided it was best to leave before the sight of her and the thought of never returning to her could shake his resolve.

He began stepping into the shadows just as she flew in, out of breath and gaping at them with an expression of undiluted fear.

And then they were gone.

Chapter Text

Azriel and Feyre touched down within the cloaking wards Hybern and the Cauldron had cast which prevented Elain from scrying their location. 

Brilliant really. An exemplary display of power which he would normally admire if it wasn’t working against them.

Nesta had been able to give him enough specifics about how wide the radius of protection was so that he could shadow-walk within its borders and avoid the nasty effects of the dispelling charm which would turn them away from the camp.

Standing atop a hill, he was able to see the veritable city of soldiers and tents spread beneath them, engulfing the valley.

Holy gods. He’d heard the report from Nesta, but it still gave him a bit of a shock to witness how vastly outnumbered they were with his own eyes.

Before anyone could spot the out-of-place shadowsinger in Ianthe’s presence, he cloaked himself in shadows, disappearing from their view once and for all.

Feyre readjusted her costume, not wanting a single piece to be out of place to accidentally give them away, and set off down the hill into the heart of Hybern’s camp.

The sight of his High Lady in this succubus’s skin was making his own crawl, but it seemed that Hybern truly hadn’t heard of Ianthe’s downfall yet.

Feyre held her head high and cast the disgusted guards sensual smiles, and they were let right in without a second glance or thought from those hideous males.

Az was fairly certain Feyre could also sense him on the other side of this intriguing bond between them. 

Try as she might to be casual and relaxed, to act like she owned this camp, she kept adjusting her position so that he wasn’t awkwardly riding in the shadow behind her, much to his chagrin.

They couldn’t see him, but she needed to disregard him completely. There would likely come a time where he needed to slip off and take care of something behind the scenes. And she would need to continue on as if nothing were amiss.

He and Feyre continued along the main avenue of the camp, passing soldiers practicing various levels of debauchery. 

At least, given all the fun they were having, those awake were barely paying attention to Feyre in the dim light radiating off of campfires and torches.

And the shadow-flecked pockets of the camp were doing wonders for Feyre’s glamour. There was little chance of anyone noticing the discrepancies in her costume at this hour. They’d just have to be in and out before the sun rose, which was an hour off yet—he hoped.

And Az had no intention of staying much longer. They were already nearing the center of the camp, and every fiber of his being was recoiling from this horrid place. All they had to do was grab Elain.

He’d try to pull her into the shadows with him. She was without magic, but perhaps his own and her natural affinity would prove enough for him to vanish her from sight as well.

The Cauldron was somewhere near that massive bonfire blazing ahead, which they were fast approaching, and the closer he got, the more his shadows became wily, difficult to control.

They remembered the last time he’d squared off with flame, and tried to flee from the pain they associated with its presence.

The cheers gradually started increasing in volume. It seemed that even at this late hour, the soldiers were celebrating rather than sleeping.

Human. They’ve captured a human girl and are torturing her for sport, shadowsinger. She is the last in their ritual of torture for the evening.

And indeed, he could sometimes make out piercing screams rising high above the ruckus. It was absolutely despicable, and if they had her anywhere near the fire … Her non-existent healing gifts would never be enough to save her.

Not that Hybern would do anything other than sacrifice her once their fun had been had. She wasn’t meant to last, just to entertain them through the night. He had no doubt they’d go hunting again the next evening to fetch prey for their midnight sport.

The High Lady is distressed. She remembers the other sacrifice, the one which wrongly took her place. Protecting the humans is vital to her.

Feyre froze, her face barely contorting, but it was enough. Enough that he had to steady her, remind her of who she was playing and what their purpose was tonight. In. Out. Safe.

He reached out, planting a shadow-hand firmly on her shoulder, reminding her of her place here. He could see the wheels turning in her head, but still she made no move to continue on as if nothing were wrong.

He moved to her side, now grabbing one of her hands in his own and pulling her closer to his incorporeal form.

Oh, he was more than a little enraged at the prospect that this young girl was being treated so abysmally, but he could not—would not—let that happen to Elain. And that was their priority right now.

Where is she?

That tent, master. One of his writhing tendrils pointed the way to a large war tent practically within spitting distance of the fire.

Now that Feyre had taken to walking again, idly circling the fire as if she were just out for a stroll and content to delight in the wicked pleasures Ianthe no doubt enjoyed as well, he could spot the other two, chained beside the screamer. They were already limp, their fragile forms marred with all sorts of burns and knife marks. He knew they’d been fully conscious throughout their suffering—as the girl was—for quite a while before their bodies had given out.

The king was lounging on his dais, not paying them a lick of attention as he reveled in her agony. The wicked brute probably mostly ignored Ianthe on a regular basis anyways. He was too powerful for the female to be able to seduce him against his will, so she likely steered clear of him whenever he didn’t approach her first.

He was alerted to a watchful, approaching presence as he turned to see Jurian strolling out from between two tents, right toward them.

Shit. Even though Jurian was likely on their side after all, if he made too much of a spectacle, the others might turn unwanted eyes onto Feyre, increasing the chances of her deception being revealed.

He was just about to tap her on the shoulder to warn her when Jurian drawled, “He’s been looking for you.”

Given how glazed the king’s eyes appeared—so completely lost in the show—Az would not have guessed that the male was even in a state to be able to pick out the lone, jingling, well-adorned female waltzing around this area of the camp.

Feyre turned on a dime, whirling on Jurian.

“I have been busy with my sisters.” Feyre had adapted her voice, trying to take on some of Ianthe’s hypnotic lilt.

Jurian just looked her over scrupulously, eyes roving as he made the connection of who exactly must’ve taken on Ianthe’s form. For, clearly, this was not how Ianthe would’ve normally answered him.

What Feyre had likely forgotten, being blessedly female in this circumstance, was that Ianthe would chase any handsome, powerful male who moved. The High Priestess would’ve probably closed the distance between the two of them herself, throwing innuendos at him until he one day joined her in her tents.

Feyre must’ve realized her mistake too, the fact that she’d been found out, because she finally added in a hushed voice, “Where is she.”

Jurian pasted a smirk on his face, pulling her into the game they were to play if this mission would be successful. “You’ve been lusting after me for weeks now. Act like it,” he crooned.

Az could feel the sheer panic rippling off her, but she laid a hand gingerly on his forearm—not at all like a lover’s gentle touch and girlishly batted her eyelashes at the man in front of her.

It was like watching a whelp trying to flirt for the first time. She was lucky she’d somehow succeeded in love already, because this attempt was absolutely pitiful. If he weren’t so tense at the thought of losing his best friend, he’d probably be laughing, thinking about how he’d recount the tale to Rhys and Cassian and … Elain when he returned.

Best friend. That’s what she was wasn’t she? Certainly, she hadn’t demoted his brothers, but … she was the one who had been comforting him these past few weeks, the one who had been trying to pull him out of his comfort zone. And she’d taken such an interest in his personal life. There were things he hadn’t even told Cassian which he’d actually felt like divulging to her.

If they survived the night, he’d have a heart-to-heart with her back at camp. Life was proving too short and too precious right now for him to hold all these secrets so close to his chest or for him to hold on to the bitterness from their last discussion. She deserved at least as much for what she’d been willing to share with him.

Slowly, cautiously, he’d reveal these pieces of his life, his soul to her, so as not to frighten her off. Though he doubted he’d ever scare her off completely, certain areas of his life were … disturbing, to say the least.

Nobody should be subjected to all of that baggage at once. And perhaps the acts of telling the soothing female would somehow give him some peace about his past as well.

He return his attention to Jurian and Feyre.

“I have trouble believing that’s how you won his heart,” Jurian chuckled at her awkward display of affection.

“Where is she.”

“Safe. Untouched.”

Az let loose a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding—even though he’d heard confirmation of the same only minutes ago.

“Not for long. It gave him a shock when she appeared before the Cauldron. He had her contained. Came here to brood over what to do with her. And how to make you pay for it.”

Feyre’s hand trailed up his arm and onto Jurian’s chest until it was laying on his heart with an air of familiarity.

“Where. Is. She.”

Good. Take no prisoners, Feyre. They needed to get moving soon. If the king were indeed looking for Ianthe, they’d want to be out of sight sooner rather than later.

Jurian leaned until his lips were hovering sensously near her ear. “Were you smart enough to kill her before you took her skin?”

“She got what she deserved.”

“She’s in his tent. Chained with steel and a little spell from his favorite book.”

Shit. Hopefully the powers Feyre had been gifted from Helion would be enough to quickly unravel the spell. If not, he’d find a way to rescue Elain and have Helion break the restraints himself once they returned to camp.

Hybern already knew where they were positioned after today’s battle. Bringing one of his spells back with them wouldn’t risk any more exposure than they already had.

Jurian hooked his thumb seductively underneath Feyre’s chin. “Come to my tent with me, Ianthe. Let me see what that pretty mouth can do.”

Feyre barely flinched when he placed his hand on her lower back, preparing to guide her where they needed to go.

“Seems like you’ve already got some steel in you. No need for mine,” he reassured her.

Feyre gave him a vapid smile, inquiring, “What of the girl on the rack?”

Jurian couldn’t contain the rage which flashed in his eyes as he considered her words. “There have been many before, and many will come after.”

“I can’t leave her here.”

Az should’ve known that this is where they’d be thrown off-target.

Feyre simply could not leave behind a human, suffering as that other girl had Under the Mountain. There was too much guilt, too much grief hounding her still as they all messily tried to work to heal from what almost fifty years had done to try to break their High Lord and court.

Jurian began leading the way between tents, heading for a cluster not too far off from the revelry.

“Your sister or her—you won’t be able to take two out.”

Elain. It had to be Elain.

“Get her to me, and I’ll make it happen.”

As they neared the behemoth bone-colored tent, Jurian muttered under his breath, “Say you would like to pray before the Cauldron before we retire.”

Indeed there were hulking guards outside what must be the king’s tent. The only way they’d make it in would be by playing this game.

She turned to focus on Jurian saying, “Before we … retire, I should like to pray before the great Cauldron. To give thanks for today’s bounty.”

Jurian preened, as if he was frustrated at having to wait before getting the chance to sleep with the illustrious female. “Make it quick.” He cocked his head toward the tent, letting the guards see the impatience in his eyes.

They leered at Feyre as she passed but luckily didn’t say a word. Feyre even went so far as to give them each a coy smile which would no doubt set them wondering as to when Ianthe might dare invite them to her bed.

They pushed back the tent flaps—and stepped into a void.

There were no light sources save the ones filtering in from outdoors, and in the very center of the tent sat the Cauldron. It seemed to be actively trying to gobble up what little light was now present.

Jurian whispered, “You have five minutes to get her out. Take her to the western edge—there’s a cliff overlooking the river. I’ll meet you there. If you hear screaming, don’t panic.”

He’d be creating quite the diversion then, it seemed. What did surprise Azriel though was when Jurian turned to face him before parting, smirking like a cat. “I hope you can carry three, shadowsinger.”

He didn’t want to know how Jurian was aware of his presence. Hopefully it was just a small tell on Feyre’s end which none of the others had picked up on. They had been meandering over in this direction very intimately after all.

Azriel didn’t do him the pleasure of confirming his suspicions in any way.

Before Jurian departed, he shared one more piece of advice with Feyre. “Save a dagger for your own heart. If they catch you alive, the king will—” A quick shake of his head, as he struggled to voice whatever horrors the king had in store for them. “Don’t let them catch you alive.”

And then he had disappeared out into the night.

Now that Jurian was gone, Az finally uncloaked himself.

Where exactly was Elain? He could certainly smell her, the sharp tang of terror assaulting his nostrils as it mingled with her scent, but all he could see were tables, chairs, some ornate rugs cradling the base of the Cauldron.

Look at the back of the tent. She is behind the curtain.

And indeed now that he squinted, he could barely make out the crease in the fabric which he had initially assumed to be the backside of the tent.

He inclined his head toward the curtained-off alcove to signal to Feyre where Elain was being hidden. She immediately started chanting prayers to the Cauldron. Should the guards outside be carefully listening, all they’d hear was a tired priestess, blessing it for their prosperous day.

The two of them sprinted, closing the distance between them and the divider masking Elain’s presence.

Azriel yanked back the curtain, revealing a trembling Elain, clad only in her revealing nightgown, a gag in her mouth, and sets of enchanted violet chains around her wrists and ankles.

Her doe-like eyes widen as she drank them in. As if she couldn’t believe they’d actually come for her.

You knew I wouldn’t leave you here.

Utter silence. So the faebane was doing its job then. He’d speak to her more later then, but for now he knelt carefully before her. He knew she had to be embarrassed and terrified, so he wanted to get her out of here as soon as possible without further traumatizing her.

He tenderly untied the gag, careful not to tug on the fabric too roughly.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, still scanning her from head to toe.

She shook her head, still gaping at him, as if she couldn’t believe that he was real, that he was really here for her.

“You came for me.” 

You’re damn right, I did.

Still silence, emptiness between them. Right.

The disbelief in her voice betrayed her further. He needed to apologize, but now wasn’t the time so he simply inclined his head to both females. They needed to get out of here now.

“Hurry,” Feyre whispered between the breaths of her prayer. They were on borrowed time, for they could only reasonably stay as long as she continued chanting, and she seemed to be running out of memorized prayers.

He called on all seven of his Siphons in the room, slashing at those hideous chains with his magic. It did absolutely nothing to sever the spell cast on them.

Feyre couldn’t halt her praying for long enough to try to figure out how to work her own spell-cleaving magic, and with those chains around Elain’s ankles, there was no way she could run.

The king approaches. He has decided how he wishes to torture the sisters and is in need of the seer.

Feyre tried reaching a hand toward Elain, but he knew it was no use right now.

“We don’t have time. He’s coming,” he murmured.

So he did the only thing he could, hoisting Elain into his arms, and instructing her to hook her bound arms around his neck for support.

She was so light. He’d flown with her before, but she’d begun wasting away even more since her encounter with Graysen, and now she felt paper-thin as she buried her head into his chest.

“Hold tight, and don’t make a sound.” He hated having to give her commands in this fragile state, but there was no time for small talk or explanations as they heard the king’s hounds encroaching.

Feyre had completely ditched her disguise, now wielding two daggers in preparation to fight her way out.

“Out the back?” she asked him.

He nodded, answering with, “Get ready to run.”

Elain lifted her head off of his chest. She’d since stopped trembling, and was gazing at them with a newfound resolve.

There you are. The strong female he knew her to be was poking her head out again. And he had her now. She need not be afraid anymore.

“Run and don’t stop,” he continued instructing Feyre. “We sprint for the western edge—the cliff.”

“If Jurian’s not there with the girl in time—”

Ugh. The cursed human girl who Feyre would jeopardize this mission for.

“Then you will go. I’ll get her.” Hopefully. It was important that Feyre get out, but he also needed to ensure Elain did as well. And Feyre could not fly past the wards with a passenger yet. Even one so light as Elain.

He waited, until the growling noises were practically on top of them before hissing, “Now.”

He called on his shadows with every fiber of his being, willing the to conceal them not only himself but both of the sisters as well.

Please. Your lady needs your help.

He didn’t even have time to process whether or not they had answered his plea before he obliterated the back panel of the tent with a quick flash of his Siphons.

Judging by the the stunned faces of the guards only staring confusedly at the hole, they’d obliged him and done the job well.

Now they needed to move. He wasn’t sure exactly how much of his energy reserves using his power so recklessly would drain from him, but he sure as hell didn’t want to find out while they were still in Hybern’s reach.

“Hurry. The shadows won’t last long,” he murmured to Feyre.

The sun was already beginning to rise, and he knew he’d lose the natural protection the night afforded him as well soon.

And then they heard it. A spine-tingling howl rising up from the tent they’d just vacated. Shit. The hounds had their scent now, and he knew. The king was very aware of who exactly had infiltrated the heart of his operation.

Azriel’s shadows could not mask scents, and they were on borrowed time now.

“Faster,” he urged Feyre, as if she wasn’t already running like her life depended on it.

Feyre wisely yanked a bow and a quiver of ash arrows from the armoury as they raced past it. With Elain in his arms, she’d be their only line of defense, and the hounds were beginning to close in.

He kept ducking and weaving, hearing the twang of bowstrings as she assaulted their aggressors. They just needed to stay out of those serpentine maws. They were so close to the cliff now, but two hounds from the pack had broken off to flank them. If they didn’t take off now, that pincer would cut off their only retreat.

He just kept bolting for the girl he now saw standing at the very precipice, looking out over the thrashing river hundreds of feet below.

The king’s voice suddenly filled the air around them. “What intrepid thieves,” he crooned. “How shall I punish you?” What wicked spell from his book was this? It did its job though for Feyre faltered for a beat as she tried to sense out his location.

“Get her out, Azriel,” his High Lady begged of him. “I’ll get the other.” No. She was top priority. He’d promised Rhys.

“We’re all—”

“That’s an order.” 

He hissed as she pulled rank on him, and was about to grab her and jump when she jerked backwards, an ash arrow protruding from her shoulder. She tripped, falling to her knees on the jagged ground.

“Fuck.” He made a move for her, but he couldn’t do anything to fight of the hounds with Elain still in his arms.

Feyre shot another arrow, felling another hound, but there were still too many for her to fight her way out.

And now they had an unobstructed view of the king, ambling cockily toward them, bow-in-hand. He had them in his grasp, and now he was going to drag this out, make this hurt.

“Torturing you would be so dull. At least, the traditional sort of torture.” He took a step after each sentence, emphasizing his utter power over them in this moment. “How Rhysand shall rage. How he shall panic. His mate, at last come to see me.”

Az wished he could call on the sheer force of his icy rage in that moment, but his magic was spent, his Siphons already dulling, about to flicker out completely.

Two hounds leapt on Feyre, and he was powerless to do anything but watch as one took out her bow and the other lunged at her exposed flank. Shit—

A deafening roar shook the camp as a great golden beast—no, wait, that was Tamlin—tore into the beasts attacking her.

“Tamlin,” she breathed, but he didn’t do anything other than stare into her eyes for a heartbeat before taking on all the beasts at once. Now that they had a new opponent to fight, they focused all their attentions on him, as the king looked on in shock.

She started stumbling, trying to regain her footing, as she yanked the arrow out of her shoulder blade, but Az was on her in a heartbeat, using his fleeting strength to grab the collar of her tunic and hoist her to his feet as he spent most of his remaining magic on forming a glowing blue bandage to keep her stable until they could reach a healer.

“You need to fly,” he ordered her, unable to control his ragged breath.

She didn’t respond.

The king is closing in once more.

“We need to get airborne,” he repeated. Tamlin was struggling to keep all the beasts at bay, and indeed the king was swaggering as if knew he was about to have his clutches on his prey once again. “Can you make it?”

She glanced between the human girl and a faltering Tamlin before wordlessly summoning her wings.

They’d never practiced a running takeoff before, but she was just going to have to learn how to do it now, as he demonstrated it for her himself, sprinting toward the girl and the cliff edge in front of them.

He had one shot to grab her, and he hoped she was wise enough to grab on with all her might.

One hundred feet … seventy-five … fifty. He was moving through the world like a blur, yet still the girl stood dumbfounded, as if she didn’t want to be saved.

“If you want to live, do it now!” Elain begged her, her voice bellowing louder than Az had ever heard it.

The girl finally opened her arms, reaching for them as they ran into her with their full force as he launched them into the sky.

Elain, trusting him to hold onto her, wrapped both her own arms desperately around the girl’s neck. And they held.

He was about to turn back toward Feyre, to watch her ascent, when a body slammed into his own. This was too massive, and as it began slashing through his wings, he knew they were done for.

He heard the shrieking of the human girl, but Elain sprang into action.

As Azriel struggled to keep her in his arms and the three of them aloft, she began lashing out with her foot. Again and again, she wailed on the beast, thrusting her bare foot into its face until finally a blow completely knocked it off into the swirling waters below.

She’d saved them all—for now.

He could feel himself losing blood fast—too fast, and he scrambled to bandage the wounds with his magic as he turned to see where Feyre was.

He was fading fast, but she was still running towards the cliff edge, not having taken off at all yet.

There was no masking his sheer terror as he barely held onto the two females in his arms and could only watch as his High Lady flung herself towards to edge, the hounds closing in with alarming speed on her trail.

She flapped her wings clumsily, causing herself to barely catch an updraft before setting back down again. Shit, shit, shit. His training had not been enough to save her.

The king was cackling as yet another hound broke free from the melee and dashed toward her.

“Faster!” he roared. He was slicked in the blood which was coming free every time he painfully flapped his wings, willing them to stay aloft. “Push up!” She gained on the edge, hound hot on her tail. “Hold them high!” He saw her wings spread a bit further. “Legs up!”

She needed to lift them by the time she’d never remain airborne. Especially not with the beast which would surely leap after her.

The sun was almost up now.

He noticed the king fire two more arrows, each aimed at one of the sisters. He mustered what little he had left to summon a shield to deflect them.

She began beating her wings, with too little wind to assist her takeoff. And that’s when he felt it. Another wind, magical, with tinges of spring in it. Tamlin.

He sent a sizable gust to fill her wings just as she hit the edge and what would’ve been her certain demise. But that hound hadn’t slowed at all even with her abrupt liftoff …

“Bank!” he screamed at her. 

She launched herself sideways, the hound barely missing her heels as it began its plummet into the ravine.

The king was now launching magic-coated ash arrows at them in one last desperate attempt to slay them. Az’s shield was holding out, but just barely. The magic was causing him to feel the impact of each arrow which bounced off his shield as if it had collided with him instead.

“Fly!” he barked. He could sense the edge of the wards, but they needed to get beyond them to winnow out.

His shield held off another barrage of arrows, but the pain made it almost impossible to remain in the sky. Almost.

They came upon the wards, which felt sticky, as if they were a spider trying to ensnare them in its web. He was about to call on his shadows to veil them in an attempt to step through the wards, but he saw a blinding flash of white light out of the corner of his eye as Feyre cleaved through them with Helion’s power.

Thank the Cauldron.

Feyre flew up to him, gripping his hand, as they crossed over the boundary, and she winnowed them back to their camp.

Chapter Text

As they touched down in the war camp, Az could feel his power slip away from him. The bandages on Feyre and covering his own back and wing wounds began slipping and shrinking as he set the girl down.

She used Feyre to steady herself but seemed well enough to walk otherwise. 

Elain kept a vise-like grip on his neck, head buried in his chest, and he was not inclined to set her down until he saw her to Helion, to get him to break the spell on those insidious chains around her wrists and ankles.

So he nestled her closer to his chest, wondering if he should say anything. There was a lot to be said between the two of them, but he knew they would soon be flooded with the others. It could wait until they’d both been patched up.

Your injuries will worsen significantly if you don’t seek a healer immediately.

Indeed, Az could feel the dizziness coming on in an onslaught, as a result of expending all his reserves and losing so much blood.

Yet still, he held onto her. He could feel her trembling faintly at the realization of what had just happened in these last few hours.

How she’d been stolen away. How he and Feyre had truly come to get her out of the king’s clutches. How they’d each nearly died so many times during the escape attempt. How now she was back, safe and sound, cradled in his arms.

She still felt so fragile, but he knew he should probably let her walk into camp on her own two feet. She hadn’t sustained any injuries in the escape. But he just couldn’t let go of her, afraid she might become lost to him once again if she got out of his sight.

He nuzzled his face into her hair, murmuring low enough so that none of the others could pick it up, “You’re safe. I’m never letting them take you again. And I’m so, so sorry for everything I said, the way I acted.”

She didn’t answer him right then, possibly still in shock.

Feyre began talking to the girl, whose name they learned was Briar. The poor thing even offered to try to help bandage their wounds with the shreds of clothing she still had left in thanks for rescuing her from her captors.

Still they kept up their trek into the camp and toward the lines of tents. There they’d find their friends and families and the medical staff necessary to treat them all.

He vaguely heard a soldier yell for a healer to be sent to his tent at the sight of him, but he kept stumbling onward.

And then Rhys winnowed straight into their path, eyes widening as he drank in Azriel’s injured appearance, somehow deeming it more alarming than that of his own mate.

Shit. Yes, it was bad, but he didn’t want to be pitied right now. Just to go lie down. Eventually.

Then, his brother’s gaze passed onto Elain and Briar.

“I couldn’t just leave her,” Feyre rasped. In the melee, they’d been screaming so much that it seemed they all were a bit hoarse right now.

The viper approaches.

And indeed, Nesta came barreling around the corner of a tent, looking completely unhinged and unlike the usually immaculately primped female Az knew. She was sliding through the mud, still in nothing but her nightclothes.

Az heard the most uncharacteristic sob escape Nesta as she beheld Elain, safe and sound, still held tight to his chest.

He silently dared Nesta to try to take her sister away from him. He wouldn’t relinquish Elain until she decided she wanted to be let down. He knew it wouldn’t feel real the moment he lost contact with her.

Nesta began sprinting once again toward their little party, engulfing Feyre in a sob-filled embrace. He heard her repeat the phrase, “Thank you,” what felt like a hundred times before Rhys was approaching him, tapping gently on his mind.

You need to set her down. You can’t go on like this.

No, he tried to growl back, but he was flagging fast, and his words had no bite.

Rhys quickly closed the distance and plucked Elain from his arms, setting her tenderly on the muddy ground.

He could feel himself swaying as he murmured hoarsely, “We need Helion to get these chains off her.”

And that’s when Elain rose up on the tips of her toes and planted a kiss right on his cheek. It completely knocked the breath out of him. An answer to the words he’d whispered to her moments ago and a symbol of thanks. A sign that everything was going to be alright between them.

Thank the Cauldron.

His vision began to blur as Elain went to join her sisters, and Rhys returned his attention to Az.

“We need to get you to Thesan. Right now.” It was an order, and a sign of how grueling the wounds truly were. If his brother thought they needed another High Lord to heal him instead of just Madja.

He did not remember much of what happened next, just that he was ushered back to his own tent, which had already been loaded with two healers, various supplies, and the High Lord of Dawn himself.

As Thesan began to probe the wounds with his magic, they forced an anesthetic tonic down his throat, before Az could even explain that he was so delirious that he’d probably pass out either way within minutes.

And then everything went dark.

Elain awoke to the sound of a servant trying to stealthily exit the tent after setting a tray of meats and cheeses on the table.

Right. This was Feyre and Rhysand’s tent. And she and her sisters had just collapsed on the rug, right in the center of it after bathing upon her return to the camp.

She’d never felt the need to hold so tightly to the both of them as she had in those early hours of dawn where the sun had just begun creeping above the horizon. Hours ago, she’d thought she’d never see them again, and it had been all her fault.

It was all her fault that Feyre and Az had almost killed themselves in the attempt to rescue her. If she hadn’t been so damned stupid, she would’ve heeded those icy, but true, words Az had spat at her the other night. She wouldn’t have been so delusional as to think that Graysen actually followed her into Prythian in order to save her.

And somehow she hadn’t gotten a scratch on her. Because they’d both given everything they had to protect her. They were willing to sacrifice themselves if it meant her safety. She’d seen Feyre after they’d quickly dressed her wound and sent her to bed, but Azriel …

Rhys had ushered him into that tent with Thesan so quickly … And neither of the two had emerged by the time she’d blearily followed Feyre onto the rug and nestled into her side—only healers carrying out mounds of bloody cloths used to clean his shredded back and wings.

How had he kept them aloft through all the pain? And would he ever be able to fly again? She’d feel horrible if she’d caused him to lose his beloved wings. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to stand living with that knowledge.

Elain’s stomach grumbled, and she crawled over to the food platter, careful not to rouse Nesta. After a few minutes of shoving most of the food into her mouth in a very unladylike manner, she decided to try to check on him.

Based on how much light was filtering through the tent walls, and the raucous sounds of the soldiers, she would’ve bet that it was sometime in the afternoon.

Az, are you awake?

No telltale rush of wind as the shadow left her in search of its master. Perhaps he needed to be conscious for them to work for her, but usually she at least had one in her company at all times. And she couldn’t feel the presence of shadows anywhere near her.

She hoped he didn’t mind too much, but she instead turned to scrying. She wouldn’t take too long of a peek into his personal space, but her legs still felt like gelatin beneath her. And she didn’t think she was strong enough to face him in person right now. She’d probably burst into tears as soon as he tried to waive off her attempts at an apology.

Mother above—he’d apologized to her this morning upon their return. As if this was all his fault and she was the one sporting a life-threatening injury.

She pictured Az and his tent, willing her mind to spear itself in that direction, but it felt hazy, like wading through mud. She could barely move her powers past herself and out of her own tent, and even those images were blurry to her. After a few minutes, she was panting heavily as she fought with all her strength.

No luck.

Whatever Jurian had used to knock her out must’ve sapped her of her magic as well.

At least it seemed that she still had some magic to work with, but it likely wouldn’t be useful for awhile. She’d ask Az about it. When they inevitably had to meet up in person to discuss what had occurred last night.

She gulped down her anxiety, but was distracted by the sound of Nesta stirring behind her.

“Elain …?” her sister’s sleep-addled voice was laced with panic as Nesta awoke alone on the rug.

“Over here,” Elain whispered, unable to move from her spot as she waited to see how Nesta would react.

Her selfishness last night had harmed so many people, and she knew that even though Nesta didn’t come on the rescue mission with Az and Feyre, she’d no doubt been hysterical as she waited and prayed for Elain’s safe return.

Nesta rose, unsteadily, making her way over to where Elain was perched next to the mostly-empty platter.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” her sister murmured shakily, and she knew that once again Nesta was on the brink of losing it.

“I’m so sorry. I really am. When I thought that Graysen had come for me …” she bit back her own tears as Nesta embraced her tightly.

“No more talk of Graysen. It’s in the past, but you better promise never to run off on me like that again.”

“You weren’t even there to stop me,” Elain retorted, though it wasn’t really her sister’s absence that bothered her, but her own folly.

She was still having trouble coming to terms with the fact that maybe if Nesta had come to bed last night though, perhaps she could have awoken and talked some sense into Elain. She certainly seemed to need it right now.

With that tiny thread of hope of a reunion with Graysen severed, Elain wasn’t sure where she fit in anymore.

She was no use in this war, and now it was truly confirmed that she had no home to go back to.

If she couldn’t even summon visions … she might as well go back to Velaris by herself. She was just dead weight here, one more thing to be protected, to distract everyone else from the battles raging around them.

“I think we both know very well that I likely could have done little to thwart the Cauldron. I saw the dream as well. Had I been awake, I would’ve seen Graysen as well, and though I would’ve tried to hold you back, eventually you would’ve won out and chased him anyways,” Nesta responded coolly.

Elain swallowed dryly, knowing this to be the truth and thankful that her sister had admonished herself from the blame so Elain could try to focus the rest of her sorry intentions inward.

Nesta pulled back slightly, holding Elain at arm's length now. “What happened in Hybern’s camp?”

Nesta sat, pulling the food tray over to herself as Elain relayed the tale of how she had been a complete surprise to the king. How he had forced Jurian to knock her out and bind her in those ensorcelled chains. How Az and Feyre had saved her. How the king had launched an attack which had almost taken their lives, but some hulking beast had saved them.

She left out the minor fact that she’d been relieved to see it was Az who came for her, that she wouldn’t have felt nearly as safe in Rhysand or Cassian’s arms if they’d come in his stead. Even if they had almost died, she had implicitly trusted him to get her to safety.

“Tamlin,” Nesta murmured. “I heard Feyre mention something about Tamlin saving your lives. It doesn’t exonerate him from all his past atrocities, but perhaps with him on our side, we’ll stand more of a chance in this war.”

“Oh,” Elain breathed. She’d heard such nasty stories about him from Feyre, and she was even more embarrassed that his sister had been forced to be at her old lover’s mercy. “Is everyone else …?”

She wasn’t going to say his name aloud.

“I know as much as you. Feyre might still be sore, but she seemed well enough last night. I didn’t feel her wake, but she’s likely off cavorting with her mate now. Azriel … I’m not sure. There was a lot of commotion around his tent when I followed you two in to bed.” Nesta picked at the little Elain had left for her on the food tray.

Elain paled.

“He lost a lot of blood, Elain. I don’t know how he was still standing, much less carrying you as he walked back into the camp. It’s likely going to take some time if he’s to recover.”

It was all her fault. He’d almost died because of her stupidity.

“Why don’t we go get some more to eat?” Nesta asked more softly.

Elain nodded, knowing her sister was giving her a gift. She may have been too anxious to set off into the camp on her own—afraid of how the others would have stared at her—but with Nesta at her side, nobody would dare be too obvious about it, lest Nesta’s wrath turn on them.

As they stepped outside the tent flaps though, they noticed a camp in commotion. Many High Lords and their commanders flocked around the campfire in the center of camp, looking relieved that Nesta and Elain had finally emerged.

Indeed the Archeron sisters had all fallen asleep in Feyre and Rhysand’s war tent. Allowing Nesta and Elain to continue sleeping in must’ve been a moderate setback to them this morning.

As Rhysand spotted them, he began signaling to the other High Lords to reconvene around the large map-covered table now that it was available to them so they could continue planning their next move properly.

As Cassian followed the crowd in, Nesta shot Elain a worried glance and jerked her chin toward the tent, indicating that Elain should join them, before following in Cassian’s wake.

Elain stood frozen, watching the few remaining commanders file in, about to move, when she spotted Azriel.

He was still heavily bandaged, his torso and wings bound securely, evidence of just how much her decision had cost him. His gaunt, too-pale face would surely be haunting her dreams.

Instead of heading directly inside, he approached her, and Elain wasn’t sure what to say exactly.

“I can’t … I tried ...” she gestured stupidly to her ear, hoping he’d pick up on her point. She couldn’t seem to call the shadows to her or speak to him through them.

“I know,” he murmured, hoarsely, as if he still hadn’t regained his voice from all the screaming he’d done last night. “But now’s not the time. We can talk later. Hybern’s forces are on the move again.”

With that, he held out his hand to her, offering to guide her into the tent with him, grimacing a bit at the strain on his body as he did so, but she just shook her head. She didn’t deserve him treating her so delicately. He should hate her for doing this to him.

He just shrugged and limped away, struggling to carry himself smoothly as he tried to grit through the pain.

With nothing better to do, Elain blindly followed him into the tent and into her very first war council meeting.

Chapter Text

The High Lords were all crowded around the table as Elain left Az’s side to go with Nesta and claim two of the chairs scattered throughout the tent.

“My scouts say Hybern is on the move as of this afternoon,” Helion said gravely as he shoved an unfathomably large number of figures across the map.

Elain couldn’t quite see exactly where they were going from her perch, but she was content to sit in the shadows and watch.

This was the first time they’d ever truly let her participate, and she didn’t want to remind anyone that perhaps they would deem it best she be shielded from hearing all the details, as unnerving and gruesome as they might be.

Az, balancing on a stool in the midst of the action, nodded once, grimly. “My spies say the same.”

“He shifted directions, though. He’d planned to move that army north—drive us back that way. Now he marches due east.” Helion’s gaze narrowed as he tried to assess why the king had chosen such a sharp change in direction.

Does this have anything to do with last night?

She tried to send Az a shadow message, cursing herself silently as she remembered that she was still without magic. She would just have to listen and try to catch his eye.

Rhysand jumped in, puzzling, “So he’s now heading straight across the island—to what end? He would have been better off sailing around. And I doubt he’s changed his mind about meeting us in battle. Even with Tamlin now revealed as an enemy.”

“Losing Tamlin won’t cost him many troops, but Hybern could be going to meet another ally on the eastern coast—to rendezvous with the army of those human queens from the continent,” Tarquin mused, frowning at the map.

Az shook his head, and the resulting wince at the pain even such a small movement sent through his back and wings broke another fragment of her heart. “He sent the queens back to their homes—and there they remain, their armies not even raised. He’ll wait to wield that host until he arrives on the continent.”

The king seemed so certain that he could just wipe Prythian from the face of the map that Elain was deeply unnerved. Would any of them truly survive the final battle with Hybern?

“Perhaps he’s leading us on another chase,” Kallias wondered aloud.

“Not Hybern’s style,” Mor cut in. “He doesn’t establish patterns—he knows we’re onto his first method of stretching us thin. Now he’ll try another way.”

But what?

“Hybern is delaying the conflict. Why?” Helion asked.

Feyre finally cast a gaze in her direction, eyes searching for Nesta. “He still doesn’t have the missing piece. Of the Cauldron’s power.”

He wanted Nesta. Elain choked back a sob at the thought that Nesta could’ve very well foolishly gone to rescue her last night. She was too strong to fall for the Cauldron’s allure, but perhaps Elain had almost cost them this entire war.

If the king held that missing piece—if he killed Nesta to retrieve it—the war would likely be all but lost for her family, her friends.

Rhysand carefully studied Nesta, Elain, and the map.

“Cassian,” he directed, pointing to something on the map. “If we were to cut south from where we are now—to head right down to the human lands … would you cross that river, or go west far enough to avoid it?”

Cassian contemplated for only a split second before responding, “A river crossing like that would be time-consuming and dangerous. The river’s too wide. Even with winnowing, we’d have to construct boats or bridges to gets across. And an army this size … We’d have to go west, then cut south—”

His golden tan face paled as he came to a realization, and Elain sat up a bit straighter, trying to catch a glimpse of the map so she could deduce what this might mean for herself—with little success.

“He wanted us exhausting ourselves on winnowing armies around. On fighting those battles. So that when it counted, we would not have the strength to winnow past that river. We’d have to go on foot—and take the long way around to avoid the crossing,” Helion finished for a still-speechless Cassian.

“Fuck,” Tarquin swore. “So he could march south, knowing we’re days behind. And enter the human lands with no resistance.”

“He could have done that from the start,” Kallias protested. “Why now?”

It was Nesta who said brazenly, “Because we insulted him. Me—and my sisters.”

Elain found her hand flying to her throat in shock as the entire tent turned to take in the Archeron sisters.

No, no, no. This couldn’t be completely because of their actions, could it?

“He’s going to march on the human lands—butcher them. To spite us?” Elain’s breathy words were barely audible as she struggled to come to terms with the fact that this madman might be about to punish her people for what? Them fighting against him and escaping with Elain? 

He had already ruined their lives. This was going much too far.

“I killed his priestess,” Feyre’s voice was shaky. She turned to address Nesta. “You took from his Cauldron.” Feyre was now staring Elain down, trying to put the pieces together. “And you … Stealing you back was the final insult.”

“Only a madman would wield the might of his army just to get revenge on three women,” Kallias cut in.

Helion snorted a laugh. “You forget that some of us fought in the War. We know firsthand how unhinged he can be. And that something like this would be exactly his style.”

She cut a glance as Az, who merely nodded to her. 

She saw a shadow dart in her direction, a promising sign, but she only heard muffled hissing and whispers when it approached her. She shook her head back at him, indicating that she still couldn’t communicate. Though now … She’d try again in a bit. Perhaps the powder’s effects on her were lifting.

Rhys took Feyre’s hand, calming her and putting her noticeably more at ease. “He knows we’ll come,” he breathed.

“I’d say he’s assuming quite a lot about how much we care for humans,” Helion muttered, and Elain’s heart dropped into her stomach like it was made of lead.

Rhysand and Feyre were the de facto leaders of their armies, but if enough of the other High Lords disagreed about wanting to protect the human lands if it made leaving their own more vulnerable … Their alliance could break, and then they’d have no way to help those south of them who couldn’t protect themselves.

“He’ll have seen our prioritizing of Elain’s safety as proof that the Archeron sisters hold sway here. He thinks they’ll convince us to haul our asses down there, likely to a battlefield with few advantages, and be annihilated,” Rhysand shrugged.

“So we’re not going to?” Tarquin asked.

“Of course we’re going to,” Rhysand bit back, adjusting his posture so that he appeared taller and more domineering. “We will be outnumbered, and exhausted, and it will not end well. But this has nothing to do with my mate, or her sisters. The wall is down. It is gone. It is a new world, and we must decide how we are going to end this old one and being it anew. We must decide if we will begin it by allowing those who cannot defend themselves too be slaughtered. If that is the sort of people we are. Not individual courts. We, as a Fae people. Do we let humans stand alone?”

Elain’s heart soared. His speech was uplifting, beautiful, and surely would move enough of the others in the room to rally to their cause.

“We’ll all die together, then,” Helion joked.

“Good.” Cassian’s gaze was locked on Nesta. “If I end my life defending those who need it most, then I will consider it a death well spent.”

Elain blanched as she was assaulted with a vision. It was murky and fuzzy around the edges, but it was zoomed in on a bedraggled Nesta shielding something with her body. 

She couldn’t make out anything other than very vague colors and shapes beyond the blurry image of her sister, but there was so much red—likely blood. And as much as she hated to admit it, something disturbingly similar in color to Illyrian wings. But she couldn’t be sure. Not until she could see it more clearly.

“So will I.” Tarquin brought her back to reality as she hurried to shove the vision aside for later. When more of her strength had returned.

What’s wrong?

Finally. That voice that she’d been missing in her ear in the days since they’d last spoken like this.

A vision. I—I can barely see anything, but I’ll fill you in later.

Kallias and Viviane shared a pained look before the former spoke. “We’ll need to leave by tomorrow if we are to stand a chance at staunching the slaughter.”

“Sooner than that,” Helion smiled. “A few hours. You realize humans will be slaughtered before we can get there,” he addressed Rhysand.

“Not if we can act faster,” Feyre replied. She was moving her shoulder in a circle as if trying to stretch it out so she could go back into the thick of the action right now.

“Tonight,” she continued. “We winnow—those of us who can. To human homes—towns. And we winnow out as many of them as we can before dawn.”

“And where will we put them?” Helion asked incredulously.

“Velaris.”

“Too far. To do all that winnowing,” Rhysand mused.

Tarquin pointed to a spot in the middle of the map. “Then bring them to Adriata. I will send Cresseida back—let her oversee them.”

“We’ll need all the strength we have to fight Hybern. Wasting it on winnowing humans—”

Kallias didn’t get a chance to finish that train of thought as Feyre cut him off. “It is no waste. One life may change the world. Where would you all be if someone had deemed saving my life to be a waste of time?” She gestured to her mate. “If he had deemed saving my life Under the Mountain a waste of time? Even if it’s only twenty families, or ten … They are not a waste. Not to me—or to you.”

Elain had never heard the full story of how Feyre had died and been made Fae—much less the fact that it had been Rhysand who had been the one to make the decision to resurrect her.

She supposed it wasn’t surprising, given the hard expressions which softened and melted every time the male caught a glimpse of her sister. But the two hadn’t been together at the time. Elain had always assumed that Tamlin had been the one who saved Feyre.

I’ll meet you in your tent tonight. I won’t be able to winnow with the others.

Elain paled. She’d kept him from this. More humans could be saved tonight if not for her own selfishness and naivety.

Don’t be silly. You’d have to crouch in order to move through our tent. And Nesta might be there …

Okay, I’ll send you word when I’m alone, and you can come to me. Madja is supposed to attend to my wings sometime tonight, and I suspect I’ll have healers in and out, but I will find a way to make time for you.

Thank you, Az. I’m so sorry. For everything. Her eyes started welling up with tears.

Not now. Not when there are so many pairs of keen eyes in this very tent. Chin up. Don’t let them see you so upset about nothing. They expect you to be overjoyed that they’re willing to expend so much power to save your people.

Indeed, Feyre looked elated as she headed up the planning. And even Nesta had shed her pallor and was raptly paying attention to the proceedings.

Elain pasted a blank, bored expression onto her face and went back to casually listening as Kallias apologized to Feyre.

And then Amren stormed in, in that unnerving way of hers, and said, “I hope you all voted to face Hybern in battle.”

“We did. Why?” Rhys asked, raising a brow in confusion.

“Because we will need it as a distraction.” She dropped that insipid Book whose voice Elain still heard in her nightmares right in the middle of the table before turning to Feyre. “We need to get to the Cauldron. All of us.”

Elain had a sinking feeling that she was part of this all-inclusive “us” Amren spoke of, and she cowered in fear at the thought that she might be asked to go out on that battlefield.

“You found another way to stop it?” Tarquin looked dumbfounded.

Amren dipped her chin in an acute nod. “Even better. I found a way to stop his entire army.”

Elain wasn’t sure she was breathing as the female offered no more explanation.

“All four of us?” Feyre questioned. “All four of us, and we don’t have to fight this battle? Can it truly be done?”

“Make no mistake girl. There is no chance of going back into that camp. We will have to fight our way to the Cauldron on the battlefield, and the king will keep it on a tight leash. Many will have to sacrifice themselves in order to give us this chance, but once we reach it … Yes, I will be able to nullify the king’s powers and hold over the Cauldron. Along with the power granted to his entire host. But I will need to draw on your strength and connections to the Cauldron as well.”

Amren gestured at the three of them, and Elain’s throat bobbed. But for this chance to stop an entire war, to perhaps save an entire people, she would do it. She would walk onto that battlefield and pray to the Mother for protection.

She would never learn swordplay in time and would be complete dead weight to her sisters, but she would gladly risk her own life for others. And perhaps, if they did reach the Cauldron in time, she’d be able to save the lives of many of her family as well.

That unclear vision she’d had of Nesta had been before Amren figured out how to change the tides of this war, and Elain could only pray that it meant that whatever future timeline that haunting image had occurred on would not come to pass.

“We will wait on the sidelines until the fighting is chaotic enough to cover our backs then,” Feyre responded, Elain nodding mutely behind her sister unable to come up with the words to convey how she felt right now. They would surely strategize better than she could anyways.

“We will lure him out. Take up the surely disadvantageous position he’s set up for us to fall into, and lie in wait. It is the only shot we have of coming out of this alive,” her sister murmured.

Amren nodded, clutching the Book back to her chest.

“I will wield it, and you three will support me. We’ll meet tomorrow morning and stay together until the time is right.”

There were some other murmurs as the other High Lords input their own opinions, but Elain heard little else as she spent the rest of the meeting in a daze, not willing to catch Az’s eye and encourage him to talk to her more.

She needed some air, and as the meeting came to a close, she promptly left her seat and ran out of the tent before Nesta could catch up to her and insist on accompanying her.

Elain wandered in circles, ever so careful to keep within the magical boundaries protecting the camp and away from some of the thickets of warrior tents which seemed inhabited and thrumming with restless energy. But after awhile, she began to calm herself again, and stumbled her way back to her own tent as the sun went down.

There, she found an irate and overbearing Nesta who strangled her in a bear hug before making Elain promise not to run off like that again. Last night was still weighing heavy upon them all it seemed.

So Elain had Nuala fetch her a tray of supper, and sat obediently, under her elder sister’s supervision until she felt the whoosh of a shadow approaching her, which whispered the words she’d been simultaneously eager and dreading to hear.

Chapter Text

The coast is clear. Come to my tent whenever you’re ready.

Ready. As if he knew that this was likely to be an excruciating conversation for her. That she might need some time to brace herself, to prepare.

Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself and made her excuses to Nesta, who also decided to leave her bed, taking off in the direction of the Feyre and Rhysand’s tent where a certain general was likely pouring over every last detail of their assault tomorrow.

The sun was already fading, and she knew that the others, those who could winnow, would likely be gone all night—until they had saved as many humans as they could in the hours before marching their forces southward in the morning.

As she slipped her head into Az’s tent, she let out an involuntary gasp. He was lying on his stomach, putting the fresh bandages on the gashes on his back and deeply scarred and oozing wings on display.

It seemed Madja had indeed been able to patch them up, but she could tell he was still in an immense amount of pain and wouldn’t be able to use the anytime soon.

As he heard the whoosh of air leave her lungs, he began pushing his torso up, as if he was trying to arrange himself in a sitting position.

Elain rushed to his side, grabbing his hand and one of his shoulders and helping him ease upright, not failing to notice the small grunts of pain he was trying to conceal from her.

“You came for me,” she whispered, repeating the only words she’d spoken to him last night—the realization which had hit her the moment she’d seen those hardened, hazel eyes peering back at her.

No one had ever come for her before. Not Graysen when she was stolen away in the night by the Fae, and not even Lucien when she’d been taken to the Night Court. He’d declared they were mates and then sat around at the Spring Court, biding his time until Feyre decided to make her move.

He hadn’t risked anything for her, and now here was this strong, selfless male who was her first true friend. The only one who’d ever dared to follow her into the dark, even though they weren’t even romantically involved.

He’d nearly died on her behalf, and she knew in her heart that she wasn’t worthy of a friend so brave and altruistic.

“I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. If it weren’t for my foolishness, you would be whole right now.”

He gestured for her to come sit next to him on the cot, one hand at his temples, his wing extending out behind her and drooping to the floor as she gingerly took up a seat beside him.

“You were deceived by the Cauldron. It is no more your fault than mine. Its magic made this world, and its will is law. I would be surprised if anyone were truly able to resist it.” His voice was still raspy with exhaustion from all its use last night.

He reached over taking one of her hands in his own. “I was on watch last night. I could have stopped you from walking out of the wards, but I was on the other side of camp and didn’t even sense anything was wrong until it was too late. I’m a total failure.”

“No you’re not. You saved my life. You somehow saved both myself and Briar even after one of those beasts shredded through your back and wings. I don’t know how you kept us aloft.”

He chuckled, “That was mostly your doing. You’re the one who pummeled that hound with your foot until it let go of me. You, in turn, saved my life too, you know.”

Tears were beginning to sting the corners of her eyes. “I was relieved it was you. I was so embarrassed at what I’d done. I thought perhaps Feyre or Nesta would make Rhysand or Cassian tear through that camp to find me, if anyone bothered at all. But I’m so glad it was you, Az.”

He reached over, turning her head and lifting her chin with one hand. “You know I’d always come for you, El. When I learned you were missing, I was beside myself. I couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything else but the thought of going after you. And every second between when we discovered you were missing and we finally left for that wretched camp felt like an eternity.

“I’m so sorry that I’ve been quiet these past few days, one of the few things I realized when I was out there searching for you was how much I wanted to tell you about the silly way your sister was forced to act in that harlot’s body. You’re one of my best friends, El, and I think it’s time I told you that.”

She breathed a sigh of relief through the tears as she went in to hug him, only to have him grimace and recoil a bit at her touch.

Right. His injuries.

“My back isn’t terrible anymore. The wounds have sealed, but it’s still a bit sensitive though. Here.”

He took the arm closest to her and wrapped it around her shoulder, pulling her toward him and allowing her to rest her head against his chest.

“Now what really happened with the Cauldron? Tell me everything. No judgment, I promise.”

“I woke to the sound of Graysen’s voice …” she sobbed. “When I went out to meet him, he told me he realized that he made a grave mistake in letting me go, and that he’d ridden day and night to come find me ever since. I know it made no sense, but it was exactly what I wanted to hear. And I fell for it.

“He was standing just outside the camp wards, which I didn’t think was too strange as I figured they’d be magicked to repel him, but the second I exited them to give him a hug, the Cauldron flung me back to the king’s camp.” Her body was shuddering as her cheeks flushed in the utter embarrassment she couldn’t shake.

“The king didn’t know I was coming, and that probably saved my life. Not long after I emerged in his tent, he came rushing in with Jurian. He told Jurian what a nice surprise this was and asked him to restrain me while he went and thought about ... about what to do with me.”

Az was massaging soothing circles across her back now, but it still did nothing to lessen the emotional burden she was carrying.

“I begged Jurian not to … But he blew some blue powder over me, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up bound and gagged in that back room of his tent. I knew I hadn’t moved far, because I could still feel the Cauldron pulsing from the next room over.

“But I had no idea how long I’d been out. I tried reaching for the shadows, but I knew it was in vain. None of them could have followed me there, and I don’t have your powers. I just leech off of your shadows. It was pitch black except for the glow radiating off of the chains, and I remember putting my head between my legs and just praying anybody would come for me.

“And then you did.” She dared a quick glance up at Az to find him with a pained expression on his own face.

“Please know that the fault for this was all mine, Az. You could not have stopped the Cauldron. You were unable to deduce what was wrong because you aren’t bound to it. And consider yourself blessed in that regard. This existence is miserable.”

“I don’t want you to blame yourself for my injuries, Elain.” His voice was barely a whisper. “I made the decision to come for you, knowing that I may not make it out alive. You do not need to apologize for the situation which got us there. I’d come for you a hundred times. In a heartbeat. Like I said, you’re one of my best friends, a part of my family. I would go to the ends of the earth to protect my own.”

“You really mean it?”

“Of course,” he breathed. “Of course. How could you even ask that of me?”

“I’ve never had a true best friend outside of Nesta. And I thought perhaps Graysen … but …”

Az stiffened at that name.

“Well we’re both in unfamiliar territory then,” he let out a low chuckle to try to lighten the mood. “Because I have not truly made a new friend since before I reached maturity. Feyre—well she counts—but she’s more of a friend via Rhys. I’ve never really sat and talked to her the way I do you. I would still give everything for her as Rhys’ mate and my High Lady, but we do not share the same connection that I believe she’s found with some of the others here. Perhaps that’s my fault …”

“It’s not. Feyre’s got a large heart, but she tends to fixate and reciprocate only that which is given to her first. You being rather closed off … I’m sure it’s just more difficult for her to find common ground on her own. Cauldron knows that when Nesta shut her out when we still lived with our father, Feyre gave up on Nesta too. Give it time. She is also so wrapped up in Rhysand that she doesn’t pay much attention to much else anyways nowadays.”

“Thanks, El. You’ve always been wise beyond your years.” At her blush, he waved a hand, dismissing her shyness. “It’s true. I’ll admit that it’s one of the things that initially intrigued me about you. And then when my shadows started flocking to you, I couldn’t stay away. I had to get to know you, and I’m infinitely glad I did.”

“I’m glad to call you my best friend too,” she whispered, testing the words on her tongue. Back in their village, she’d been so shielded by Nesta that she hadn’t made many friends with the local children, and then when they’d lost everything, everyone had pretended they’d never existed anyways.

She decided that she loved the sound of it, the thought of having one of her own.

“I’ve never shared these kinds of things with anyone else, not even my sisters. Or the twins, as much as they are also my dear friends now. Does this mean you’re not still upset with me about the other night? I’m deeply sorry about that too. Sorry, I just seem to be apologizing about everything right now.”

“No, of course I’m not upset with you about the other night. I think we both said some very hurtful things, which I need to apologize to you for as well. But I was never truly mad at you, I was more upset at myself. I knew that everything which you said was true.” He switched to using the shadows to communicate.

I’m not sure Mor will ever love me. It seems so ridiculous that I’ve held onto this for centuries, but I can’t stay away. She’s like a drug to me. I’ve never told anyone else this, but the very first time I laid eyes on her and she smiled at me, it was the first time in my life that I felt at peace. Suddenly, my shadows had fled, and I was alone with my thoughts, and I fell in that moment.

I tried to tell her once, but she just got up and walked away before I could finish. I originally assumed it was because she was pissed at me for interrupting her, but as the years have rolled on, I’ve come to wonder if she knew even then that she’d never love me.

But she’s still the most amazing female—she brings so much joy to so many people—despite all the atrocities she’s lived through. I’ve never been able to pull myself out of her orbit. I can’t … I can’t …

Elain was speechless at his confession, able only to sit there motionlessly until she felt his body start to quiver. His breathing hitched, gradually increasing until he was violently shaking around her, and she recognized it as a panic attack. Not unlike the panic attack she’d talked him through when he’d gone to the High Lord’s meeting. Oh.

It was her turn to comfort him. She began rubbing soothing strokes down his legs, afraid of touching him anywhere near the bandages.

How often does this happen?

And then they sat there for Cauldron knew how long until he finally calmed enough to form sentences.

Every once in awhile. I’ll admit that lately, it’s been brought on more often. When I have thoughts of her, when I feel like I’m lost and I don’t know what to do with my life, when I realize how unworthy I am of her …

Stop. You are not unworthy of anyone. If she has chosen not to be with you for centuries without letting you off the hook, then perhaps she is unworthy of you.

His face flared up in anger for a split second before he calmed and let her continue.

I’m not saying that any of this to be negative or hurtful to Mor, but you deserve to be free from this pain. It’s not healthy. I know my relationship with Graysen was so short-lived, but I understand why you feel this way. I still love him too. I’m not sure if I’ll ever stop loving him, but I know I should. I just can’t. But we can try to get over it together can’t we?

Together?

Cauldron, not like that. She flinched away from him a bit, but still not enough to leave the warmth of his embrace. I think we both know that’d never work. Especially not with us being as broken as we are now. But it’d be nice to have someone to talk about this with on the days where I just want to lay in bed and cry. And if you told me when you were having your panic attacks, perhaps I could help. I know it’s not much, but …

I’d like that, El. Truly. I’m not sure I’ll ever be fully over Mor either, but having somebody to talk to sounds … nice. Though I’ll admit that I’m not the best at it. I’ve kept everything to myself for centuries.

We’ll each have to work at it, but I’m glad I have you by my side, Az.

Me too, which reminds me …

Az fished around in his pocket for a moment before pulling out a small blue stone the size of a robin’s egg.

“Here. I want you to have this.” He held out the beautiful stone, waiting for her to accept it. But she couldn’t accept any jewels of his. Such a lavish present when she had nothing to offer him ...

She must’ve looked puzzled at the gift she couldn’t place because he continued, “This is a Siphon. You won’t be able to attune to it like an Illyrian can, but it’s one of my spares—already attuned to me.”

“When I walked into Hybern’s camp with your sister, she was wearing one of my Siphons in her diadem as part of her disguise, and I could feel her through it. It was like there was a thread tied between us, and even though I was veiled by the shadows, I could tell she could feel my exact location as well. I wondered … Well I wondered if there was a chance that this would work with my magic. If you’re amenable to trying it ...”

“Oh,” she breathed, gingerly holding out her hand for the proffered stone.

As she closed her fist around it, she felt it—a pulsing chord between her and the male sitting next to her. But she willed herself not to drop the Siphon out of shock. It felt so much like that dreaded tug she’d felt weeks ago in the manor.

“It’s strange to me too, and you don’t have to keep it if it’s too strange or uncomfortable, but … Try to summon my shadows. I just ordered them not to approach you, but if you’re able to call on my own magic … You could override that command. You could wield my magic without my assistance.”

“What do I do?”

“Reach out to them with your mind. Try to feel them, and when you connect, you can convey your orders. If they’re already hovering about your person, the first step isn’t even necessary. All you have to do is will it.”

Elain sent tendrils of her mind out, searching for them—knowing they were strewn about Azriel’s person but not knowing how that equated to locating them mentally. It took a minute before one of them brushed up against her consciousness, and she commanded, Come to me. All of you. Show yourselves.

In the next instant, the shadows were swirling around her, familiarly to how she’d seen them orbit Az countless times before.

Hello, mistress.

“Excellent work!” Az was beaming at her. She moved to hand it back to him, but he declined. “I meant what I said. At least keep it until this war is over. Unless it pains you too much to have it in your possession, but I want you to be able to have a lifeline to me in the battles to come. Hopefully it all ends in our favor tomorrow, but I want you to know that you’re safe, that I did everything I could to protect you.”

“All right. Thank you, Az,” she gave a hesitant smile and slipped the Siphon into her pocket.

“You don’t need to carry it with you always. Put it aside when you’re safe in your tent, but please promise me that you’ll use it if you need to. No matter where I am or what I’m doing. They are yours to command if necessary.”

“I promise.” She squeezed his hand once as she made to move off the bed, but he held an arm in front of her, blocking her path.

“There’s one more thing I wanted to share with you, El.”

She scooted back, settling herself in again.

“What is it?”

“You once told me that one day I’d relay the story of how I got these scars, and I shall. I trust you completely. I meant that. And if we die tomorrow, I want there to be no unfinished business between us.”

“Afraid I’m going to haunt you in the afterlife?”

“Absolutely terrified,” he chuckled at her.

He was silent for a minute before he grabbed her hands in his own, and murmured, “This will be easier if you don’t look at them, I think …”

So she looked up at his face, locking eyes with him, and he began.

“There’s not much to tell exactly. Other than this. My father is a high-ranking camp lord for the Illyrians. My mother was but a simple servant in his keep. He slept with her on the side, as he slept with most of the young females in his care, but she was young and naive. She hadn’t been on a preventative tonic prior to the first time, and one time is all it takes. Even with our natural difficulty with conceiving, she became pregnant with me.”

Elain paled, but continued listening in silence, knowing that if she interrupted him, he might lose his nerve.

“My father kept the whole affair under wraps, not allowing her out of his estate for the duration of her pregnancy and then letting her stay on staff only so long as I was weaning on her tit. The moment I was considered old enough so as not to be an infant, I was thrown in a lightless cell in his underground dungeons. I only got to see my mother for an hour each week. There I lived until I was eleven, when my powers developed, and my father used me to garner favor with the High Lord—Rhysand’s father—by enlisting me as a spy in his army and sending me to Windhaven to train.”

“Most of what occurred in those unlit chambers isn’t worth mentioning. Just know that I was in a very dark place emotionally. I had barely known a parent’s love. I was cradled as an infant but lost practically all access to others’ touches for a decade. The cell wasn’t even large enough for me as I began to grow, and I could not even fully spread my arms or legs or wings.”

It was an effort not to gasp as she clenched her hands into fists. How dare they! That was an inhumane way to treat even a pet, much less a person.

“My half-brothers despised me. They were wicked children, who hated my mother for upsetting theirs and therefore me as a result. It was easy for them to sneak down to my cell when they remembered my existence and bother me. It was usually annoying yet harmless things—like prodding at me with sticks through the cell doors.”

Oh no.

“But one day the eldest came down holding a candle, the light stinging my eyes which had to adjust. And as a I did, I beheld the other two carrying a vat of oil and the keys to my cell respectively. They didn’t even really need to let me out, they could’ve easily reached my hands if they’d tried to grab them through the bars. There was no corner in which I could escape them.”

Shit, shit, shit.

“But they wanted to feel the dominance of the act—wanted to pin me down themselves while they watched me scream. It took ages for someone to come running to the sounds of my wailing, and at that point, my hands were beyond repair. The burns eventually left me after weeks of agony, but there was no erasing the scar tissue. At least not by myself, alone in that cell, with no healer attending to me.”

Tears were once again streaming down her cheeks as she fought the urge to glance back down at his hands, but she held his gaze firmly, squeezing his hands reassuringly instead.

“They let my mother bring her own balms on her weekly visits, but that was the most attention I received. In those stolen moments she told me that no repercussions had befallen my brothers. They’d stated that they were performing an experiment to see how quickly an Illyrian’s healing powers could work, carried out with oil and fire. Since I was a worthless bastard that the world knew nothing about, they only got a slap on the wrist. It was enough for them to never attempt to harm me on that level again but not enough to fully discourage them.”

Elain was seething. She hoped they’d burned in hell for these atrocities which they’d easily walked away from. These scars were carried with him through life.

“I’ve been ruined since that day. It wasn’t much longer before my shadowsinger powers manifested, and the rest is history.”

“I don’t think you’re ruined, Az. You’re one of the kindest people—human or Fae—that I’ve ever met. The fact that you’ve been able to come back from the tragedies in your childhood and become this male speak volumes for your character. Sure, you have a cold and hard side. But it only comes out when the people you love are threatened. When you’re trying to protect. So it doesn’t bother me. It makes more sense to me now that I know … what happened. Why you sometimes slide so easily into darkness. But I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

“Thank you, El. I don’t know that I’ll ever make peace with what happened to me, but I appreciate how supportive you’ve been. I didn’t … I didn’t honestly think I’d ever tell anyone that story. I’ve been trying to bury it for so long.”

“Well I’m glad you did. Do you think we stand a chance tomorrow?” She hopped down from the bed, uninterrupted this time.

“I honestly don’t know, but I know it’s life or death. And I’m going to give it everything I’ve got tomorrow. And I hope you never have to use the shadows, but I’m glad the Siphon works for you.” He stood as well, as much of a struggle as it was for him and offered her an arm, to escort her the rest of the way to the exit.

She didn’t bother resisting, knowing that picking this fight of endurance with him was a losing battle. “So you’re still going to fight tomorrow? Even with …” She gestured at his bandages.

“We can’t afford for me not to. I’ll heal a bit more overnight, and though I may not be able to fly tomorrow, I can still wield blades on the ground.”

She swallowed, her mouth a bit dry as they reached the tent flap.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m hard to kill,” he whispered as he pulled her into a crushing embrace. “Goodnight, El. Thanks for being my best friend.”

She gingerly hugged him back, careful to only barely graze the bandaging on his back. “Goodnight, Az. I’m thankful you’re mine as well.” And with that, she gave him a peck on the cheek and slipped out into the night before he could say any more.

Chapter Text

Madja came back in not long after Elain had left, changing the poultices on his back, assuring him that, with his Illyrian blood, she would have him right as rain in no time. Though she did warn him about fighting tomorrow.

He could expect to have a fully healed back, but while the abrasions on his wings had closed up, they’d still smart rather badly, and it was unlikely that he’d be able to fly for yet another few days.

He took the news in stride, careful not to tip her off that he had every intention of being on the front lines tomorrow. He would not see any of his family slaughtered whilst he sat on the sidelines, doing nothing to assist them.

It just wasn’t in his blood, and if he died to help defeat the King of Hybern and create a better world, then just maybe his miserable life would mean something.

Surely his family would miss him terribly, but over the decades following his death, they’d heal, learning how to live without him.

He wondered if Mor would ever mourn him the way he would mourn her. They’d been so entangled for centuries, yet he found himself to be morosely curious about how she’d react to the news. Would she mourn for a love that had never been? Or just a close friend who’d been stupid enough to love her for centuries?

Az needed to stop beating himself up about this, but it was impossible to ignore right now. For when … when Elain had kissed his cheek ... each time he’d been stunned.

He knew it had meant nothing to her, but somehow he’d felt his heart race just a fraction of a beat faster.

The moment had nothing on what he felt every time Mor even flashed a quick smile in his direction, but he didn’t know how to process his body’s reaction to the tiny peck which had still somehow elicited some tiny fragment of feelings from him.

He needed … He needed to find out where Mor stood, once and for all.

In the quiet, twilight hours, as he found himself lying on his stomach, trying to get some rest so that he had a chance in hell of proving himself useful on the battlefield tomorrow, he found himself making a bargain with the Mother.

If they somehow both survived the war, he would begin trying to work up the courage to confront Mor once and for all about his feelings. He knew that thread of bravery must still lie dormant inside him, slumbering for all these years since a naive seventeen-year-old had tried confessing to her for the first and only time.

He would request an answer from her. Only that. Though if the answer was no, he didn’t think he could deal with his heart breaking over and over again as she fed him excuses.

But then he’d be forced to move on. He’d no longer be allowed to live in this limbo state he’d been so comfortable with all these centuries. And the thought absolutely terrified him.

As his breathing picked up, alone in the silent gloom, he forced himself to think of Elain, about how she’d sit with him if he called for her. How she’d calmly, yet firmly, do her best to be a relaxing presence for him. Cauldron, she’d even succeeded in distracting him once before to the point where the anxiety attack just silenced itself of its own accord.

He was secretly relieved that she’d seemingly put the Siphon away mere minutes after she’d returned to her tent.

Though it had felt like a bit of a slight, he understood how disorienting this sort of physical tether could be. She hadn’t wanted anything to do with feeling her actual mating bond, so it didn’t surprise him that something which perhaps felt similar would be an affront to her.

As long as she wore it tomorrow, he didn’t care though. And it conveniently helped him hide the panic attack which was overwhelming him.

But as he knew he was hitting that crux of the spiral where she’d be furious if he didn’t call on her, he found himself able to take one deeper breath. And then another. Until his body had quit shaking, and he was utterly exhausted.

But he had defeated it by himself this time, and he felt a shred of pride at the accomplishment.

Perhaps the thought of Elain’s comforting presence had helped to abate it, but regardless, this marked one of the few times a panic attack hadn’t wracked him for the better part of half an hour at least.

Eyes drooping as he finally succumbed to the weariness of his still-healing injuries and the attack which had just taken the fight out of him, Azriel finally found a relatively peaceful slumber.

“Wake up. It’s time to move.”

Elain opened her eyes to a bedraggled Feyre standing over her. It didn’t appear that her sister had gotten much sleep last night.

Elain had been asleep well before anyone had begun returning from their mission of winnowing the human civilians to Summer, but she had to imagine that Feyre at least would’ve kept at it for as long as humanly possible, even to her own detriment.

Elain sat up groggily, to find Nesta similarly disoriented on the other side of their tent.

“Where are we going?” Nesta asked, still in a fog. Of course they’d heard the plan yesterday in the war planning meeting, but Nesta had never been particularly adept at waking up quickly before the sun was up.

“It’s time for us to march to the human lands. We’re going on foot so be sure to wear comfortable shoes. You’ve got fifteen minutes to get ready, and then we’ll be off. Cerridwen should be along shortly with breakfast.”

At that, their sister exited the tent, to go finish her own preparations and left Nesta and Elain to their own devices.

She had never desired to ask for any pants or tunics so Elain donned a modest sky blue dress which hopefully wouldn’t drag on the ground too terribly and a pair of leather boots which she’d only worn a handful of times. They weren’t very attractive, but she supposed they would do the job.

The march was long and arduous, and though Feyre kept the two of them near the front of the procession, they were surrounded by antsy, agitated Illyrians who complained loudly that they were being forced to walk on foot with the rest of the soldiers.

She watched as Az shadowed Cassian, while the commander had to shape up two different captains who had let their squads get completely out of control. As the rowdy soldiers were assigned to various manual labor tasks such as pulling wagons instead of marching with the front lines, who would get to see battle first, all the others quickly found other topics much more interesting, lest their fates end up the same.

But the trek involved more physical activity than Elain was used to, and by the time they stopped for a brief break in the middle of the day, she was exhausted, her feet aching and blistering within the unfamiliar boots as they began to swell.

She’d never been particularly in shape, but since arriving in Prythian, she’d completely lost whatever muscles she’d had from gardening as she wasted away in the House of Wind.

Elain grimaced at that fact, but there was nothing to be done about it now. She would have to insist on walking through the city more and hauling her own gardening supplies to get back into shape a bit. 

She’d never be fit like the warriors in front of her, or even her sister—she had no desire to do intense combat training—but she could perhaps build up enough stamina so as not to be weak. She didn’t want to be seen that way anymore. Physically or emotionally.

Feyre appeared at her side with a set of Illyrian fighting leathers for Elain to change into—herself and Nesta already having donned them—but one look at them and her face had flushed against her will.

There were other females changing in a wagon meant to conceal them from the males, and Elain could already view how the leathers were hugging their ample curves and placing too much on display.

She was ashamed to admit that she’d never ever worn something which would hug her figure so tightly and showcase her bosom for all to see. She knew her dress would prove a hindrance in battle, but this outfit was far outside her comfort zone.

Why did she have to feel this strongly? She knew it was standard attire, and literally every other female on that battlefield would be donning an identical outfit. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be nervously glancing around to make sure nobody’s eye lingered on her assets. Which were hers alone.

What’s wrong?

W-what? How do you know? she stammered. Well apparently there was one way it could get even more mortifying …

I can feel you recoiling through the Siphon.

Right. That.

She’d placed it in her pocket right before she’d dashed out of the tent this morning.

If she was being honest, she still was highly uncomfortable with the pull it emitted. She’d felt rage rippling off him as the soldiers got testy earlier in the day, but for the most part Azriel was the epitome of calm somehow.

What really bothered her was the unpleasant sensation of being tied to someone. It hit too close to home with the mate she was trying to forget existed. Even if Azriel was nothing like that and she’d much rather have some strange Fae bond with him than Lucien.

But she didn’t want this with anyone. Especially right now ...

I … can’t wear this.

Wear what?

These leathers. I’ve … never … They show …

Before she could embarrass herself further with Az or be herded into the wagon with the others as she could hear the captains already giving a five-minute warning to their troops, Viviane, the Lady of Winter swooped in and saved her.

The bundle she handed Elain contained a flowing, azure, fur-trimmed coat. If she wore that over the leathers, at least her breasts and backside wouldn’t be on full display, even if the summer heat was already oppressive in her looser, lighter gown.

“Thank you,” she murmured to the kindhearted female, who had so benevolently looked out for a stranger, before ducking into the wagon and changing cautiously into the ensemble.

If they all survived this battle, Elain made a note to send Viviane a bouquet of the loveliest freesias she had been cultivating when they had left the townhouse what felt like a lifetime ago.

Feyre helped her with the difficult clasps on the leathers, sparing Elain’s already-sweaty fingers from fiddling uselessly with them in front of the others, and when they emerged into the stifling sunlit meadow, Elain found Az and Cassian waiting for her.

Cassian had an assortment of wicked-looking daggers, and after careful consideration, he attempted to press one into Elain’s hands.

She swallowed the lump now forming in her throat.

No. She wasn’t supposed to be fighting today—just sneaking through the lines to find and help neutralize the Cauldron. That was the plan. She couldn’t … couldn’t bring herself to even fathom killing another being, even if this was war and they were hellbent on killing her.

“I can’t … No.” Elain took a clumsy step backwards, almost colliding with a passing soldier.

Cassian looked frustrated at her refusal, but before he could protest, he was shoved aside by a still-limping Azriel as he stumbled towards her.

Please. There’s no way I can fight. I’m not sure I could take a life, and I’ve never used a weapon before, she pleaded breathlessly.

Hold on.

He extended his hands, exposing a fine dagger with curious markings in a language she couldn’t read.

She recognized it instantly as the blade she had never seen leave his side. Ever. In the months that she’d know Az. Even when she’d visited him in his tent last night, while he’d been prostrate as he healed, the blade had been merely inches away on a small table—just in case he needed it.

Azriel … she warned, fully in a panic now.

But he didn’t slow. “This is Truth-Teller,” he murmured. “I won’t be using it today—so I want you to.”

Please. I can’t fight, and I know you don’t want to. But I would feel much, much better if you at least had something to protect yourself with, he added silently as the shadows flitted between them.

You can’t fight?

She could still see the slashing scars peppering his wings, but they’d healed up overnight. And his back seemed more or less fine now.

Rhys and I had it out this morning. I don’t want to rehash it, but I’ve been ordered to only use my shadows to help direct the flow of battle, not to be anywhere near the actual fighting. But that’s beside the point.

His Siphons were gleaming in the brilliant sunlight, and the one she also carried felt as if it were warming in her pocket as he continued to stand there, offering her this piece of himself.

And she could feel him—anguished and pleading along the end of that invisible, fabricated tether between him.

Elain had no idea what to say to him as she felt his emotions boil over and begin to wash over her. It wasn’t fair, though she knew it was unintentional of him. Even if he wasn’t trying to manipulate her into taking the blade, it was difficult to reconcile the fact that his guilt was pouring over her in the moment.

She couldn’t help but admire the obsidian of the hilt as he kept it extended toward her, though. It was as if the blade was made of shadows itself—a perfect representation of him.

“It has never failed me once. Some people say it is magic and will always strike true,” he prodded.

If you don’t mind? 

And in the back of her mind, there was this tiny, fraction of her which somehow wasn’t terrified and wouldn’t let her body recoil from his offer.

When she showed no sign of refusal, Azriel tenderly reached for the hand which was lying flatty against her side.

As he took it in his own rough hand, she felt a jolt course through her at how surprisingly warm it was. She was used to his hands being frigid all the time, clammy to the touch, but today … Today there was a spark of warmth in them.

As she continued to allow his touch, he pressed the hilt of Truth-Teller into the proffered hand. She made no move to accept it though.

“It will serve you well.”

“I—I don’t know how to use it—”

“I’ll make sure you don’t have to,” Feyre cut in as she approached the two of them.

You are strong of spirit. You and I both know this, Elain. Don’t let this blade go to waste. I pray that you won’t find yourself needing to use it, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t offer you this piece of protection. If nothing else, take it for me. It’s a gift.

Take it for him? What exactly did that mean? And gifting it to her?

There was no way Elain would be in possession of a knife for a split second longer than was absolutely necessary. If they survived this, she would do her best never to see battle again.

Alright. But I’m giving this back after the battle. I have no need for weapons …

If you insist … Az sounded almost a bit taken aback at her statement, but he pressed her no further.

And so Elain closed her hand around the hilt.

Cassian was staring with his jaw agape behind Az, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.

She finally looked up from the blade and into Azriel’s eyes, the usual brittleness cracking and exposing his dusky, smooth interior. The male he was without the mask.

Thank you, Az. I promise I’ll take good care of it.

Anytime, El. Thank you for accepting it. It will put my mind at ease while you go into the fray and I’m stuck on the backlines. Would you like me to help you strap the sheath to your belt?

Elain looked around for one of her sisters to assist her, but Nesta was speaking closely with Cassian as he snapped out of his trance and attempted to convince her to take one more blade, and Feyre was deep inside a mental conversation with Rhysand as she stared longingly into her mate’s eyes.

She nodded, demurely, as she lifted the hem of her jacket, allowing him access to her belt and giving him an unobstructed view of her leather bottoms.

He was swift and methodical, kneeling with a muted groan and fastening it onto one of the built-in leather straps around her waist with precision and graciously not commenting on how form-fitting the pants were on her already sweat-slicked legs.

You sure you won’t burn up in that?

I’ll survive, somehow. Thank the Cauldron for Viviane. I’ll have to send her a kind letter and a gift when this is all over.

Whatever you say, he said, smirking like a cat.

And just like that, it was over, and he was struggling to rise again, as Elain held out a steadying hand. But nobody paid them much mind until a minute later when Amren ambled over, and a hush fell over the Inner Circle as seven pairs of eyes honed in on their High Lord, Elain and Nesta included.

Chapter Text

“What are you doing?” Rhys demanded as he stormed into Azriel’s tent, Cassian hot on his heels.

Dammit, Cassian. He shot his brother a dirty look which was met with one of haughty disbelief.

Cassian had run into him in the armoury this morning, but when the other warrior had only grabbed a cache of daggers and walked out hastily, Az had thought that was the last he would hear of the encounter.

But apparently not. Cass had just known that he likely wouldn’t win this battle one-on-one and had gone for reinforcements.

“Suiting up for battle. I may not be commanding the troops,” He glared at the battle-ready commander crossing his arms across his chest in front of him. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t fly with them and fight alongside them. I’m one of the strongest warriors we have.” He made a display of flashing all seven of his Siphons for good measure.

He would’ve flared his wings too, but he was saving all his resolve to deal with the pain until he actually needed to in battle.

“You cannot fly,” Cass gritted through his teeth. “I talked to Madja this morning, and I know those wounds have just barely sealed. Hell, I know how long it takes to get back in the damned sky.”

Az knew he should be cringing internally—that Cassian wanted him to recoil a bit as he recalled the much more severe injuries his brother had taken when saving his life in Hybern months ago. But he couldn’t flinch today.

Yes, others had risked their lives for him, but he needed to return the favor. The consequences of his decision two nights ago couldn’t affect whether the Illyrians saw him on the battlefield today.

If one of their leaders sat in the backlines, preening and protecting his wings like a coward, it would lower morale and infinitely decrease his own standing with them.

And then there were the others. Mor. The sisters, two of which who had little to no combat experience. They’d be out there, and there was no way in hell that he wouldn’t be flying in front of them, making sure the worst of the monsters never even made it far enough to close in on them.

“I can fly, and I will. If you paid any attention, you’d know that I circled the camp this morning to test my wings out, and I was fine.”

“You’re still limping, and my soldiers report that you seemed to be struggling quite a bit during your little ‘flight.’”

Shit. He’d intentionally awoken long before the morning wake up call was supposed to go out and sent his own scouts off to eat as he assured them he could hold the camp borders for ten minutes while they relieved themselves. Someone must’ve poked their head out of a tent while he was distracted by the fresh hell which was the pain of using his wings right now.

But he could overcome it for a few hours. He’d dealt with worse.

You didn’t warn me that anyone was watching.

Nobody was. A handful of soldiers peeked out of their tents, but as soon as they realized it was you, they minded their own business. It was not of note to us.

“I did not—”

“You crashed into one of the supply tents!”

Mother above. He was going to flay the snitch alive. He was already reaching for Truth-Teller, ready to storm out into the camp to find out who had betrayed him, when Rhys put a hand on his shoulder.

“Calm down, Az. We want you to survive this battle, not sacrifice yourself for nothing.”

“And what good is me surviving if it doesn’t help protect the rest of you? What good am I then all by my lonesome? The only one who cowered because of a few scrapes on his wings. I couldn’t live with myself. I will fight.”

“No,” Rhys and Cassian bellowed in unison.

Now Feyre had slipped silently into the tent, just another reinforcement called in by Rhys to try to convince him to step down. No fucking way.

“If you try to keep me off the frontlines, I’ll just slip into a shadow and find my way out there anyway. There’s no point. This conversation is over.”

He tried to slip past them and out through the tent flap, but at that moment Mor entered and took up her place next to Feyre, the two of them body-blocking the exit.

Well wasn’t this just a godsdamned party?

He knew he could just disappear into the shadows and slip away from them all, but against a hoard of winnowing busybodies, he wouldn’t be able to escape for long.

“If you so much as try to find your way onto the killing field, whether it be by magical means or otherwise, I’m going to chain you to a damned tree, Az.” Rhys’s voice was the calm before the storm as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

Az knew his brother was trying to pass this off as nonchalance—casually asserting that he was powerful enough to restrain Azriel if he truly wanted to—but Rhys had slipped up. He had shown his hand—or rather not shown Azriel his hands—as they were undoubtedly fisting in anger and frustration whilst obscured from everyone’s view.

Yes. The Lord is furious and will soon lose his cool if you keep this up.

“Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. I don’t give a shit. Either way, I’ll find my way out there.” He could match Rhys’s swagger with one of his own. A skill learned from years of observation which he rarely deployed even with his brothers because he knew how much throwing their own cocky attitudes back in their faces pissed them off.

“Azriel.” The sob from behind him froze him in his tracks, before he could say anything even more infuriating to try to end this infernal conversation.

Gradually, he turned to face her to see that in the minute she’d been in this tent, witnessing this exchange, tears had begun to stream down her face.

Instantly, he softened, losing all the bravado and rage he’d been building up.

“Morrigan.”

“Y-you ca-can’t,” she was barely able to speak the words through the torrent. He moved to approach her, and she didn’t back down, didn’t flinch away from him.

Placing his hands on her arms, he looked her dead in the eyes. “I have to. You need to understand that—”

“N-no you don’t!” She was furious enough to be fighting the sobs so she could speak more easily. “I get it! You think you need to prove your worth, or something equally ridiculous, but you don’t! It’s not worth sacrificing yourself for nothing! If nothing else do it—do it for me. Please. Please.”

Az searched her eyes and could find only unfathomable anguish as she spoke the words, even though he could tell she was having the fight not to avert her gaze as she began pleading. He could try to figure that out later, but now …

“Fine.”

“What?”

“I won’t fight, but I refuse to be completely useless today.”

“Of course not, Az. You can be our eyes and ears. Keep your shadows working for us as you control them from afar. If you sense anything amiss or discover any weak spots, shoot us messages so we can adapt. You’ve got enough stamina for that, at least.”

He just nodded and then took advantage of the stunned silence of the others to barrel his way out of the tent to find some solace now that his personal dwelling had been invaded.

He’d agreed, but only because of the way Mor had begged, those words she’d spoken… Do it for me.

How could he—the spymaster, the one who should be able to read others like a book—have no idea if they were genuine? He knew she truly didn’t want him to die, but was there any other hidden meaning behind them? Or were they simply the words of a friend desperate enough to wield them in that moment?

Shit. He didn’t have time for this right now. He didn’t bother to remove his blades as he made his way into the war tent. He may still need them if their lines broke, but he refused to think about that now.

Azriel had to spend what little time he had left here studying this damned map that he’d already stared at for hours on end, shoring up any other weaknesses they could discover ahead of time.

He and his shadows also had to be infinitely familiar with their surrounding while on the field so they could be quick and effective.

And so he ignored the other High Lords who gave him alarmed looks as he blazed a path through them and took his place, hunched over the enormous piece of parchment, until he heard the horns sounding for the troops to assemble for their final march south.

It was like any other, tedious march an army without wings would typically make. The walk through miles of foreign terrain not very harrowing for the chiseled warriors, but the speed … Illyrian legions were making him restless.

He too wished he could be flying the whole way. They’d make it in a quarter of the time, and the breeze against his face would wick away all this blasted sweat which was pooling on his temples under the blazing midday sun. He rubbed at them, wishing away the headache brought on by his current company and wicking the sweat off his brow.

But he walked on, not making a peep about the conditions and only bothering to show interest when he cast some piercing glares at soldiers as Cassian punished them for their incessant griping just to drill the point home further.

His shadows then visibly flitted through the ranks, daring anyone to utter a word edgewise whilst the shadowsinger had his eye on them.

None of them bothered to give them more shit about the journey after that little incident, terrified that they’d be stuck pitching the tents or hauling other wagons when they reached their destination instead of being allowed to earn glory on the battlefield.

Around lunchtime, they were conveniently only a few miles from the valley where they knew Hybern had set his trap. And so they stopped to change into their heavier armor and give the soldiers a short rest before they made the final trek. One more spurt of energy to hopefully get them through the rest of the day alive.

Az didn’t need to change out of his leathers. He’d already been wearing the lightweight battle-ready outfit since before they’d left the camp so he found solace in the shade of a gnarled oak tree at the edge of the clearing and kept an eye on the camp as all his friends and family joined the masses in taking turns changing within a handful of massive tented wagons.

His peaceful surveillance of the preparations was cut short when Cassian emerged, clad in thicker leathers, with a mailed shirt and his helmet tucked under one arm. In the other, he had an inordinate amount of sheathed daggers balancing precariously.

Apparently, he’d taken it upon himself to play the role of the armoury, strolling around camp and ensuring that every warrior had the necessary tools. He grabbed Azriel, instructing him to go grab a pile of blades for himself and hand them out.

After making a few rounds through the men, Cassian dragged him over to where the females were gradually trickling out of their own changing wagon. There were much fewer of them than the male soldiers, but Cassian treated them all the same, shoving the weapons into their hands to save them the step of needing to wander around in search of one for themselves.

All of a sudden, he felt what might’ve been called a yelp through his Siphon-bond with Elain. He’d been pleased the she carried it with her on the march, yet she’d remained reserved and silent. She hadn’t sent him any messages, nor had he really felt anything other than a general sense in his gut of where she was at all times.

What’s wrong? he inquired.

W-what? How do you know?

She sounded thoroughly mortified, and he wanted to slap himself for forgetting that she might very well be changing. And he might have terrified her into thinking he was watching. So he reassured her that nothing disreputable was occuring.

I can feel you recoiling through the Siphon.

I … can’t wear this.

Wear what?

These leathers. I’ve … never … They show …

Oh. Yes, the leathers were very different from the sorts of concealing, loose-fitting clothing that she usually wore, but he hadn’t really given any thought to the fact that she might be too embarrassed by the drastic change in style to even pause whilst putting them on.

He was about to ask if there was anything he could do to help when he felt the terror soften on the bond and so he simply sent Nuala to check in further with Elain. Judging by the fact that she got distracted mid sentence, someone might have already given her something more to her tastes.

So he carried on, running around the camp with Cassian.

Az had just run out of blades again and was about to go in search of more when Cassian found his true target.

Nesta Archeron had freshly emerged, and his brother made a beeline for her, dragging a befuddled Azriel in his wake.

He watched as Nesta didn’t complain as Cassian pressed the dagger into her hands and told her how to buckle the sheath onto her leathers. He went on to give her a few pointers, but Azriel completely tuned them out, waiting for his brother to be done doting on the eldest Archeron so they could be on the move again. He wasn’t quite sure why he’d had to be brought along just to witness this.

And then Elain emerged. Indeed someone, likely a Winter Court courier, had provided her with a knee-length powdered blue jacket to cover herself with, and with the thickly fur-lined collar, any hint of her form was obscured from the casual observer.

She had to be dying in this heat though, but he figured it was her own choice to continue wearing it instead of exposing the more delicate parts of herself.

Now finished with Nesta, Cassian picked out another, lighter, dagger from his trove and extended the hilt to Elain, attempting to press it into her hand.

Elain instantly blanched at the sight of the blade, and tried to instinctively retreat a step, nearly colliding with a hurried soldier who was passing behind her.

“I can’t … No.”

Without pausing to think about his actions, his feet began moving of their own accord, pitifully limping and closing the handful of feet between them and nudging Cassian out of the way.

Before he’d even reached her, she was panicking in earnest, her pleading thoughts finding their way into his ears.

Please. There’s no way I can fight. I’m not sure I could take a life, and I’ve never used a weapon before.

Hold on.

She needed this blade more than him, and though no one else had ever even touched this blade since the relic found its way into his possession, he could think of nobody more deserving than Elain to wield it.

Her gift was truth in a way. She beheld many truths which may come to pass and which were currently occurring. She was a damned miracle, blessed by the Cauldron itself, and he found himself unable to resist the urge to offer it to her. For as long as she needed it.

It had never failed him, and it would serve her well, though he hoped she wouldn’t find herself in the position to even have to unsheath it.

And so he unbuckled the sheath and extended the whole blade hilt-first in her direction.

Azriel … Her words were a warning.

But he didn’t slow. “This is Truth-Teller,” he murmured. “I won’t be using it today—so I want you to.”

Please. I can’t fight, and I know you don’t want to. But I would feel much, much better if you at least had something to protect yourself with, he added, hoping that she would relent and just take the blade off him without this fanfare if she knew.

You can’t fight?

Rhys and I had it out this morning. I don’t want to rehash it, but I’ve been ordered to only use my shadows to help direct the flow of battle, not to be anywhere near the actual fighting. But that’s beside the point.

He didn’t really want to go into who all had been there, the true reason he’d given in so easily. Though he did feel his Siphons flare with unrecognizable emotion as he thought about how difficult it was to yield this morning but how easily he was able to extend this piece of himself to her.

In truth, he’d already given over a piece of himself last night with his Siphon, and now … This was the closest he’d truly ever let anyone in.

This tiny, loving, unwavering best friend of his. She’d somehow broken down so many of his walls, and he was doing the only logical thing he could think of—helping her break down another as he offered her this personal piece of protection.

And indeed, she was staring at the blade, wide-eyed, mesmerized, and perhaps gleaning the full gravity of the situation—what he was indeed offering.

“It has never failed me once. Some people say it is magic and will always strike true.”

If you don’t mind? he added on in their silent language.

When she showed no sign of refusal, he gingerly reached for her dominant hand, which was lying uselessly at her side. It was clammy, her nerves showing in her physical reaction to this conversation, despite the summer heat.

As she continued to allow his touch, he pressed the hilt of Truth-Teller into the proffered hand. She made no move to accept it though.

“It will serve you well.”

“I—I don’t know how to use it—”

“I’ll make sure you don’t have to,” Feyre said as she approached the two of them.

You are strong of spirit. You and I both know this, Elain. Don’t let this blade go to waste. I pray that you won’t find yourself needing to use it, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t offer you this piece of protection. If nothing else, take it for me. It’s a gift.

He could only hope his pleas would hold sway with her. He had no idea what he’d do with this ragged, exposed piece of himself if she declined his offer.

Alright. But I’m giving this back after the battle. I have no need for weapons …

If you insist …

And then she closed her hand around the hilt, and Azriel let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

Thank the Cauldron.

Thank you, Az. I promise I’ll take good care of it.

Anytime, El. Thank you for accepting it. It will put my mind at ease while you go into the fray and I’m stuck on the backlines. Would you like me to help you strap the sheath to your belt?

He cringed a bit as she looked a bit frantically around at her sisters to make sure nobody was watching them before nodding her consent.

They would barely be touching through her leathers, and a body was a body. But still, as he kneeled before her after a bit of a struggle, he made sure to keep his touch nimble and necessary, not giving her any reason to think his hands were lingering on any one spot for too long, though he longed to admire how well the leathers she desperately wanted to conceal fit her form.

You sure you won’t burn up in that? He worked to distract her from the movement around her midsection.

I’ll survive, somehow. Thank the Cauldron for Viviane. I’ll have to send her a kind letter and a gift when this is all over.

Whatever you say, he replied, unable to hide the smile which was tugging at his lips.

He struggled back to his feet, with the aid of the hand Elain immediately lent to him, and had barely reoriented himself after the struggle painfully shake any debris from his wings which had been scraping the ground as he knelt for Elain, when Amren strolled up and silence fell over the group.

With the full Circle gathered, all eyes gravitated toward Rhys, waiting to hear what wise words their High Lord had for them before they went into the battle which may very well decide the fate of the world.

Chapter Text

As a hush fell over their group, Azriel watched as Rhys looked every single one of the Inner Circle in the eye.

“Do you want the inspiring talk or the bleak one?” he asked them all.

He does not think he will make it out alive, his shadows hissed in his ear. He’s not so sure about anyone else either, but he is preparing to protect you all with his life.

“We want the real one,” Amren challenged him.

Rhys stood a little straighter, folding his wings up and pushing his chest forward.

“I believe everything happens for a reason. Whether it is decided by the Mother, or the Cauldron, or some sort of tapestry of Fate, I don’t know. I don’t really care. But I am grateful for it, whatever it is. Grateful that it brought you all into my life. If it hadn’t … I might have become as awful as that prick we’re going to face today. If I had not met an Illyrian warrior-in-training,” he nodded to Cassian, “I would not have known the true depths of strength, of resilience, of honor and loyalty.”

The winged one is beaming with pride.

Rhys turned his attention to Azriel. “If I had not met a shadowsinger, I would not have known that it is the family you make, not the one you are born into, that matters. I would not have known what it is to truly hope, even when the world tells you to despair.”

Unable to muster up the words that were catching in the back of his throat, Az merely sketched a bow to his High Lord, his friend, his brother who’d been by his side all his life while trying to maintain his stoic composure.

See? I told you. He could tell Elain felt vindicated.

Told me what? He smirked as he lifted his face only enough to catch a glimpse of her smug face through the hair that was falling in his eyes.

Your childhood and your family has never defined you. You’ve taken those grim experiences and turned them into your strengths. You’re helping me work on that too. Even if I’m still struggling to find my own place. Her eyes went straight to his hands, clearly reflecting on their conversation last night as she gave him a tentative grin.

Glad the focus was no longer on him, Az’s cheeks flushed scarlet as he took in her words. It’s not that she’d never said anything of the sort to him before, but here on this day where he felt so at odds with himself in the uncomfortable position of not being able to be a defender, they hit home.

That she’d had time to process all he had said and still looked at him like this was a blessing. And he could feel that small portion of his heart that was reserved for her blossoming a bit at the knowledge.

You’re getting there. One step at a time. I wish I could lie to you and say it was easy.

After their candid conversation about their fucked up love lives last night, he knew her own mind would be directed to Graysen, just as his had been drawn to Mor.

He was broken out of his distraction by the sound of Mor attempting to choke back tears as Rhys had already turned his focus to her.

“If I had not met my cousin, I would never have learned that light can be found in even the darkest of hells. That kindness can thrive even amongst cruelty.”

Indeed. She had helped drag him out of his own hell, whether she knew how brilliantly her light shone for others or not.

Mor nodded her head as she swiped at her tears.

As Rhys turned to Amren, he bowed his head.

“If I had not met a tiny monster who hoards jewels more fiercely than a firedrake …” A soft chuckle broke through the somber atmosphere as none of them could resist laughing at him voicing the comparison aloud. “My own power would have consumed me long ago.”

His brother beheld his mate at last. “And if I had not met my mate …”

Az tried to avert her gaze as tears began pooling in the corner of Rhys’ eyes. He didn’t need to be told that those two were sharing a much more intimate moment down their bond.

Rhys began wiping Feyre’s tears away and continued, “I believe that everything happened, exactly the way it had to … so I could find you.” He kissed another tear away as they all looked on.

And then he unexpectedly turned to the other two Archeron sisters, finally remembering their presence among the rest of his family. “We have not known each other for long. But I have to believe that you were brought here, into our family, for a reason, too. And maybe today we’ll find out why.”

Doubtful. Az could feel Elain’s morose sorrow through the siphon bond, the uselessness she held in her heart flooding into him.

And you were trying to give me a speech about selling myself short … Never have I seen someone thrust with the burden of power pick it up so quickly. Of course you still have miles to go, but so do we all. And you’ve been learning how to wield your own seer powers as well as mine. And mine are nothing to scoff at. They’ve let nobody else approach or wield them in the centuries I’ve had them. At least give yourself proper credit for that.

She didn’t respond right away, but Az could see her cheeks flush scarlet as she stared dutifully at the ground.

With his speech over, Rhys surveyed their family again and held out a hand to Cassian. Cassian accepted his brother’s hand and started a chain which extended from him to Mor, to Az, to Amren, to Nesta, to Elain, to Feyre.

And then they were all connected to each other, linked by flesh and a bond of love which they could not ignore.

Rhys resumed, “We will walk onto that field and only accept Death when it comes to haul us away to the Otherworld. We will fight for life, for survival, for our futures. But if it is decided by that tapestry of Fate or the Cauldron or the Mother that we do not walk off that field today … The great joy and honor of my life has been to know you. To call you my family. And I am grateful—more than I can possibly say—that I was given this time with you all.”

And it was Amren who answered quietly. “We are grateful, Rhysand. More than you know.”

Az’s heart hurt for his family which might not survive this battle as he murmured his agreement along with the others and looked in the direction which would eventually reveal the battlefield.

“Then let’s go make Hybern very ungrateful to have known us too.”

And so they marched.

Another half hour of walking had led them almost all the way to the sea, the briny air penetrating their nostrils as Rhys and Feyre ascended the grassy knoll and froze.

Azriel could feel Elain trembling beside him as he resisted the urge to take her hand in his own to steady it. To give her a physical reminder that he was beside her and would do his best to protect her from what lay ahead. That she wielded Truth-Teller and would not be caught off-guard. Instead he sent soothing tendrils of shadow down the Siphon-bond between them.

Despite her obvious trepidation, she glanced back on him with a shy half-smile, as much as she was able to muster.

Report. With half a thought, he sent a handful of shadows out into the unseen landscape ahead of them.

His army is well positioned, one fervently whispered back. Over one hundred thousand strong and spread out about a mile inland. He has the advantage and he knows it. As well as the plains, he controls the rocky outcroppings towering above. They are waiting.

Waiting for the armies of Prythian to send themselves like lambs to the slaughter.

Find out where he’s keeping the Cauldron. Do not report back to me until you have uncovered its location. A soft breeze carried his shadow spies into the lurking void beyond that knoll.

Azriel should be the one searching for it. Not just his shadows. He should be lurking in the shadows beneath the feet of Hybern’s soldiers, flitting through them like a wraith until he found their master and his toy.

But he couldn’t. Not with his wing wounds barely patched. He still reeled when the wind whipped at those sensitive spots, causing him to strain himself while trying to hide his winces from the others.

Because—the reason for these injuries plaguing him—she hadn’t left his side since he’d given her his blade, and he didn’t want her to think he regretted putting her life above his own for a second.

Azriel turned his attention back to Elain.

Are you ready? he asked as they began to ascend the hill to catch up to Rhys and Feyre. He already knew what her true answer was by the nervous way she was fiddling with the stone in her pocket.

I have to be. Her voice resonated slightly higher-pitched than normal in his head.

He was about to remind her that he’d be watching out for her from afar as Cassian shot out of the sky, landing a few paces from Rhys and Feyre and quickly closing the distance between them.

“The prick took every inch of high ground and advantage he could find. If we want to rout them, we’ll have to chase them up into those hills. Which I no doubt he’s already calculated. Likely set with all kinds of surprises,” he relayed over the howling and growling of those wretched hounds the king kept at his side.

“How long do you think we have?” Rhys asked him in reply.

Cassian ran his eyes over the Archeron sisters. Az turned towards them as well, noting how Nesta’s gaze didn’t waiver from Cassian but Elain’s was taking in the sheer enormity of the army now spread in front of them, her face going bone-white.

His shadows certainly hadn’t overestimated the size of it, much to Azriel’s chagrin.

“We have five High Lords, and there’s only one of him. You all could shield us for a while. But it might not be in our interest to drain every one of you like that. He’ll have shields, too—and the Cauldron. He’s been careful not to let us see the full extent of his power. I have no doubt we’re about to, though,” Cassian bristled.

“He’ll likely be using spells,” Feyre reminded them all. Indeed, most of his power seemed to come from ensnaring others in complicated spells he’d woven.

It certainly had been Amarantha’s style, and she had been his prized general.

They would need the Spell-Cleaver at some point during this battle.

Even if Feyre had been able to master those powers, she would be preoccupied with Amren’s quest to nullify the Cauldron and cut off the source of the king’s power.

Az limped over until he was standing adjacent to Rhys, looking into Cassian’s eyes.

“Make sure Helion is on alert. And Thesan,” he commanded. The healer he added for any of those not so fortunate to avoid the traps Helion would try to disarm before they wreaked havoc.

Rhys let his order hang in the air before telling Cassian, “You didn’t answer my question.”

Cassian just glanced to either side of him, sizing up the might of their respective armies. “Let’s say it goes badly. Shields shattered, disarray, he uses the Cauldron … A few hours.”

Only a few hours. To anyone naive to the ways of battle, it might sound like an eternity, but Az knew just how one-sided a battle of that length would be. Hybern would swiftly gain the upper hand and then spend those remaining hours driving the victory home, until they were all reduced to corpses or ash.

He addressed Feyre, knowing that she would ultimately give the order which could very well decide their fate in this battle.

“My shadows are hunting for it,” he said through gritted teeth as he tried to rein in his Illyrian instincts. His wings had begun to flare out, sending fire lancing down his spine, and he quickly reeled them back in. Showmanship would get him nowhere in this conversation. “But the wards are strong—no doubt reinforced by the king after you shredded through his at the camp. You might have to go on foot. Wait until the slaughter starts to get sloppy.”

Do not let her lead you to certain death by going too early. Try to use your skills to view when it will be the right time to strike, which vision gives you the best outcome. You may not have any combat experience, but keep her level-headed. She leads too much with her heart. Same with Amren. If you feel like she is rash, speak up.

Oh—okay. Az could feel a nod of affirmation through their bond. Good enough.

Cassian shifted his gaze down to Amren. “You’ll know when.”

Her chin dipped sharply, as she crossed her arms and remained silent.

Cassian clapped a hand to Rhys’s shoulder. “On your command, I’ll get the Illyrians into the skies. We advance on your signal after that.”

Rhys was still staring into the distance, at the army looming before them, as he nodded.

Cassian took one look at Nesta, opened his mouth to say something but apparently thought better of it as he shot into the sky.

The viper’s gaze lingers. She wishes to know what he kept from her. Quite badly. She will try not to lose sight of him, no matter what it costs her.

Interesting. But there were more important matters at hand.

The sheer size of that army which would likely obliterate them. Surely Rhys could not ignore the fact that they’d need every single ounce of help they could get. Even if it came from someone not in battle-ready shape. Azriel was still worth hundreds of those soldiers in sheer killing power.

He had to be.

That little stunt his wings had pulled had proved that he wouldn’t be easily taking to the sky anytime soon, but ...

“I can fight on foot,” he directed at Rhys. He could feel his shadows stirring around them, let them show themselves, to bolster Rhys’s image of him.

“No.” His tone left little room for argument, but Az had been expecting this. Rhys wasn’t going to give in without a fight.

He was about to retort that his feet hadn’t been torn to shreds when Amren shook her head in warning, and he held his tongue. But not without letting those shadows flare up a bit in protest before they settled for coiling constricting around him, a physical manifestation of the guilt he was feeling deep in his gut as he watched his friends plan to sacrifice themselves without him.

Their group settled into silence, each of them observing as the foot soldiers formed their lines, as the Illyrian legion ascend into the skies as Rhys and Cassian commanded them to prepare for battle.

Az rubbed in vain at his temples, trying the quell the headache which was taking form. It was a side-effect of the pain elsewhere, but Rhys certainly wasn’t helping by denying him his chance to be useful in the coming battle.

The High Lord is torn. He wishes to accompany his mate. He is terrified of the outcome of this battle, but mostly because of her.

As if in answer, Az heard Rhys breathe a faint, “Yes.”

It was a fluke, some semblance of control he must’ve lost in the moment for forgetting to send that along their mating bond.

Just then, Tarquin called for the unified forces to halt, and Azriel looked upon them, the soldiers in mismatched uniforms from the five courts they hailed from. The juxtaposition of Thesan’s golden Peregryns against the stark night-black of the Illyrians.

This was it. The battle for their lives—their freedom—had begun.

Chapter Text

Elain could feel the moment all the High Lords unleashed their magic. The unified effort of four of the most powerful beings in the world caused her breath to catch in her throat as her own magic flared in answer.

She saw mass chaos, monsters fighting monsters, as the images flew by her consciousness. She could not decipher exactly who just winning from these whirlwinds blows, just sense the pandemonium that this battle would explode into.

“Magic first,” she heard Amren explain to Nesta. “Both sides will try to bring down the shields around the armies.”

Elain could sense the shields on both sides taking heavy blows, some of them faltering, but not a majority of them.

Cauldron, this was going to take awhile. And by the time they finally began, their greatest spellcasters would already be exhausted, at an extreme disadvantage. She could only hope that the same went for Hybern’s forces.

“I forgot how boring this part is,” Amren complained under her breath as Rhysand shot her an exasperated look.

The tiny female wasn’t helping at all it seemed. Even Elain could tell that keeping morale high would be important for them all.

She turned to the frowning shadowsinger beside her. She knew it was more than just worry which was etching itself into the lines of his face—it was fear for his family and anger at his uselessness in this battle.

Elain had an inkling that by the end of the day, he would have found a way to skirt orders, even if it was just to sacrifice himself to buy one of their friends an opportunity to run.

Her stomach went leaden at that thought, and she resolved to do her best to read what the future held. If she could help guide them in any way as she worked with her sisters and Amren to nullify the Cauldron, then perhaps she could save a life or two or even hundreds with the unique knowledge she was able to glean.

Az’s Siphons began to glow, and she realized …

You’re not taking that order, lying down are you?

I will not physically be on the battlefield, but my magic is fine. I will be assisting from here. Beginning with helping Rhys deal the deathblow to those shields.

It’s not … ?

Physical wounds take much more time to heal than my magic takes to restore itself. I’m not at my full power, but I also possess immeasurably more than most wielders on that battlefield. I will gladly spend the brunt of it protecting whoever I can.

I know you will. And so will I. However I can help. This Siphon will still be able to reach you when I’ve gone off ahead? In case I see anything you’ll need to know about the battle?

I don’t know for certain, but based on the fact that I’ve been able to feel you ever since you equipped it, even when we were marching apart, I’d say it’s a fair guess that it will work from a distance.

She nodded sharply, once.

It’s not … too much? he asked cautiously.

Indeed, she was still adjusting to that incessant tug which cleaved through her middle anytime he moved. It still made her mouth go dry when she thought about how similar it felt to another tug she’d felt before with Lucien, but this was her choice.

They were using this stone out of necessity, and the second she felt too overwhelmed, she knew she could return it.

Besides, Azriel was her best friend. There were no expectations attached to this bond, and if she had to endure it for the course of this battle, she was thankful that it was him who she was paired with.

He already understood her better than anyone else could, and the way he could read her even without this soul-bridge was uncanny. He didn’t need it to keep tabs on her, only to empower her to be able to share his magic and communicate with him.

She had to admit that the day in which they had been forced into silence had been absolutely miserable for her. And now she wouldn’t need the twins’ assistance whenever she felt the desire to speak to him.

No. It’s strange, but … I’m able to separate it from … that. It’s not even remotely the same thing, even if its effects might feel similar.

She could’ve sworn he breathed a small sigh of relief before the two of them were interrupted by her sister and her mate beginning to speak of such things as mating gifts from a few paces in front of them.

“I never got you a mating present,” Feyre told Rhysand. “I’ve been thinking and thinking about what to get you.”

She paused for a moment, either for dramatic effect or to tell him secrets mind-to-mind.

“But, I’ll admit,” she continued, “this mating gift is probably for both of us.”

In that second, Rhysand’s void-like power, combined with the cobalt of Azriel’s, shredded through Hybern’s shield as Elain felt the shift in the plain ahead of them without its presence.

And then a glamour she hadn’t noticed Feyre making came undone, revealing …

“Mother above,” Azriel whispered as a swirling cloud of darkness and a slight male figure appeared as if out of thin air.

Who … ? I saw the cloud in a passing earlier vision, but the male … He’s not an ordinary Fae, is he?

Not even a little bit. The former is Bryaxis. He’s been haunting the library in the House of Wind since before I was even born. And then the Bone Carver … I have no idea how Feyre bound him to that form, but he is a Death God.

Mother above. Elain could only echo Azriel’s curse.

“You retrieved the Ouroboros,” she heard Rhys whisper to Feyre, having no idea what in the world that could mean.

“I did,” her sister replied simply.

“What did you see?” he asked in a murmur, this surely supposed to be a private moment between them.

Elain felt bad for eavesdropping on them, though she knew full well that they could keep their words hidden if they truly wanted to. There were enough Fae ears crowded in such close proximity as they waited atop this hill that she knew they must be aware of the intrusion.

“Myself. I saw myself.”

A mirror then. Or some magical approximation which reflected Feyre’s image onto it.

The Ouroboros is indeed a magical mirror, mistress, the shadows hissed in her ear. It has long been said that whoever fixes their gaze upon it will go mad from what it reveals to them from its depths. The only way to possess the mirror, though, is to look into it. Your sister did so last night, and traded it for the Bone Carver’s aid in this war.

Cauldron, was there any part of this new world of hers which was normal, which wasn’t touched by powerful magics and frightening enchantments at every turn?

Elain couldn’t begin to fathom what she would see if she looked into this mirror. Would she also see herself as Feyre did? Why would seeing herself cause the legends to say that she would go mad? She shivered as she considered the truths the mirror might pose to her about her life. Particularly in regards to Graysen and Lucien—the two males she was trying so hard to forget about.

She’d somehow stopped crying over Graysen, especially after her agonizing abduction to Hybern, but that didn’t fill the hole in her heart. She knew he wasn’t coming to rescue her, to bring her home, but she still ached for the loss of what they’d shared—even if he had been absolutely wretched to her the last time she’d seen him for real.

And Lucien …

She didn’t wish for him to suffer, but she also guiltily hoped from the recesses of her heart that he found somewhere else to live. That his journey ended not with him returning to the Night Court having found this hidden queen but that they received a letter in the future stating that he was happy and fulfilled elsewhere. Away from Elain.

Away from all the effort she’d put into healing herself this past month which had already crumbled last week but which might fully shatter if he were to show up and request time with her.

Her heart couldn’t handle a male trying to wedge his way into it. It might burst from the pressure of him trying to shove his Fae-mate-shaped peg into the Graysen-shaped hole.

And she could not afford to go back to that place she’d found herself in upon arriving in the Night Court.

She knew Azriel would do everything in his power to pull her out of it, but she couldn’t solely rely on him to keep her from going overboard.

And as if her thoughts turning to him had summoned him …

El? His expression was one of panic. She quickly reigned in her dark emotions, knowing that by some combination of his shadows and his Siphon, he’d sensed the general timbre of them.

I’m fine. She quickly grabbed a calloused hand and gave it a reaffirming squeeze. The reality of this battle is getting to me. That’s all, she fibbed.

With the fate of the world in the balance, she didn’t want him to know that she couldn’t get these two males off her mind. It would do nothing positive for the outcome of today’s battle.

He gave her a raised eyebrow in answer but didn’t challenge the phony reasoning.

Feyre and Rhysand had been continuing their exchange, and she heard Feyre tell her mate, “Here’s to a long, happy mating, Rhys.”

“Seems like you beat me to it.”

“To what?” Her sister sounded a bit shocked, and in that moment, Elain felt Rhysand drop his own glamour as a slender, female with ink-black hair and the kind of face that men would worship in their poetry and songs appeared before them.

But Elain knew that she too must be other.

The Weaver, Az informed her.

“You’re not the only one who can offer bargains, you know,” Rhysand smirked at his mate.

Those two had truly done everything in their powers to turn the tide of this war, including, it seemed, making bargains with a host of powerful creatures to fight for them.

“How?” Feyre asked.

Indeed, Elain was wondering the same thing.

How did they convince them to fight for us?

Our High Lord and Lady are rather fond of making magical bargains with others. In the case of the Bone Carver, he requested the Ouroboros of your sister. They likely offered freedom to the others. Traditionally, in the Night Court, they’re also marked by tattoos on the bargained parties. Which Rhys and Feyre seem to be collecting at the moment. The corners of his mouth turned up in a soft smirk as Elain turned her attention back to Rhysand.

He angled his head so her sister could see the tattoo peeking out from behind his ear that Elain hadn’t realized was new or even anything of significance.

“I sent Helion to bargain on my behalf—that was why he was in the Middle that day he found you. To offer to break the containment spell on the Weaver … in exchange for her services today.”

Feyre flashed him a savage grin and said, “Hybern has no idea about the hell that’s about to rain down upon them, do they?”

“Here’s to family reunions,” was all Rhysand offered before the three monsters in front of them unleashed themselves ferociously upon Hybern’s ranks.

“You actually did it.” Amren sounded mystified as their group watched the creatures leave nothing but bodies in their wakes.

Rhysand finally began pitching in, and the war began in earnest. Where he pointed, entire sections of the army turned to mist under his wicked attention.

Holy gods.

She saw Az’s own blue light assaulting those flanks, which were now unexpectedly exposed, a split second later.

And then the Illyrian formations went into the fray, taking some nonverbal signal from their High Lord. She saw too many of them go down in the initial response by the king’s demonic-looking archers.

Their arrows seemed tipped with the same foul substance which had sapped her powers from her in his camp, and they effortlessly created their own holes in the Illyrian Siphon-shields before the soldiers realized they would need to wield physical shields to protect themselves.

Elain also noticed those nasty beasts which had shredded Az’s wings and almost killed them on their escape from Hybern’s camp going toe-to-toe with the soldiers on land.

The High Lords worked together to help sow chaos in Hybern’s ranks to protect their own as their own monsters took them on, one of the Death Gods wielding a scythe.

How appropriate that their mortal legends seemed to have gotten something right, though Elain had never expected to come face-to-face with the Grim Reaper in her lifetime—and to have it fight to defend her people no less.

She balled her hands up in her pockets, worrying her fingers over that stone, their lone occupant, to help her deal with the stress of watching the battle unfold before her eyes, to try to ignore the two armies now sprinting to meet each other in hand-to-hand combat, swords hoisted in the air.

She called upon her power, trying to glean any small advantage she could, but the visions were still too jumbled.

She glimpsed Cassian alight in crimson, Mor fighting and holding the lines with Viviane, humans she hadn’t realized were amongst them slashing out with ash blades, the Bone Carver, the Weaver, and Bryaxis annihilating on a mere whim. No sign of the Cauldron, of where the king himself might be lurking.

And as the two armies on the grounded collided, Elain was thrown from her visions, having to cover her ears at the shriek of metal on metal, thousands of times over in pure cacophony, a sound she never could’ve guessed would’ve grated on her so thoroughly.

It never gets any easier.

She couldn’t fathom how much bloodshed Azriel had seen in his centuries, but she was willing to give anything to never witness this again.

She threw herself back into her visions, only to see, amongst the noise, Amren and Feyre, sprinting across the field. Alone.

I’m … I’m not going with them, she breathed. Either … I’m already … Or Amren doesn’t need me anymore.

You’re not dying today, he growled. So good. It means you’ll be of more use to us here with your visions. Can you try to find any weaknesses we might be able to exploit?

I’ll do my best.

Elain needed a quick breather before going back in, but she didn’t feel like she was hitting the limits of her power. No, she’d been able to go for hours before while scrying. She wouldn’t let these visions drain her before the battle was over.

“It’s getting messy,” Amren murmured, likely hoping it would mean she and Feyre would be able to leap into the fray.

“Not yet,” Rhys commanded. “Much of the army isn’t yet engaged past the front lines. We need Hybern’s focus elsewhere.

Meaning that none of the High Lords were truly in the melee—Her sister’s mate was not. So Hybern had no reason not to sit back and relax wherever he was hiding with the Cauldron. If their cards weren’t on the table, then neither were his.

“This will be over before we can even walk down this hill,” Amren snapped back in complaint.

“Not yet—” Rhysand was practically growling at the tiny female, but he was interrupted as a loud horn sounded from the north.

Their heads all whipped around as Elain took in the three armies now cresting the horizon, one in the burnt orange of falling leaves, one in the green of a spring meadows, and the other—the badger against a turquoise background—that was Graysen.

Unexpected allies had come to fight alongside them. That’s where the humans she’d seen earlier had come from. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

She didn’t need to even see him. He’d be on the front lines with his men anyways.

“Now. You have to go now,” Rhysand breathed. Because these new arrivals to the game—the full might of Prythian now standing against him—might be the best shot they had at surprising Hybern and pulling his attention away for long enough for them to slip by unnoticed.

She slipped back into her head, searching for any clear path for Feyre to take. She saw not a single one yet, but the redheaded male who showed up—Lucien, she found herself whispering unintentionally to Az—but no.

It was not Lucien. This male had shorter hair, paler skin, harder facial features. And Rhysand was growling at him.

What? At his question, she shook herself out of the trance.

My mistake. Not Lucien. Perhaps a brother. He’s coming here. To us.

Az snarled, but had no opportunity to warn the others before a rip appeared, and out from it stepped this male.

Eris, the eldest son of Autumn, Az informed her as Rhysand did indeed unleash a feral growl at the newcomer.

Eris’s hand did not leave the pommel of his sword as he ignored any attempt at making pleasantries and stated, “We thought you might need some help.”

At the shocked silence which followed his assertion, he continued, “Tamlin made him. Dragged my father out by his neck. It was delightful.” There was nothing tame about the slight tilting of the male’s lips, as if he had thoroughly enjoyed seeing his father manhandled and coerced into assisting in this war.

“Tamlin wants order. Jurian does too,” he added.

So Jurian was leading the humans, not Graysen or Lord Nolan. It was a blessed relief. He could still be here, but he held no power. He could not decide to pull their troops out at the last minute, dooming them all but saving himself.

She had no idea where the backhanded thought came from, but Elain found herself full of the certainty that her former fiance would stoop so low to save his own hide. All these small details she’d overlooked, such as him wanting to hide in his estate, while leaving the others in their village to fend for themselves were punching her in the gut.

“And what of your father?” Rhysand sounded as if he were biting back another snarl, trying to make peace with a male who so thoroughly enraged him that it was a miracle that they were working together now.

“We’re taking care of the problem.” Eris pointed to the front lines of the Autumn Court army, where males who must’ve been his other brothers were winnowing right to Hybern’s supply wagons and obliterating them.

There was nothing left of the caches of faebane to even rise up in smoke as their flames burned so brilliantly that the explosions completely wiped out their inventory.

The next thing Elain knew, Amren was beckoning to her and her sisters. This was it.

But as she moved towards the otherworldly female, she spotted Graysen, and an unintentional sob burst from her throat. She had known he was here. That was his banner after all, but seeing him in the flesh—that was somehow different. And all those horrid thoughts she’d just had of him went right out the window as she realized that he might very well die on that battlefield.

“Now. Quick and quiet as shadows,” Amren urged them. Right. She wondered if she could become a shadow. Amren still had need of her thus far it seemed.

“This way,” Feyre guided her, as Elain tried to quell her shaking, unable to tear her eyes off of the legion Graysen was in, as if her staring at him would do anything even remotely useful.

Quick as a shadow. Quiet as a shadow. She repeated these phrases as a mantra. Until she was no longer needed, she would be both of those things.

The shadows were her friends. She was their mistress. She would not be afraid.

“I assume we’ll be following the path of bodies. How does the Weaver know how to find the Cauldron?” Amren muttered as they turned to apparently follow in the beauty’s wake.

“Because she appears to have an unnaturally good sense of smell,” Rhys retorted from behind them.

Go. I’m sending some shadows along to monitor you. You will be glamoured to be invisible for as long as possible. If I need to extract you, I will, but stick to the plan. Perhaps you’re needed now after all.

Thank you. She felt more at ease knowing they weren’t going to be completely on their own once they crossed into enemy territory—even if it would be difficult for anyone to stage a rescue if they got caught.

But then, Nesta inhaled with a gasp and toppled both herself and Amren, who had tried to keep her aloft on her feet.

It was then that Elain felt it. The Cauldron. Hybern was readying it for something. Perhaps to finally bring it into battle to obliterate their own troops.

Chapter Text

Amren twisted out from underneath a crumpled Nesta and shouted toward the battlefield, “Shields—”

Eris winnowed away to go deal with his father, no doubt.

Azriel watched as Nesta began to rise from the ground below him on unsteady elbows, retching into the grass. So similar to the last time the Cauldron had been used, it seemed.

And if the Cauldron was rallying as much power as it had used to take down the wall … Mother save them. How much of their armies could he wipe out in one cleave of its might?

Rhys’s breathing was already beginning to hitch as he erected a shield of star-kissed night around the entirety of their troops.

You know that isn’t going to work. Save your energy, Az growled at his brother.

I have to try. If my shields weaken the Cauldron even a minuscule amount, perhaps it will save enough lives to turn the tide.

And so Azriel did the only thing he could think of. He poured his own power out of his Siphons, interlocking it with Rhys’s to reinforce the barrier.

He was now panting raggedly as well, but his brother was right. They needed to try. This was all the assistance Az could give to the battle effort, so he’d throw his all into it.

His body tensed, anticipating the unseen attack which could strike at any moment. His shadows were in a frenzy, able to sense the wrongness of the Cauldron’s aura but unable to pinpoint a location.

“CASSIAN.” The shriek pierced through his thoughts.

“CASSIAN!” It repeated over and over, a pleading, as Nesta roared and shot to her feet.

Where is he? he demanded of his shadows, just as one solitary soldier shot from the pack of the Illyrian legion across the battlefield. One lone figure with blazing, crimson Siphons who could’ve in no way heard what the female was screaming from that distance.

A female who had already fallen back to the ground in anguish, the contents of her stomach turning out as she moaned. It was a moan of such pure, uncontrolled agony, that this set of occurrences could only mean one thing—

Her mate.

The King of Hybern was trying to obliterate her mate.

She was the one who stole from him, and though the Cauldron had originally struck out to steal back her sister from her, it must have also gleaned that small truth she’d tried to hide deep within herself.

And now she was forced to endure the torture of knowing where Hybern was going to strike and to be able to do nothing but yell for Cassian and writhe on the ground in pain as she awaited the blast.

And it struck, appearing out of its glamour atop that rocky outcropping, a blinding white light speared for the Illyrian legion Cassian had been flying with, tearing through the many shields around them with ease.

But Cassian had already closed half the distance between them when the blast hit his troops.

Az could tell he was screaming but couldn’t hear him above the unnatural emptiness which filled his ears as heat seared his body, even from this distance.

And when the light faded, and Az was once again able to take in the battlefield, he saw nothing but ash raining down across the soldiers on the plain in the place of the Illyrian legion which had moments before occupied that space.

His gaze swiveled to Nesta, who was scanning the sky with terror written plainly on her face for a male who now was frozen, aloft, in shock as if unsure whether he should return to his other panicked forces or coming charging in for Nesta.

She had saved his life, but he had not been able to save his troops. Az was eternally grateful to her for the act, but he knew, if they survived this, that it would gnaw on Cassian for centuries.

He didn’t have much time to reflect on this this, though, before Nesta jerked again, another moan escaping her lips, though not one as pained as the last had been. None of them must be in the line of fire this time, but it still raised the question of who was. Not that Nesta was in any state to tell them.

This time, the seven High Lords together raised a shield to defend the entire army, again.

This time, though, the king aimed the Cauldron straight at his own forces, deeming taking out the Bone Carver to be more important than sparing the troops in his immediate vicinity. Stryga let out a ghastly shriek as she noted the Cauldron’s intended target and tried to warn him of his demise.

But there was nothing any of them could do as the Bone Carver was obliterated by a scorching flash of light.

There was nothing but ringing in Azriel’s ears as he watched Cassian decide to continue barreling towards them, towards Nesta, as she had gone silent, the Cauldron supposedly quieting for the time being.

Perhaps it needed time to recharge before it could again wreak such devastation.

Az only barely noted the Illyrians reforming and taking advantage of this pause in the king’s assault, fully integrating with Thesan’s Peregryn force.

The foot soldiers had not wavered, however, and were still striking out at Hybern’s army, even though they were sorely at a disadvantage.

Azriel wondered if Graysen was among the men at the front who were getting cleaved through easily by the opposing Fae troops. Perhaps it was better if he was ended anonymously in this war, though he wondered if it still might deeply upset Elain.

She’d admitted that she didn’t know why she was still in love with him, but that didn’t mean that her heart wouldn’t be torn asunder upon learning of his death. As odious as the thought was, he would probably always hold a small fraction of it, for the boy she had thought him to be.

Az was interrupted from these thoughts by Cassian shaking the ground beneath them with his frantic landing.

“What is it, what—” he panted as he reached for Nesta, facedown in the grass, his focus on nobody but her.

“It’s gone quiet again,” she said breathily, as she allowed Cassian to reposition her until she was seated and Cassian could scan every inch of her face, the anguish he felt for her apparent.

She had called for him, had likely tugged on that bond between them which Az could now scent with them both being in such close proximity after using it with reckless abandon.

Had Cassian been able to feel the dread in her soul, been able to actually hear the words she was wailing through it?

“Get back in line. The soldiers need you there,” Rhys ordered before Cassian could lose his mettle. Another male knowing just how agonizing it could be to have to leave a mate but needing to remind his brother that they would both have to do just that if they wanted to stand a chance at winning today.

And for this … For these two who were sacrificing so much …

“What the hell can we do against that?” Cassian was flashing his teeth at Rhys in a primal signal to back down. Not even his allegiance to the High Lord could make him abandon his instincts to protect Nesta if sense weren’t talked into him.

“I’m going in,” Az finally said.

“No,” Rhys snapped back.

Az ignored him, spreading his wings wide, not letting them see any pain written across his face.

“Chain me to a tree, Rhys.” He made sure his voice was soft-spoken, unthreatening, at a loss for caring what the other male thought as he double-checked that all his weapons—save Truth-Teller—were accounted for. “Go ahead. I’ll rip it out of the ground and fly with it on my damned back.”

He stood back, as Rhys stared at him, noting the haggered, resigned expression on his brother’s face.

He returned the stare, even as he wanted to turn to check on Elain.

He could feel and hear her vomiting onto the grass. She was terrified—more than she wanted to let on—but this was no reaction to the Cauldron. This was a reaction to the brutality of war—perhaps a reaction to his announcement—but he couldn’t dwell on that.

She would see much more of this wanton death and destruction before the day was over, so they had to move on. Hybern’s forces were already beginning to overwhelm their own, and the carnage would just multiply.

He is finally considering it. Do not back down if this is what you most desire.

It was, dammit. It was vital.

His stare down was broken by the sound of a battle horn sounding off the coast. No good could come of that. He shared a frantic look with his brothers as they realized in unison that Hybern was pinsering them between two halves of his army. The force below them, already threatening a hardy defeat was only half of his host. All their allies were finally here.

He spun, taking in the armada at their backs. They had been baited into a trap even greater than they could’ve predicted. He should’ve seen it coming, should’ve counted them more accurately, tried to figure out that perhaps they hadn’t been at full strength.

“Shit,” Amren cursed. “We might need to run, Rhysand. Before they make landfall.”

Az didn’t fail to notice a painful moment between Rhys and Feyre, resulting in her furiously shaking her head as his brother turned to him.

“Azriel. You lead the remaining Illyrians on the northern flank.” Rhys’s voice was so hoarse that Az wasn’t sure how he was still going.

Not giving Rhys a chance to take it back though, he eagerly shot into the sky.

Fuck. His wings were on fire, but he’d dealt with far worse. He could worry about that after the battle was over—if he was still around to sulk about them.

I’m sorry, he told Elain as he ignited his Siphons and raced to meet the Illyrians who were being hammered relentlessly now that Hybern’s soldiers were encouraged by their approaching reinforcements. I have to do this, but I still need you to help the others live. Tell anyone who will listen what you see.

The lines were breaking, and it was up to him to fix them, to encourage them to push onward, for a better world.

And then he heard it, what sounded like at least a dozen horns, sounding in unison. And he whipped his head around and saw them. The Seraphim.

Miryam and Drakon had come to their aid, arriving at perhaps the final moment, to save them from being shredded completely.

The Mother had a wicked sense of humor indeed, but perhaps now at least some of them stood a chance at survival.

Look up, he implored Elain. For now cresting the horizon, as brilliant as the sun came Vassa, the queen who Elain’s visions had helped to discover. They’re with us.

As he sent her his message, Vassa shot through the Hybern fleet, leaving nothing but burning husks in their wake, her molten spirit reflected in the hell she brought down upon them.

She’s incredible, Elain breathed in awe.

Az landed, and began rallying the broken lines, using their thousands of incoming ships as a hearty message to his troops.

Seeing their shadowsinger, broken and battered as he was must’ve bolstered something within them because they quickly reformed, holding strong as they began to push.

Azriel could see his brothers and their respective mates meeting with Drakon high up in the air before Cassian and Nesta soared off towards a copse of trees far into Hybern territory.

They are the bait. The viper will lure the king whilst the warrior protects her. They believe it is the only way if the others are to reach the Cauldron.

Will it work? he whispered back to the shadows, defeated at the thought of Cassian sacrificing himself but knowing better than to tell his brother not to protect her.

Only time will tell.

He refocused his effort on directing the lines, aiming for a weak point he saw in Hybern’s now-distracted soldiers’ flank. Their friends were burning on the sea, and now they were about to become carnage as well.

Elain watched from her perch on the hill as her sisters met with their new allies—or old allies, it seemed.

Amren didn’t bother with pleasantries as the two of them were left alone while Azriel flew into battle and the others strategized about how to integrate the newcomers into the fray.

Upon Az’s command, she looked out to see a firebird who could only be Queen Vassa wreaking havoc on Hybern’s fleet.

She was absolutely glorious, and Elain could feel the rage flowing off her brilliantly burning form as she single-handedly lay waste to the armada, forcing any who were not incinerated to the bottom of the sea and an unmarked, watery grave.

After a few minutes, Nesta and Cassian broke off from the group, heading deep into the trees, lining the western border of Hybern’s army.

She couldn’t believe her eyes. The two had just willingly flown back to what could only be their deaths, that far into Hybern territory.

Those same eyes welled up as she wished she could’ve said goodbye to her sister. She would go avenge her with Feyre and Amren, if she could change the direction of her prophecy, though.

She planted her feet firmly as Feyre and Rhysand descended back towards them, and her sister’s mate stalked towards her.

“Rhys is going to take you back to our camp. Amren and I are going to end this, but you don’t need to stay in the battle.”

“No. I’m going to fight with you. You need me. You already sent Nesta off to die. I have power. I can help,” Elain pleaded.

“No we don’t,” Amren retorted. “I thought having all four of us there was necessary, but Feyre alone is strong enough to do what needs to be done.”

“Please, Elain,” her sister begged. “We all might die out there, but you—you can live. Get off this killing field. Father is out there on those ships. How am I supposed to explain to him that I didn’t do everything in my power to protect you?”

Father was here? Elain stumbled a bit in shock.

“I can help. Please … Let me be of some use.” The words had lost their mettle though.

Elain had no physical talents and would only serve to slow them down. She felt like she was going to vomit again.

“You’ve done enough. Just being here is enough. You’re brave, and you’re strong. But I need to not be worried about you when I’m running through the enemy’s troops. Please.”

And so Elain finally broke at the sorrow in her sister’s eyes and let Rhysand carry her back to camp.

When he had left, she loosed a sigh.

It was so lonely here, the silence amongst the empty tents, spanning for as far as her eyes could see, strangely eerie and unsettling.

But she could not winnow, and even if she walked back in the direction she knew the fighting to be in, it would be too late.

So she found herself walking to the unlit campfire in the middle of the grounds and adding a few new logs to it.

She’d watched some of the Illyrian soldiers lighting them on their way up here. Those without much magic usually found a bit of scrub brush and tried to spark flint until it ignited.

And so she did it herself, relishing in the busywork which kept her occupied for awhile. At least now, if the others made it out alive, there would be one less tasks for their weary bodies, but once it was lit, Elain had no idea what to do next.

She dragged a stool over near the flames, taking off her overcoat and getting a good look at herself in the leathers. They did wonders for her figure, and she could see why the other females decided to wear them.

Empowering. It likely felt empowering to wear something so battle-ready but well-fitting. If only she hadn’t been so silly as to be embarrassed about the exposure of her form. It was her more human sensibilities speaking to her—those in which the males dictated what was and wasn’t appropriate for ladies of high society.

But she was one of those ladies no longer. Perhaps it would do her well to remember that.

She pulled out her blade—Truth-Teller, Azriel had called it. Its obsidian edges were honed to a fine point, sharper than any knife she’d wielded in the kitchens, and judging by how she’d never seen him without it, it was likely more well-cared-for than any of the other blades on the battlefield.

What is the truth? She stared at it, embers reflecting off of its polished surface. What can I do to help? Or is this war out of my hands now?

She sucked in a sharp gasp as her senses were suddenly flooded with a vision. It wasn’t of the battlefield though.

It was of Nesta and Cassian.

They stood in a clearing, preparing for the confrontation they knew would likely end them.

“Get ready. He’s coming,” Nesta warned Cassian under her breath.

Elain could feel a darkness crawling beneath Nesta’s skin. She was luring the king away from his army, with the intent to use that unknown power to end him. And somehow Cassian had agreed to be her distraction.

Her sister, with that tether to the king, was not mistaken. For, the very next moment, Elain saw the King of Hybern winnow into view. But he was not alone. In front of him stood …

“No!” Elain wanted to cry, but her voice made no sound here. This wasn’t real. Not yet. It was still only a vision, existing solely in her head until it came to pass.

For in front of the King of Hybern, with a blade held to his throat, stood her father.

“Nesta,” he murmured as he took in her newly Fae features, and Elain saw the hardness, the promise of death leave her sister’s eyes. For as much as she’d act like she hated their father, deep down, Nesta loved him.

She would give away this chance to slay the king to spare him. She would sacrifice herself if she needed to.

“What a loving father—to bring an entire army to save his daughters,” the king sneered.

Elain kept holding her breath, reminding herself that it was still just a vision.

“So many things have changed since you were last home. Three daughters, now Fae. One of them married quite well,” the king taunted her father.

He ignored the king though, having eyes only for Nesta.

“I loved you from the first moment I held you in my arms. And I am … I am so sorry, Nesta—my Nesta. I am so sorry, for all of it.”

For not sailing across the sea for a cure for their mother. For losing his will to keep himself alive, to keep them alive. For forcing Nesta to spite him in the hopes that he might actually come around. For knowingly send Feyre into that forest, day after day, week after week, year after year. Until their world had suddenly turned around, and he acted like it had never happened.

Elain could tell Cassian was trying and failing to size up how to kill the king before he could deal the death blow to their father.

“Will you give back what you took?” the king asked.

“Yes.”

“Even if I have to carve it out of you?”

“Don’t you lay your filthy hands on my daughter—” their father spat, but the king's hands moved too quickly.

One second their father was standing there, then, there was a sharp crack, and he was crumpling to the ground, his neck snapped.

Elain was sobbing in vain now, unable to watch this further but knowing that she must wait it out. She was being shown this vision for a reason.

Nesta’s power left her completely, as she stared at their father’s lifeless form, but Cassian chose that moment to strike, to buy her time.

He was a blur of blades and burning, red tendrils of magic, pushing the king off their father’s corpse and away from Nesta. To buy her time to run. He would not survive the encounter, could not match the power of the king.

Nesta wasn’t running though. She was kneeling in front of their father now, in utter shock.

“Go!” Elain tried to scream. “Save yourself!”

But Nesta did no such thing. She took in the lifeless body, and when she returned her gaze to the king, there was nothing but unrelenting power in her eyes.

She’d gotten it back. She was going to fight him, perhaps even win.

The air around her was roiling with the power coursing through her veins, and even Elain swore she could feel it.

But then Cassian screamed as he was forced to the ground, wings snapped in multiple places.

“He snapped your wings, broke your bones.” Suddenly Elain recalled having this vision before. Just this snippet of it—never the entire story—but she’d seen this before. Before she’d known what these powers were. And then again.

She had a feeling she knew what would happen next. Because the other day, with the faebane still streaming through her blood, she’d had that blurry vision of Nesta protecting … She had been protecting Cassian.

His Siphons had now gone out completely, and Elain could see bones poking out of his legs.

She was going to vomit.

He was broken, and still, he tried to rise to defend Nesta as the king stood over him and poured power into Cassian’s body.

Elain heard the snapping of another bone before Nesta demanded, “Stop.”

She prowled towards the king like an animal as his attention was fixed back on her.

She glanced at Cassian in an eerily unearthly way and then back to the king.

“I am going to kill you,” she said quietly, lethally.

“Really?” The king lifted a brow. “Because I can think of far more interesting things to do with you.”

The king chuckled as he stomped on Cassian’s closest wing, and Cassian’s scream was like nothing Elain had ever heard before or ever wanted to hear again.

Nesta’s power exploded out of her, obliterating the spot where the king had been standing … But had winnowed out of.

Even as it cleared through the trees behind him and into a chunk of his forces on the field below, he was nowhere near the line of fire.

“Magnificent,” he taunted, appearing a handful of yards away. “Barely trained, brash, but magnificent.”

Nesta moved as if to call that power again, but Elain saw no spark in her eyes. She’d used it all in that one blow.

“Go,” Cassian sputtered. “Go.”

Even through everything, he still just wanted Nesta to make it out alive.

“This seems familiar. Was it him or the other bastard who crawled toward you that day?”

Elain’s heart caught in her throat as she remembered Cassian broken before the king in another place. A throne room.

And he was crawling toward her, the trail of blood along the ground sickening her stomach as Nesta rushed to him—to pick up his blade.

Against his warnings, she lifted it at the King of Hybern, silently glaring at him.

“Shall I see what the Illyrians taught you?” the king chuckled as he advanced on her.

Nesta leapt back, dodging his many blows as she lead him through the trees and away from Cassian.

After a few more, he grew bored and swiftly disarmed her before smacking her across the face so hard that she lost her footing and tumbled to the ground.

“Nesta!” Cassian cried from behind them.

“Well? What else do you have?” the king taunted.

Nesta flipped to face him and threw out her hand, sending a burning white wave of power barrelling into his chest.

He went flying through the trees, their trunks unable to withstand the force of his body slamming into them.

Nesta used the time to scramble back across the clearing until she was kneeling before Cassian.

“Get up,” she pleaded with him, as she tried to lift him to his feet herself. “Get up.”

He couldn’t, try though he might.

“You’re too heavy.” She continued to try to find a good enough grip on his blood-slicked armor to help him up. “I can’t—he’s coming—”

“Go,” Cassian begged her.

The king was now prowling back toward her, brushing himself off.

Nesta didn’t stop trying to haul Cassian off the ground, as he winced terribly in pain. “Go!” he commanded her.

“I can’t. I can’t.” Whatever bond ran through them—one which wasn’t necessarily even Cauldron-made, one which Elain must’ve missed in all her sorrows—Nesta was in love with him now.

Cassian grunted as the pain wracked through him, but he still lifted his blood-soaked hands to cup Nesta’s face.

“I have no regrets in my life, but this. That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta.” He leaned up as far as he could and brushed a light kiss to Nesta’s lips. “I will find you again in the next world—the next life. And we will have that time. I promise.” His voice was shaking as they stared down certain death.

“Romantic,” the king crooned, “But ill-advised.”

Nesta and Cassian stayed stock-still on the ground as the king summoned his power, his body left completely unguarded in his triumph.

And Elain saw her window as, in the vision, the king brought his hand down, leaving nothing but scorched earth beneath it, as the dust settled.

Her senses returned to her, as she knew what she must do. She summoned a handful of shadows to her, hand white-knuckled around her Siphon.

Go. Find Nesta. She relayed as much of the vision as she could to the shadow. When that time approaches, she pointed out the king’s weakness to them, send word back to me immediately.

She felt the tendrils abandon her in the direction of the battlefield. And then she summoned another.

Azriel, she pleaded, tears streaming from her eyes. I need you. Come here. She sent along a vision of the camp so he’d know where to find her.

Thirty seconds later, she felt his presence before she saw him step out of the shadow.

“What is it?” he growled, searching the site immediately for any sign of threat.

She quickly explained all that she’d seen in her vision. Her plan.

“I need you to walk through the shadows to kill the King of Hybern,” she begged, trying to thrust Truth-Teller into his hands.

“I can’t, Elain. That was it. The last lick I had left in me. Coming to meet you here. All I have left is my strength.” He indicated the completely dulled Siphons as she fully took in his haggard, bloody appearance, refusing to accept the blade.

“What do I do?” she sobbed. “Somebody needs to save them. There was an opening. A way to end him.”

As if in answer, a shadow tapped on her ear.

You, Lady, have some power left. We will gladly guide you when the time is near.

And so they waited, Az reassuring her that the scouts she sent out wouldn’t fail to report in when the time was right, standing above her and holding her as she fretted about their fates, sometimes brought to tears as the anxiety of waiting overwhelmed her.

Until …

Now. You must go now.

And so Elain grabbed onto the shadows, letting them show her the way.

She stepped into a pocket of shadow given off by Az, at their beckoning, and emerged from another directly behind the king, not even sparing a second to think about what she was going to do as she jammed Truth-Teller through the back of his neck.

Blood sprayed everywhere as she leaned in to snarl in his ear, as he choked on his own blood, “Don’t you touch my sister.”

Chapter Text

Tears streaming down her face, Elain watched as the King of Hybern slumped to the ground.

She took a stuttering step back, as the realization of what she’d just done hit her in full force. She’d stabbed someone, evil though he might be. She’d stabbed him, and killed him.

Not wasting a second, Nesta shot to her feet.

Nesta. Her first thought once she’d performed the deed had not even been to check and see if Nesta were okay but to reflect on her own actions.

Thankfully her sister was still alive, but Cassian … He was just as much of a mess as Elain’s vision had suggested.

Nesta shot toward the king, grabbing onto Truth-Teller’s hilt.

Elain rushed to Cassian’s side, but he was panting and watching …

Elain followed his gaze.

To where Nesta wore a wicked grin on her face as she tantalizingly slowly rotated the blade until it had cut clean through the king’s neck. Until Elain heard an echoing thud against the ground, the image vividly painting itself in her mind’s eye, even though she’d turned away, not being able to stomach watching more death, relished though this one may be.

“Nesta.” Cassian was now trying once again to crawl toward Nesta, as Elain opened her eyes just in time to witness Nesta hoisting the king’s head up from where it had fallen, into the air, staring into its lifeless eyes.

Staring. She wouldn’t stop staring at it, no joy or discernable emotion in her face that Elain could read.

“Nesta,” she whispered, and Nesta seemed to snap out of it.

She blinked before seeming to come back to herself, seeming to realize exactly what she had just done—what she and Elain, together, had just done. The hand which had been holding the king’s head aloft went limp as it crashed to the ground a final time.

The ground … Elain’s eyes shot downward … past her sister, past Cassian to the other body she’d momentarily forgotten would be there. The one she couldn’t save.

She couldn’t control the heartrending scream, which burst forth from her with all the force of a river bursting through a dam, as she lunged for her father’s body.

“No, no, no,” she sobbed as she sank to her knees in front of him.

She couldn’t have saved him, she had to remind herself. The king was on guard, his shields fully intact before Nesta had failed to kill him a handful of times and had looked so utterly defeated that he’d cockily dropped them.

It still did not stop Elain from weeping over her father’s broken corpse.

Azriel flew. 

The second that Elain had landed on that rocky outcropping and his shadows had informed him that the King of Hybern was indeed dead, he shot into the sky, making a mad dash back to the battlefield.

He’d left Devlon in charge of the troops, shouting only as much as that he just received urgent orders and to hold the lines before using that last shred of magic within his Siphons to spirit himself across the miles separating himself for Elain.

It had been worth it, to be able to show her how to travel on her own, he knew. And to be able to comfort her as she waited for the moment to present itself. He could only hope that Cassian’s injuries hadn’t already been life-threatening before she stopped the killing blow.

But it would do him no good to worry, as he made the grueling journey back to the coast, his wings threatening to give out on him at any second.

Without his magic, he could do nothing to assist anyways.

And as the killing field came into view, he saw from atop those stony cliffs, a fiery figure emerge. For a moment, he wrongfully assumed it was Vassa, but this creature …

It was much larger than the firebird with a crown of incandescent light perched atop its head as it took in the battlefield before erupting onto Hybern’s lines.

Thank the Cauldron. The creature, whatever it was, was on their side.

The ancient one has finally been freed from her cage. She does not remember her life as a mortal, but she will wipe away all those who fought against you.

Az breathed a sigh of relief, setting himself down on that hill as he watched as Amren’s true form spread its wings and rained fire and brimstone down upon the enemy.

He heard Rhys in his beast form, roaring in victory and caution to his troops. Amren was only targeting the deserters, those who feared her, those who had reason to flee.

She may not have retained her memory, but there was some modicum of logic and reasoning guiding her actions. There was a pattern to how she chose to slaughter.

Az paused, waiting until she’d finished off all the foot soldiers and headed for the Hybern ships before setting down on the battlefield to assess the damage.

Most of their remaining troops had been left unharmed, and Hybern was completely obliterated. The fighting had ceased at the lack of enemies, their allies standing by in a sort of a daze, so awestruck by what they’d just witnessed that none had let out cheers.

He only vaguely noticed a dim light coming back into his Siphons, indicating a tiny cache of magic left for him to use, but it still would not be enough to travel with. For that, he would need to find someone who could winnow.

Flapping back into the air, it didn’t take him long to locate a haggard Mor, wiping some blood and grime off of her sweaty brow, Viviane resting on a large stone nearby, as they surveyed the plain.

He landed in a panic.

“Cassian,” he rasped. “He needs a healer. Badly.” He indicated the clearing where his shadows had informed him that he’d find that unlikely trio, and grabbed her hand, knowing she would spirit them away without further questions.

And then, there they were, taking in the carnage around them.

Mor let out a soft gasp as she beheld the two bodies, surely piecing together that the human one Elain was sobbing over must have been their father.

Nesta was standing stiff as a board, staring at the king they’d slain, the shock of the battle slow to wear off for her, it seemed.

Az ran for Cassian, using those scraps of power he’d regained to patch up the most crucial wounds, to staunch the bleeding, as he hoisted Cassian off the ground, requiring all his strength to get him upright. Without the Siphon-bandages, he wouldn’t have even managed to keep his brother on his feet.

When he finally had them both upright and steadied, Az looked around for Mor, finding her crushing the emotional Elain in her arms and eventually turning to once again try to engage Nesta, who was still frozen.

“Nesta,” Cassian breathed. “Nesta?” His voice put all the cards he’d held on the table. It was a beckoning, a prayer which he hoped she would finally answer. That she’d come to him at last.

But Nesta only swiveled her head toward him, not in answer, but in contemplation. She wasn’t ready for whatever this was. Not right now. Not after whatever had occurred in this clearing.

Elain had only been able to give Azriel the vaguest details in her distress, but he knew she could probably answer that question for him, later. After they’d cleaned themselves off and pieced together whatever was left of this world.

He settled for telling her, I’m so, so sorry, and leaving it at that. He didn’t expect any sort of response, and he didn’t receive one.

He knew he would be distraught if his own mother ever passed in his lifetime, so he couldn’t fathom what she was going through.

Azriel had thought Graysen was her last tie to her human life, but he’d completely forgotten that her father, though negligent, was still alive—could still come back for her.

And he was not so negligent now it seemed, if he’d gathered an army to fight for his daughters’ lives and unknowingly bought them the time they needed today to end this war.

He’d do whatever it was she needed to help her mourn the man once they were all healed and safe, but they needed to return to Rhys and Feyre, assess what to do next, and get Cassian to an actual healer.

He signaled for Mor to bring Elain over to where Nesta stood. She would have to winnow them all back down, but she held her head high and did not complain, drained though she might have been, as she whispered something in Elain’s ear.

Elain eventually nodded at whatever Mor had offered, walking toward the rest of them with her head down, a veritable flood crashing down upon her gaunt face.

As the three of them grabbed onto Mor, Cassian taking a limp hand hanging at Nesta’s side, the eldest Archeron sister moaned, and Az could feel it. A rip in the world, coming from where he had seen those heinous Cauldron blasts emanate earlier.

Mor threw one of Nesta’s arms over her shoulder, taking the brunt of the weight and ensuring that Nesta didn’t collapse, as the five of them looked on in silence. None of them seemed to want to be the first to make a move, to know what to do as they felt the abyss of power beckoning from that point, threatening to sweep them all away.

The Cauldron appeared to be raging that they had stolen from it, annihilated its master, and used its power for something as taxing as undoing a potent binding spell.

Their sordid group waited for what felt like minutes but was likely only seconds until it suddenly just … stopped.

One moment, its rampage was tearing through their world, on the brink of annihilation, and the next, it vanished, leaving what felt like a vacuum in its wake.

He turned to Mor and nodded. Without a word, she winnowed them up to that cliff, aiming a bit downhill of the commotion so they wouldn’t land right on top of the Cauldron.

Once they were torn from their father’s body, Elain seemed to become more lucid. She pried Nesta from Mor and Cassian’s grips, keeping her upright in a firm hug, finding solace in her sister’s arms. Nesta’s face still didn’t seem to have processed the situation, but she returned Elain’s embrace.

Will you be alright if we go check on the disturbance?

Go. I just want to be with her. Please.

Azriel reinforced Cassian’s bandages and followed Mor up to the crest of the hill.

Cassian winced at the ungodly screams which were now echoing throughout the valley. Female screams. A high-pitched keening. Not coming from Elain or Nesta or even Mor … which left Feyre.

As he limped as fast as he could, barely making it up to the summit without becoming too winded, he beheld her. Huddled over Rhys. Shaking him. Shrieking his name. Wailing.

No. Mother above. No.

Rhys somehow looked so at peace, no trace of emotion on his face, even as Feyre jolted his body, as if he’d just decided to lie down in the grass and take an ill-advised nap after winning a battle which has drained him so thoroughly.

He gave her all his power. This High Lord who reforged the Cauldron. Saved our world.

Rhys. He reached out for that mental bridge his brother always left between them, even knowing what he’d find. Cobwebs and shreds.

Rhys. He watched the shadow leave his orbit and flit over to the body, praying it wouldn’t turn around. It did.

Please. He sent the prayer into the world, the void, any greater power which might be listening.

Azriel couldn’t run, couldn’t give up, couldn’t even fall to his knees in anguish. With one brother lying dead in the grass, he was still the only thing keeping the other alive. He needed to be strong, to keep himself from shattering completely if only for Cassian who couldn’t hide the tears streaming down his face.

“There’s nothing we can do,” Az whispered, more to remind himself than anything, but Cassian just shook his head—a silent refusal and acknowledgment all at once.

“I know. I know,” he panted, “But Feyre …”

Mor shot over to her, their High Lady snarling as she was lifted off of her mate’s corpse, before she inadvertently raised her hand to her chest, as if feeling a gaping hole there. Her eyes were puffy and cheeks littered with tears still flowing freely and with reckless abandon as she began to struggle to find breath in place of the screams which had pierced the air only moments before.

Az did not allow himself to hope as Thesan’s winged lover dropped him at the edge of the cliff, the High Lord slowly approaching until he had placed his hands on Rhys’s throat, feeling for a pulse—determining if his magics would be enough to save his peer.

Feyre thrashed against Mor’s grip, attempting to lunge at Thesan, a mate so lost by her loss that she couldn’t even comprehend what was happening in front of her eyes.

“He’s seeing if there’s anything to be done.” His heart broke again at the coarseness in Mor’s voice, as she fought back her own tears, trying to stay strong for Feyre.

Feyre didn’t stop writhing, though. She opened her mouth as if to speak to the other Lord, but nothing came out as he shook his head. First at her and Mor, then at the others who had flocked to the site, wondering what the commotion had been.

“He …,” Helion grunted out, closing his eyes at the sight of the body. “Of course he did.” Nobody replied.

“Please,” Feyre gasped at no one in particular. She scrambled with the clasps of his armor, trying to get it off of him, as if that would fix anything.

Tarquin padded over on soft, tentative feet, easing down next to Feyre, as if trying not to spook her, to cause her to become more unhinged.

He engulfed her tiny hands in his own, gore-caked ones, holding her still as she tried to shake off his grasp. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. An attempt at soothing.

But his words did nothing to soothe. When Feyre deigned to look up after a moment, she was snarling, completely off-kilter.

She stared down the gathered High Lords before growling, “Bring him back.”

Nobody made a move.

“BRING HIM BACK,” she hollered.

Still, not one of them responded.

“You did it for me. Now do it for him.”

Could they really? Az tried to tamp down the seed of hope which was blossoming in his chest. In the chaos, he had momentarily forgotten that Feyre had been resurrected through the gathering of the seven High Lords’ power. Forgotten that with a High Lady to take his place, they all might be able to pull off this miracle.

But hope was a dangerous thing. Az had hoped for many things over the course of his life, and rarely had he ever attained any of them. He was still hoping, still dreaming, for things which would never be. And this seemed like one of those.

What happened? Elain breathed. I’m terrified to move, but I can feel you. What’s wrong? Cassian didn’t … ? I thought he was going to pull through.

It’s not Cassian. It’s Rhys. He’s gone. He gave his life to save us all. Now—now—he was on the verge of tears, having been forced to finally state what had occured. The bastard didn’t want me killing myself in the melee, but how was this okay? How was this any better? he growled.

It—it wasn’t! I— Az could tell she was still sobbing in earnest on the other end of their bridge, her soul and the raw pain she experienced laid bare to him. I’m so sorry, Az. I know he was your brother. How’s … ?

Feyre? I don’t think there’s any coming back from this. I saw her almost waste away before, but this is a hundred times worse. A thousand times. I’m not sure she’ll ever recover from the loss. Don’t … Don’t come up here. Not yet.

I’ll be right here. I’m always here. If you need to talk after … After the day is over. When the dust settles.

On his brother and dear friend. Who would never breathe again if this didn’t work. A simple thank you wouldn’t be enough for her kind words, and he had a feeling he’d be providing another shoulder to cry on as she mourned her own loss.

But before he could reply, he was torn back to the scene in front of him by Helion.

“You were human. It is not the same—” His voice was gentle, hesitant.

“I don’t care. Do it.” The look on Feyre’s face was lethal as Az could feel her rallying her power, sending his shadows skittering, but before she could unleash her fury on the assembled host, Tarquin stepped forward.

He held out his hand, addressing Feyre. “For what he gave. Today and for many years before,” he murmured, as a tiny seed of light was withdrawn from his palm and was dropped onto Rhys’s throat.

Feyre began whimpering again as the tears streaked down her cheeks.

Tarquin was followed by Helion, Kallias, and Thesan, all performing the same act of dropping a tiny fraction of their power into Rhys’s body.

Then, there was only one other High Lord left in the clearing. Beron. No way in hell was he ruining this one shot for them to get Rhys back.

Mor seemed to be of the same opinion because one moment, she was still crouched behind Feyre, the next, she’d blinked behind Beron, pressing her sword to his throat. He jolted slightly, not having noticed her presence until it was already too late.

“I do not mind making one more kill today,” she purred roughly into his ear.

Beron huffed, not hiding his disdainful glare at Mor as he shook off her sword and made his way over to Rhys.

He was not tender and emotional, as the other High Lords had been, but rather tossed his kernel of light onto Rhys before making his exit.

Tamlin was nowhere in sight so Feyre held her own palm out now, but that light did not appear, no matter how hard she stared at her empty hand.

“Tell me how,” she growled at them all.

Azriel summoned a shadow, with a short but sweet message to the one holding the fate of his family’s worlds in the balance.

If you don’t report to this outcropping in the next minute, I’m going to hunt you down and peel the skin from your bones. I don’t care how powerful you think you are—I will catch you. There’s no way you haven’t been drawn to the power gathered here yet.

He debated telling Tamlin how much Feyre needed his help for once, but he wasn’t sure how well that plea would go over. Perhaps, even the threat of being placed under the shadowsinger’s knife wouldn’t be enough to persuade him to visit if his spite won out.

Thesan was at Feyre’s side now, walking her through the science behind gathering a piece from the core of her power and offering it up, hoping that the technical talk would help her understand it.

The High Lord couldn’t see that he was just frustrating her further as she failed to emotionally see how any of this was supposed to help her. She wanted to draw up that power, but no amount of desire was working.

But finally …

He could barely see the seed as it took form in her palm, growing gradually, as if under Elain’s green thumb in the garden, until she was offering up the same amount of her life as the others.

Still kneeling, she lovingly placed her hand on Rhys’s throat.

Feyre seemed to realize that one had been missing as the same time a very wise young High Lord winnowed onto the hilltop.

Tamlin took in the scene, five High Lords and one High Lady, palms extended, gathered around a lone figure on the ground. He kept his face blank, emotionless as he realized what was occurring, what he would be asked to do.

“Please,” Feyre begged.

Tamlin looked between both her and Rhys, face unmoved.

“Please,” she cried. “I will—I will give you anything—”

And she would. Azriel would help her in whatever way he could, for he too would be willing to pay even the ultimate price to bring back his brother. And since that was not a possibility, he would offer Tamlin the world on a platter, go along with anything Feyre decided to do.

She was his High Lady. He would tear apart the world for her.

When Tamlin didn’t respond, Feyre rested her head against Rhys’s chest, perhaps checking to see if the six of them had already given him enough life, had been enough to restart his heartbeat.

“Anything,” she breathed, shaking from the sobs racking her chest as she remained there. “Anything.” And Az knew he would never recover either if Tamlin didn’t acquiesce.

But Tamlin took one step. Two. Three. Until he was directly behind Feyre. She finally looked up when he paused.

“Be happy, Feyre,” he whispered, as he extended his own palm and dropped that final sliver of life onto Rhys before walking away.

Az watched in awe, feeling Cassian’s heartbeat begin racing to match his own as they waited.

Feyre shut her eyes, holding onto Rhys as tightly as she could, unable to stomach looking at her dead mate anymore as he began to glow, and remained glowing until there was a faint thud. Distant, but with the hush that had fallen over the world, their Fae ears all caught it, a dozen heads perking up at the noise.

And then Feyre’s head, lying on his chest bobbed. A breath. That was a breath. And his hand. On her back. Slowly grazing it.

“If we’re all here, either things went very, very wrong or very right,” Rhys groaned from below.

A sharp laugh burst out of Cassian, reverberating through them both and making it even more difficult for Az to keep them both upright.

He fought the dewy-eyed smile which was threatening to force its way across his face as he beheld his brother alive and whole after what had been the most agonizing five minutes of his life.

Leave it to Rhys to try to crack a joke instead of letting them all have a somber moment.

Rhys added, in a ragged voice, “You lot will be pleased to know … My power remains my own. No thieving here.” Of course. This levity was the only way he knew how to deflect. Az had seen it when he was courting Feyre, when Feyre was taken, when Rhys had returned from Amarantha.

He found himself wondering if Rhys would ever truly be okay. If he’d ever make it past this point where he felt such a mighty need to pretend with them all in an attempt to bolster their spirits and make them forget about the very serious topics at hand.

“You do know how to make and entrance, or should I say exit?” Helion drawled, playing off the mood Rhys was trying to set.

For once in his life, Az might’ve, just a fraction, been thankful for Helion’s existence. But that would only last the duration of the day. Surely Helion would just find another way to piss him off by tomorrow.

“You’re horrible. That’s not even remotely funny—” Viviane lashed her words at Helion, looking for a moment as if she was going to go toe-to-toe with the High Lord and slap him across the face. Likely debating whether or not the peace they’d just won on the battlefield would keep the offense from becoming too much of an issue.

“Easy,” Kallias murmured, tucking his mate into his chest and placing his face in her hair. “It’s been a long day. We’re all tired. It’s over. Let’s just leave it at that and move on.”

Viviane leaned into his touch, whispering prayers of thanks that it wasn’t her mate who had been taken from her. Especially since she still wasn’t High Lady yet and couldn’t wake his ass back up, she reminisced rather loudly.

Kallias gave her a wry smile, promising that it would be the first thing he remedied when they returned home.

Rhys and Feyre had been murmuring to each other on the ground, everyone trying their best to ignore this moment which really should have been private, before Rhys finally remembered something he seemed to deem important enough for him to sit up long enough to point at the Cauldron.

“Someone fish out dear Amren before she catches a cold.”

Mor sprinted to the Cauldron, Varian and Az close on her heels and reached in with a shout.

“How?” Feyre asked.

Az plunged his hand into the Cauldron until he felt smooth skin, grabbing what must be an arm or a leg and hauling it out, with the help of Varian and Mor.

She was soaking wet and panting, as they set her on the ground, where she proceeded to vomit up water as she recovered.

“She was there. When the Cauldron was sealing. Going … wherever we go,” Rhys replied. “So I reached out a hand. To see if she might want to come back.”

She is High Fae.

Of course she is.

No, fully Fae this time. Whatever she was, that other part of her, it has perished. That was the price.

But Amren hadn’t been “herself”, had shed that body into the Cauldron before taking on her true form, and Rhys had found her and fished her back out.

Indeed, as she opened her eyes, Az ran a damp hand through his hair, relieved to see that her eyes, while now a solid silver, held recognition in them, as she smiled at Feyre.

Remembering his brother who he’d so carelessly dropped in his haste to save Amren, Az whirled around, only to find that Thesan had swooped in and caught Cassian, and was now administering what little healing he could at the moment.

While Cassian still looked like he would pass out from the pain at any moment, his bones had begun to knit back together, and the gaping gashes threatening to let him bleed out had been preliminarily patched.

Az removed his own, meager bandages, trusting the High Lord and healers below to take it from there.

Now that the battle seemed truly over, the war won, it was time for them to run recon. To make sure no battalions of Hybern’s were lurking nearby, awaiting their dropped guard as a sign to rush in and slaughter the survivors. To survey the damage.

Usually he split this duty with Cass, but today, he’d gladly take the full brunt of the responsibility. He wouldn’t be able to sit still, to believe it until he’d ascertained it for himself.

Good to have you back, he told Rhys.

Glad to be back. Was it … ? How bad was it?

“How poorly did Feyre take it?” was what Rhys didn’t need to ask.

Just … be happy you held on. She would’ve been racing you to the afterlife to kick your miserable ass.

You wouldn’t have let her …

I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again—I will protect to her with my life, Rhys. But there is no mending a heart that broken. I could not have forced her to hold on. You know how stubborn she is.

Indeed, Rhys chuckled. Thank you, Az. For everything. And one last thing …

Already on it, Az replied, as he gave his friend and brother a small nod and shot into the sky.

Chapter Text

Elain felt jubilation and joy course through Azriel only a few minutes later, not quite understanding what it meant.

It contrasted so deeply with the sorrow and anguish she’d felt so recently that she wondered if the Siphon had not cracked under the strain she’d put on using it today.

She pulled the polished stone out of her pocket, turning it over between her fingers.

Whole. It was whole. As lustrous and beautiful and endlessly blue as last night when Azriel had given it to her.

She’d found some nearby stumps on the ground where they’d been left and guided Nesta toward them.

Nesta—who had not said a word to Elain.

Elain didn’t think she had the right words to say either, but the way Nesta was looking at her was broken and battered. As if Nesta had stepped out of her body for a minute, leaving this haunted waif in her place.

But even though Elain had been the first to make the killing blow, Nesta had been the one to finish him off. Even though Elain had witnessed a majority of what had taken place in that clearing, Nesta had lived it.

And Elain did not have the courage to tell Nesta that she understood what her sister was going through, that she had watched it all pass her by and failed to save their father. That she could not have saved her father or even Cassian from the torture. It was only in that opening Nesta had ripped open for her that she could have struck without putting them all in even more danger.

When Nesta let go, Elain took a seat, beckoning for her sister to follow. And Nesta did, but not a single emotion flickered on that deathly beautiful face.

After what seemed like an eternity, Az finally got in contact with her.

He’s alive, he breathed. They brought him back. He still seemed like he was in such awe that she bit back her own emotions, bittersweet that his brother and Feyre’s mate had gotten to come back but their mortal father was still dead.

Is there any way …?

I don’t think there’s any way to save him. Elain. I think the soul needs to have a reason to hold on. Feyre didn’t let go of Rhys for a second, was likely spearing her will down that bond between them the whole time. I don’t know the exact circumstances of Feyre’s death, but I know Rhys. If there were any shred of hope in his mind that they were mates, he would’ve done the same.

Oh. Her shoulders dropped.

I’m scouting to make sure there are no surprises waiting for us, that it’s truly over, but after that … You should go see him. I know we whisked you away too quickly earlier, but it might be good to get some closure. I’m so sorry, El. I’ll go if you want me to. I’ll—

No. I think it should just be the three of us. His daughters. Rhysand might come, but even then I know it will only be the three of us mourning him. So I’d rather keep it that way.

Alright. Just let me know if you need anything.

But she didn’t. There was nothing anyone could give her right now. Staring down at Truth-Teller, which she’d somehow grabbed off of the ground in the confusion following the skirmish, she realized just how heavy it felt in her hands, how unnatural—as any blade would weigh on her.

She had no desire to ever kill again, to go back to needing a dagger to defend herself. Once was enough. She was praying that once would be all that was asked of her in this uncertain immortal life of hers.

Half an hour later, when the camp was in the process of being set up around them, their belongings winnowed into their new camp which would span the battlefield, she felt Azriel near, heard deep, booming wingbeats as he chose a clearing to aim for near the center of the camp.

And so, with a glance back at Nesta to make sure she hadn’t moved, Elain swiftly walked into that clearing, meeting him as he set down. Without a word, she pressed Truth-Teller into his hands. He almost dropped the blade as he tried not to accept the returned gift.

It’s yours now. I gave it to you, Elain.

I don’t want it. Th—Thank you. Thank you for the gift. But I hope never to need it again. You’ll have more use for it than I will.

And … And the Siphon? A strange mixture of feelings was passing over his face. He was clearly somewhat hurt by this gesture.

Elain couldn’t place exactly which tormented emotion was now churning through her gut from the Siphon-bond, but it felt like she was standing in the eye of the storm, afraid that any wrong move might bring more unnecessary suffering to this already miserable day.

I think I’ll hold onto that if you don’t mind, she breathed.

It had proved useful today, hadn’t it?

It enabled Elain to tap into his shadowsinger abilities without possessing the gift herself, and she’d never need to rely on the twins whenever she wanted to contact him out of the blue again. She would gain back some much-needed privacy, and she liked being able to reach out to him whenever she desired.

Of course, he murmured. Of course. A small flicker of joy echoed through her gut.

She was going to have to take this damned stone off the moment she returned to her tent. It was a useful tool, indeed, but she wasn’t used to this constant barrage of him on the other end of it.

And she wasn’t sure she wanted him to know everything she was feeling. Especially after the deluge of emotions she’d suffered today. She wanted to work through them herself before sharing them with another—even her best friend.

So she turned around, heading back to Nesta, on the edge of the line of trees and waited for Feyre to approach them. Her sister had already tapped on her mind and asked if they would go on this farewell trip with her, as suspected.

Healers were handing out small pails of water, and Elain took one from a passing Illyrian female, grateful for the opportunity to wash her hands.

But only a moment later, just after Az had slipped into their war tent, Feyre emerged, her leathers still coated in blood and her face hesitant as she guided her mate toward the edge of the clearing—never once letting go of his hand—but Elain couldn’t mistake the hint of a sparkle in her swollen eyes.

Today may not have gone perfectly, but Feyre would never take a second with Rhysand for granted again, would send up prayers of thanks to the Mother for years to come that she was given back this gift.

Elain wondered if she could ever feel that way about Lucien. What Feyre and Rhysand shared, it seemed somehow beyond what she was capable of. She’d heard how Feyre was drawn to Rhysand, even before she knew about the mating bond, but Elain had never felt that gravitational pull around Lucien.

The closest she’d ever come was on the day she’d last seen him, about to go on his quest to the continent, but her muddled emotions stemmed mostly out from pity and some sense of duty to say anything cordial at the moment he was whisked away from her.

To be honest, it had been relief to be free of him from the past month. She didn’t crave his touch, couldn’t feel him even though he must be near—He’d been on a quest to find and free Vassa after all. If the firebird queen was here, he was likely wandering this very camp right now, Elain none the wiser to his presence.

How would she explain everything which had changed her, shaped her in the past month? Did she even owe him an explanation?

He didn’t know her to begin with, and he knew nothing, really, about her relationship with Graysen, other than that there had been one. In the past. The meeting, brutal though it was, didn’t change that.

She was still contemplating how to proceed the next time she saw him when Feyre gave Rhysand a handful of tender kisses before leaving him with Mor and Cassian and sauntering over toward Elain and Nesta.

Nesta didn’t speak a word, but she grabbed the bucket Elain was still clutching uselessly in her hands, taking the weight off of them and leading the way through the trees.

There was blood everywhere.

Nesta’s. Cassian’s. The King of Hybern’s. She was the only one who had escaped this place of death unscathed.

As they passed the king’s corpse, Nesta ignored the crows picking at it and spat on it, a handful of crows barely dodging the spiteful projectile in time.

Feyre knelt over their father’s corpse and straightened it, closing his eyes, and removing the visual evidence that his neck had been snapped and that he had been discarded into an undignified heap on the ground.

Elain frowned at the sight of her father, appearing to the casual observer to be simply asleep—a bit bedraggled but peaceful.

She took the bucket of water, now immensely glad for the thoughtful healers as she realized she could clean up her father’s body, to honor it the way they had honored others back home in their village.

She scrubbed her own hands before wetting a piece of cloth and gingerly cleaning the sweat and grease off his face.

Thankfully, he had not bled, but it was only a slight relief. To not have to scramble to piece him back together.

Running her fingers through his hair, she combed it back until it was relatively neat and out of his face. She did the same with his beard, dampening and arranging it so that she could no longer see those tell-tale signs of the days on the sea, the battle that had been wagered.

When that was finished, Elain took his somehow too-pristine clothes and straightened them.

They would have to do. The rich always purchased new outfits to honor their dead, dressing them as if they’d been headed to a fine gathering before sending them to the afterlife, to give them a better start wherever they were traveling, if the legends were to be believed.

And now all she needed were … Flowers. Where were the flowers? Had she seen any? They were a vital tradition, something a daughter who lived with one hand tilling the earth should be able to procure for her father.

She jumped up, signaling that she’d be right back before heading into the copse of trees.

Flowers. I need flowers, she reached out frantically with her mind, trying rather uselessly to scry the land around them in her frenetic state.

“Where the hell do I get flowers?” she grumbled to nobody in particular.

There are some not far off the camp.

Elain supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised that she had inadvertently sent that question across the shadows to him—or that he answered.

What?

Hold on.

And a minute later, he was in front of her, deep in that forest, pressing a small hand-picked bouquet of wildflowers into her hands.

As his hand brushed her own while he was releasing them, she jolted a bit at the contact. Elain had touched Azriel’s hands plenty of times, but had never before felt any sort of current there before. He was just Az.

He took this slight recoiling as her being upset at him for intervening and instantly raised his hands in surrender.

“For what he gave,” Az murmured before stepping back into a shadow.

She was a damned fool for staying silent. For not saying thank you to this male who cared enough to give her flowers on one of the worst days of her life. For letting him go without explaining that maybe she did want him to come with her after all. He hadn’t known her father, but somehow having Az there would make her feel more at peace.

She lowered her head and made her way back to the clearing though, taking flowers from the bouquet and laying them around his body. Some for his head. Some for his chest, where they’d placed his hands while she’d been off in the woods. Until he was a picture of serenity—taken too soon but peacefully ferried on.

“I love you,” Elain whispered, unable to hold back the tears again. This felt too real, too final.

“Should we—say a prayer?” she asked. She’d heard the Fae speak of beseeching the Cauldron and the Mother. She’d never said a prayer in her life, but if there was anything she could do in this new Faerie realm of hers to ease his passage, she would.

Only a moment later, Feyre began whispering, “Mother hold you. May you pass through the gates; may you smell that immortal land of milk and honey. Fear no evil. Feel no pain. May you enter eternity.”

It was one of the most beautiful, most moving things that Elain had ever heard. She saw the tips of Feyre’s fingers light up with flame in the same moment that she noticed a flower lying askew on their father’s chest.

She crouched down, darting her hands in to right its position before backing up to let Feyre burn his body away until it was ash scattering on the wind.

The three of them stood there, unable to find words again as their gazes locked on that burnt patch of earth.

He was in a better place she told herself—she prayed. That the legends had not forgotten that land of milk and honey but let it prosper for the souls who moved on.

Footsteps crunched on the grass behind them, catching them all off-guard.

Nesta spun immediately, ready to protect them from any threat, but as Elain turned a heartbeat later, she beheld who had followed them here.

Lucien.

She did not feel him, but his presence settled like a weight in her stomach. Why now? Why not at least wait until they were back at camp? This moment wasn’t for him.

She didn’t care if he seemed to have rushed here, to have forgone bathing and changing before finding her to see if she was alright. She found herself wrapping her arms around her abdomen as if it would shield her from whatever would happen next.

“Are you hurt?” He was inching toward them now, having gathered that Elain was not going to bolt from him, as much as she longed to.

Lucien was so caught up in taking in Elain that the King Hybern’s head caught him off guard, as he paused short of the sisters, noticing it for the first time. The head and the sheer amount of blood still crusting Nesta.

“I’m fine,” Elain breathed.

Physically, she was, so that was as much answer as he needed. He was still staring at her, her torn clothes and weapons coated with gore. She supposed the polite thing to do would be to reciprocate. “Are you—”

“Well, I never want to fight in another battle as long as I live, but … yes, I’m in one piece.”

Elain couldn’t help a small smile creeping onto her lips. After a day full of bloodshed, she was happy not to have another to mourn, even one so far removed from her everyday life.

Lucien’s eyes settled on that patch of grass which would remain forever scorched from their father’s funeral pyre.

“I heard—what happened. I’m sorry for your loss. All of you.”

Mother bless Feyre for breaking the tension by walking over and embracing him. “Thank you—for coming. With the battle, I mean.” Not for coming right now. Not for intruding on this private moment which even Feyre’s mate hadn’t attended.

“I’ve got one hell of a story to tell you.” He returned Feyre’s embrace with a hard squeeze. “And don’t be surprised if Vassa corners you as soon as the ships are sorted. And the sun sets.”

“Is she really—”

“Yes. But your father, ever the negotiator …” He flashed a sad smile at their father’s resting place. “He managed to cut a deal with Vassa’s keeper to come here. Temporarily, but … better than nothing. But yes—queen by night, firebird by day. Nasty curse.”

Her father. Lucien had known him. Had a reason to mourn him too if they’d been travelling together for the past month.

Elain suddenly felt a bit ashamed for the bitter thoughts she’d had about him only moments ago.

“The human queens are still out there,” Feyre remembered. Those snakes who had allied with the King of Hybern. Some of which had already suffered from the Cauldron’s wrath.

“Not for long—not if Vassa has anything to do with it.”

“You sound like an acolyte,” Feyre told him.

And indeed he did. Elain couldn’t help but wonder what had transpired between Lucien and Vassa during this time. Judging by the blush he gave Elain after this little remark, she was right in her assumption.

Which was fine. He wasn’t anything to her anyways. And maybe in a few decades, if they had both settled down with others, they could be friends. She’d let him explore this option without any ill-will on her part, but she wasn’t yet ready to let him into her life.

She only hoped that he wouldn’t expect it, after all he’d done to help raise the army and free the queen on their behalves.

“She’s got a foul temper and a fouler mouth.” He glanced back to Feyre. “You’ll get along just fine.”

Feyre playfully elbowed him in the ribs before Lucien’s face turned grave, and Elain found him looking at their father once more.

“He was a good man. He loved you all very much.”

Elain found herself wrapping her arms more tightly around herself, as if it would keep the emotions at bay, as if she could refrain from crying again, but a few rogue tears still spilled down her cheeks.

What did she say to that? How did she tell him what it meant to hear that one final time?

Her father had told Nesta he loved her during those final moments, but Elain had only been an invisible observer, viewing it from the past, so he hadn’t sensed her presence.

Feyre took the arm which Lucien had begun extending toward Elain, perhaps in what he thought to be some comforting gesture, and turned with him to walk away.

She left Elain and Nesta to decide if they wanted more time alone or to follow her back to the camp.

Elain rushed to catch up to Feyre, letting her sister form a physical buffer between herself and Lucien, but that didn’t stop her from trying to peer at him, to take him in for herself, in this vulnerable state.

“I heard you made the killing blow.” He finally broke the silence between the three of them.

She took her eyes off him, instead focusing on the trees ahead. “Nesta did. I just stabbed him.”

That’s what she was going to keep telling herself. That she hadn’t taken a life. She’d only utilized the moment to help Nesta. She’d stabbed him, but she hadn’t killed him.

Lucien didn’t seem to know what exactly to say to that. Perhaps it was a bit too nonchalant, but it was the truth.

“So where now? Off with Vassa?” Feyre cut in.

Elain’s cheeks flushed a bit. Just a bodily response. Nothing more.

“First—here. To help.” He shrugged. “Then … Who knows?”

Oh gods. He was staring at her now. As if waiting for her to answer the question for him. She didn’t have one, but Feyre nudged Elain, causing her to jump and blink in bewilderment at her sister.

“You could come to Velaris.”

She regretted the words as soon as they’d come out of her mouth, but it seemed to appease Feyre, and the invitation was the least she could offer him. As long as they didn’t stay under the same roof, she could tolerate living so close to him. As long as she was given her space.

“It would be my pleasure,” he nodded.

Shit. Okay, she could do this. She pasted a smile onto her face, nodding in return and let Feyre pepper him with more questions. About how he’d found Vassa and her father already on their way to Prythian. About how two people named Miryam and Drakon had met them en route and joined forces with their fleet.

Thank you for the flowers. We held a burial for him, a human one, before Feyre cremated him. It was … as nice as it could be, I guess. And then Lucien showed up …

Lucien was there? His voice was strained.

It wasn’t the worst thing in the world. I’ll admit that it felt like an intrusion at first, but he didn’t mean it that way. He’d known our father and paid his respects.

Is that what I felt?

Probably. I cycled through a lot of emotions after he showed up. I’m still not sure how to talk to him. Feyre seems to be under the impression that I should be giving him a chance. She practically made me invite him back to Velaris.

He’s coming back? Not … going to Spring?

I assume so. What’s your problem with him anyways?

Tamlin has done some very heinous things in his life, and Lucien stood by him. Through the murder of Rhys’s family. Through the way he did not try to truly break Amarantha’s curse. Through the way he abused Feyre. Perhaps he was abused as well, but that does not make it right. It will never be right in my book. Azriel’s voice in her ear was a low growl.

Oh. Well, he may not stick around for long. You should see the way he talks about Vassa. I don’t think he’s going to just leave me alone, but … I think maybe one day he’ll find happiness with her.

And you want that?

I don’t know what I want, but right now I can’t give him whatever he might want of me. I’m still …

In love?

Yes. I’m trying, I really am but … She shook her head, unable to figure out how to complete the thought. And then it’s suffocating to know that the universe and everyone who’s heard of the bond thinks I should be in love with somebody else who I don’t know at all.

You don’t ever have to accept it, you know. There are ways to reject it. You’ll need to speak with him first, but I don’t think he would deny you that request, as viscerally painful as it would be to you both.

It would hurt?

Only for a moment. If you weren’t in love. It’s a part of you, one which would be ripped out, but the resulting sting wouldn’t be able to penetrate your soul if you felt nothing for him outside of what the bond provided. It wouldn’t be like … how Feyre felt today. It would be nothing like that.

Do I want to know? Elain had felt the brunt of Azriel’s pain, but she knew it couldn’t even compare to a fraction of Feyre’s perceived loss.

I wish I could forget it.

I’ll think about it.

Just remember that it’s your choice and no one else’s. Keep the bond if you need time to decide. Don’t throw it away on a whim. Perhaps work on getting over Graysen and see how you feel then.

Thank you, Az. I’m not sure what I’d do without you.

You’re welcome. And I feel the same way.

She smiled to herself as they came upon the camp. Nesta didn’t seem to have followed yet, but Feyre made a beeline for her own tent. For a change of clothes. For her mate.

Leaving Elain and Lucien alone in the center of camp.

“Would you like to wash up?” he asked her. Unsure of where to go next, she nodded.

Even after a rudimentary cleaning of her hands, she still had the king’s blood seeping into her skin. It would be a relief to be rid of it, the constant reminder of what had occured in that clearing.

He led the way to where a group of healers were winnowing in buckets of water from a stream far enough inland not to be tainted by the salinity of the sea and grabbed one, along with a handful of rags which had been provided for the purpose of scrubbing.

There was no soap, but Elain supposed that was being reserved for those in need, the healers’ hands, and that they would likely be able to head back home—to Velaris, she caught herself—to bathe rather soon.

“Thank you,” she murmured as he sat next to her on some tree stumps nearby and handed her the bucket.

“May I?” he asked tentatively as he reached out one hand to hers. To hold. To clean. To try to close this distance between him. She could see the longing in his face, the utter anguish, as he waited for her response.

“Yes,” she breathed, letting go of the cloth and letting him take the reins.

His callused, sun-kissed hands took her own gently, as he worked the cloth with his fingers, until every last fleck was gone. It felt nice, being waited on like this, but she couldn’t help but notice that she still felt next to nothing when he touched her. No tingle of nerves. No jolting sensation.

It was just two bodies touching each other out of convenience, him assisting her. As if one of her sisters had offered to take up the task themselves.

By the sudden intake of breath he gave, she knew it felt different for him though. Perhaps it was the fact that he had been Fae for his whole life, that he instinctively knew what the mating bond should feel like and had been raised to honor it.

But there was something more behind his gestures, behind his face, which she couldn’t reflect. Some small twinge she felt from deep inside her when he came to her left hand, when he scrubbed another man’s ring clean, which she didn’t reciprocate.

She felt strangely guilty now for allowing him to do this, for giving him any hope when it was so clear to her that she was in no state to desire him in return.

But Elain let him finish—she wouldn’t take this moment away from him—before she turned and strode wordlessly for where she knew her tent would be, a few away from her sister’s, nestled between Azriel’s and Cassian’s, as it had been in all the other camps.

Sitting herself down on the cot which she’d left only this morning—though it felt like a lifetime ago—she shed her leathers, which held a majority of the rest of the crusted blood which was splattered across her, and donned a loose sleeping gown.

The flowing fabric felt oddly freeing as she removed the stone from the pocket of her shucked leathers and placed it on the small table next to her bed. Along with … the ring.

Who she was and who she’d been at the beginning of today were not the same female, and she had a feeling that as she began to sob, privately for the first time, that it would be a long road back to figuring out who she was now.

Chapter Text

Azriel fought the urge to go to her.

After getting his wings set in splints, wrecked much further by how he’d pushed them to their limits today, he’d been crossing through the camp, going to check on how Cassian was holding up, when he’d seen them together. When he’d seen Lucien washing her hands—the act so intimate that he’d quickly looked away.

Lucien was her mate, and he should be glad that she was finally beginning to accept this newly Fae life of hers and all that it brought with it.

Her mate had gone to console her about her father, and perhaps she had taken his words to heart—not to throw away that bond without giving it a fair chance.

Perhaps Elain was finally beginning to heal, but for some stupidly selfish reason, he’d enjoyed being her closest friend here. He’d wanted to be the one she confided in when she was unable to handle the stresses of her new life. Their training sessions had been a nice break from the monotony of his everyday life and an escape from constantly thinking about his job.

She’d chosen him to confide in even over her sisters and the twins. A small, intensely male, intensely jealous part of him had been secretly satisfied with the knowledge.

But his friendship would pale in comparison with what a mate could give her.

She had invited Lucien back to Velaris. He had been the one there to comfort her as she mourned her father.

Somehow between their conversation and Elain returning to camp, it seemed the dynamic had shifted between her and her mate. Even if their relationship would take time to blossom.

Would he ever see her again outside of larger group gatherings now? He had likely been an escape, and now that the war was over—now that her life could settle into peaceful existence again once she got over the loss of her father—she probably wouldn’t need him anymore.

Even if she had admitted to still being in love with the man she had thought him to be, she seemed to be emotionally distancing herself from Graysen. All of her cards seemed to be falling into place, while his life felt just as disjointed as it had months ago.

Though she was sobbing now, trying to keep it quiet, but he could still hear it from between the thin walls of canvas barely separating the handful of feet between them.

Az assumed it was for the loss of her beloved father. He knew that, while she had gone to that cliffside to lay him to rest, this was the first time she had been alone enough to mourn in private.

She’d taken off his stone, had retreated into herself, and he knew that it was a private moment he shouldn’t intrude on. That she would not be relieved to have him offer his useless condolences again or offer to hold her hand while she cried.

He’d already done those things for her today, and they hadn’t fixed anything. They might have eased the hurt a bit in the moment, but she was still in so much pain from today’s events, and he wasn’t sure if he was honestly doing much better.

Those minutes in which Rhys had lain there, motionless, while Cassian had barely clung to life as he wept in Az’s arms were haunting him, and every time he shut his eyes, he saw the look on Feyre’s face as she wailed, as she fought off Mor’s grip.

Mor. She’d kept Feyre from breaking completely and had held in her own tears at the loss of her beloved cousin, knowing that once she started, she’d never be able to stop. Saving them for the privacy of her own tent. The way she’d tried to stay strong for Feyre was breaking his heart, but when they’d returned to the camp, she’d shaken Az off, going to support Cassian instead.

The love of his life wouldn’t accept his comfort, and neither would his best friend. He was such a failure.

His brother was still unconscious under the serums administered by the healers, but Az had no doubt that Cassian would discourage any attention being paid to his injuries. He was just protecting his mate, something any male would gladly fight to the death to do and not think was worthy of coddling or praise.

He sighed and finally gave in, asking one of his shadows to check on the three of them. Just to poke their heads in the doors and peek. He just needed to know that they were okay, no specifics.

The sentinels flew out into the chilly evening air, reporting back only seconds later that they were all broken and battered but fine.

Fine. Everything he was not. He finally sat up, knowing that he wouldn’t sleep tonight and strode out of his tent, taking post with the guards on duty.

A hushed silence overtook the group as he wordlessly took a seat near them, knowing that he probably looked pissed as hell, his shadows losing control around him, but after a few minutes, the soldiers went back to their celebrations, telling tales of glorious triumph from the earlier battle.

They were a mixture of Illyrian and Peregryns, High Fae and lesser faeries alike, from all of the courts, and here they were getting on like brothers. No ale even involved, as they were those who needed to remain awake and alert.

The handful of human soldiers who had joined in were even beginning to become more animated as they realized that all those myths and legends they’d been fed over the centuries were nothing more than that—stories.

Funny how this day of destruction had brought so many together in its wake.

And made him feel further from everyone he loved, even though they’d somehow all miraculously survived.

He took Truth-Teller out of its sheath, marvelling at the blade—his blade—which had ended the King of Hybern.

It didn’t seem real. Neither did the fact that Elain had given it back.

He’d meant what he said. He wanted her to have it. It had certainly served him well over the centuries, but it felt as though the blade had been calling out to her this morning when he’d felt the urge to hand it over.

She was the one whose power was a form of truth, while his just specialized in secrets and deceptions. He also couldn’t fathom something happening to Elain and her not having the means to protect herself. He would have found her another dagger, but she didn’t want any at all. At least not yet.

It wasn’t a rejection of his gift, he had to remind himself. It was a rejection of the concept of war. A rejection of the notion that she would ever need to wield a weapon again. This child of peace and harmony would accept no less from their new world.

And she’d kept the Siphon, though she’d been quick to take it off as soon as she’d returned to her tent. Perhaps that was a good thing. It gave them each some space to sort through their heads without feeling each other’s emotions.

But she still had something like that with Lucien. Az didn’t know much about how mating bonds felt, other than that there was that soul-bridge between them. So similar to the one the Siphon faked, though none of the instincts or attraction came with it. It was just a tool to connect.

Had anyone else ever discovered this before?

The Illyrians were a rather closed-off people, rarely choosing to live amongst the High Fae. They also guarded their Siphons rather closely, even lamenting giving them to another warrior in need. He might have been one of the first in a long while to have voluntarily given one to an outsider.

Not that he’d clue them in on this particular secret. He wanted this to remain between himself and Elain, didn’t want to give those bastards who’d treated him so horridly the insight about this particular feature of their stones.

Maybe his mother would know something about them. In the many years since she’d had him, she’d moved to the other side of Illyria—as far away from his father as possible—as soon as Az had left for Velaris.

With his meager soldier’s salary, he’d been able to purchase her a small hut and to buy her the materials she needed to start her business as a seamstress. Rhys’s mother had helped to teach her the basics, and under a new name, she made a life for herself.

Every so often, Az would gift her some of his ostentatious salary, even buying her the nearby Rosehall estate when its former owners had passed, but though she accepted small amounts of the gifted money, she was content with her life now.

She’d even married a century ago, and living off the land Azriel had bought for her, the two of them were trying to start a family.

He admitted that his visits had slowed down significantly in frequency once she’d found a partner, not wanting to have to look into the male’s eyes and see the strange, juxtaposing mixture of horror and honor which had trailed in Az’s wake his entire life.

At least there was none of the disgust anymore, as his step-father couldn’t be disgusted by the means by which Az came into existence without it reflecting on his mother’s past choices.

But he was the cold-hearted shadowsinger. A nobody who had risen through the ranks and now knew any secrets one was trying to hide and would torture for sport, as the rumors went.

He’d made that bed himself, but it still hurt not to be able to go back and visit his only family without seeing that look haunting someone’s eyes anymore.

So he did his best from far away, anonymously sending them fertility potions, checking in with his shadows to see if they’d gotten their wish.

Perhaps Edon was in this very camp right now. Az knew he should ask around for the warrior, but he couldn’t find it in his heart. He’d go check in on them after the dust had settled and the armies had returned home.

Az sat stiffly, contemplating these and other things until the sun had risen and he found himself stumbling back to his tent to hopefully catch a few hours of sleep before he was needed for whatever Rhys and Feyre had in store today.

“I need you to do recon,” Rhys asked of him the next morning. “Feyre wants to hold a meeting at her family’s old estate. It wasn’t completely destroyed as Hybern’s army ransacked her town, but I need you to make sure it’s secure.”

“Of course,” Az bowed before slipping into a shadow and emerging in front of the rubble of a building he’d visited in secret so many times before.

After the first time he had met Elain and Nesta last year, he would sometimes drop in to check for traps, sometimes to ask the sisters if there had been any response to the letter Feyre had sent.

He never stayed for long, but he was devastated by the destruction wrought upon the estate. The entire residential wing was in shambles, the gardens Elain had worked so hard on trampled by careless feet and covered in debris.

As he’d noticed before, the sitting room where they’d met with the queens was still intact, and as Azriel surveyed it, shadows searching for any harm potentially lurking nearby, he realized why Feyre wanted to use it.

It was enormous. Larger than any meeting space they had even in the House of Wind, and it would be playing host to … some large personalities.

Representatives from all the courts, Miryam and Drakon, Vassa, the humans. They would need the space to be able to spread out and perhaps have a chance at a civilized discussion about the fate of the new world.

Az exited back through the sacked entryway he had used upon his arrival, at the front of house, and slipped back to the war camp, sharing his findings with Rhys and Feyre.

They kept him and Cassian around for the next few hours as invitations were sent out to the other delegations, and the two of them talked strategy.

They weren’t going to attempt to take control of how others decided to lead the rehabilitation effort, but they did want to help guide them. To make sure that they were all moving in a unified direction. Where there would be little strife between courts. And maybe … Maybe this fragile alliance they had been coerced to forge for the war could hold together.

As evening was encroaching, the Inner Circle, along with Elain, Nesta, and Lucien winnowed into the courtyard.

Elain’s face crumpled as she took in what was left of her home. They’d seen it in passing yesterday morning, but he knew that she had been so nervous about the battle that she must not have really absorbed what the king had done to try to erase her old life.

He could only hope that the servants had gotten out. With no masters to serve, they were likely staying with their families anyways until they received a summons to return.

Their group worked their way over the cracked marble floor of the foyer and into the sitting room, Elain and Nesta hesitantly taking up positions near the hearth as they waited to guide the emissaries to their designated seats.

The rest of the circle would remain just outside the foyer doors to welcome their guests.

Beron and Eris arrived first. They did not so much as look at Lucien, who was standing next to Feyre.

It appeared as if Eris had almost perished yesterday.

Pity that the healers were so good at their jobs, because other than the innocuous bruises and cuts marring him all over, which would fade with time, he only had one hideous scar down his cheek and neck to show for it.

Mor seemed to appreciate it though, letting out a small noise of satisfaction—or so Az thought. That at least if Eris had to live, he’d never be rid of the ghastly mark which had destroyed his once-handsome face.

Eris merely nodded at Rhys, an acknowledgement that, for his support in this war, he would be calling in that favor of his soon. His father’s usefulness had run out, and he wanted to be the one to rebuild the Autumn Court anew.

Az would never stop hating the other male for what he’d done to Mor, centuries ago and publicly at that meeting of the High Lords, but he had to admit that anyone would be better than Beron on that throne.

Eris and Tamlin were the reasons Beron had brought his forces yesterday in the first place.

Perhaps it was time to overlook some of the past in order to rebuild.

He would never forget, and Cauldron help him, should any of his enemies lay a finger on his own, he wouldn’t hesitate to shred them.

But for the rebuilding effort Rhys and Feyre were trying to achieve, he could play along. For now. In its vulnerable infancy.

Eris even had the nerve to look slightly guilty as he passed Lucien, as if he regretted the multiple occasions on which he’d tried to slaughter his little brother at a wicked father’s command.

Tamlin arrived next, alone, with no court, no friends to his name after Feyre had destroyed the Spring Court. With Tamlin’s own help of course. The moron.

He didn’t so much as glance at his former lover, though. Lucien on the other hand—

The redhead took a step forward, searching for the right words to say to his friend. Former friend? Az didn’t know how they stood anymore, and apparently, neither did Lucien.

“Tamlin—”

The High Lord had paused a few feet away and took in the other male, standing head-to-toe in Illyrian leathers. Not really the best choice if Lucien had come into the day with the hopes of reconciling.

They only served to remind Tamlin of all that had been taken from him, by his enemies in the Night Court, as the High Lord shook his head, pure, unadulterated hatred flashing in his green eyes before striding past Lucien without uttering a word.

To his credit, Lucien stayed silent as he looked on at Tamlin with could best be described as devastation. At least he wasn’t enough of a fool to begin airing their dirty laundry in this forum.

And then there came Miryam and Drakon’s party.

Feyre had taken one look at tiny Nephelle, and it seemed she knew, though she still looked to Az to confirm that this was the mighty female of legend who had inspired her—and Elain—so, though Feyre was unaware that Az had shared the story with her sister.

The two females grinned at each other, sharing some strange, private moment before the representatives crossed the threshold of the next room and Kallias and Viviane sauntered in.

Thesan filed past holding his husband’s hand, along with Tarquin, who just gave a quick nod of his head to Rhys and a clipped hug to Feyre. Much to Cresseida’s dismay.

They’d still have much to work through with the rest of these courts. Varian didn’t seem to mind much, having eyes only for Amren before he disappeared into the sitting room.

Lucien followed them, apparently now having broken out of the shock of seeing Tamlin. He had nobody else he wished to greet, so he went and stood near Elain, the latter not really acknowledging him as she silently held her position with Nesta, now in front of the bay windows.

Helion limped in with his entourage, pausing only to tell Rhys and Feyre, “Better enjoy this while it lasts. I doubt we’ll be so unified when we walked out of here,” with a grim smile before taking his own seat.

Rhys instructed Az, Cass, Mor, and Amren to leave them, to let himself and Feyre welcome the rest, the humans.

So Az went inside, hovering inside the doorway, Cassian on the other side of it as the females crossed to sit with the Archeron sisters. The two would remain near their High Lord and High Lady, they decided, on guard until the meeting began.

More and more stragglers filed in, giving curt greetings before joining with their respective parties.

And then finally, after they’d almost begun to give up hope that the humans would make it on foot, Jurian and Graysen strolled in.

Graysen looked as if he’d rather be anywhere but in that house, a long gash across his face getting ripped open anew as he scowled at the Inner Circle.

Az was inclined to agree with the sentiment. He could get the fuck out of Elain’s home if he was going to be anything other than respectful, anything other than helpful in their efforts.

Jurian nudged him onward, and Azriel took in the human warrior’s appearance as well. He had a black eye, courtesy of Miryam Drakon no doubt, but other than that, he seemed whole.

“I put you on opposite ends of the room,” Feyre told them. From Elain. From Miryam and Drakon. The best she could do when they were all squished into such close quarters with each other.

Neither bothered to respond as they held their heads high and entered the room brimming with Fae.

The last to arrive was Vassa. She was like a storm given personification as she brashly crossed the threshold of the foyer and did not pause for anything until she was directly in front of Feyre.

Oh, she was a reckless one. Az could see why the other queens had feared what she might achieve if given the freedom to reign. She would’ve upset their stuffy status quos and fiercely fought them for what she believed in.

With her wily, red-gold hair and tanned skin, she easily could have fit into Autumn. Perhaps that’s what Elain thought Lucien saw in her, even if the male was standing at Elain’s side instead of the queen’s at the moment.

“Are you Feyre Cursebreaker?” Az heard the queen ask in a distinctly eastern accent.

“Yes.”

“I am sorry—about your father. He was a great man.”

Nesta crossed the sitting room, past Azriel and Cassian—going where, Az had no idea. But this was her home. Perhaps she was sick of waiting around like some guest in it and desired to see what had befallen the rest of the structure.

She’d been unhinged in the day that had followed the battle.

Supposedly, she was not speaking to anyone, even Elain and Cassian. He had wondered about asking his brother if he’d found any way in with her over that bond between them, but Cassian’s face when Nesta had been brought up in conversation was anguished enough for Az to think better of it for the time being.

As she entered the hallway, Vassa commented, “You are Nesta. I am sorry for your loss, too.”

There was a slight pause, as if Vassa expected Nesta to respond in kind, but at the pregnant silence, the queen continued, “I heard you slew the King of Hybern.”

Still nothing out of Nesta.

“He was a better to me than my own. I owe much to him, and will honor his memory as long as I live,” the queen murmured. “Can you break the curse on me, Feyre Archeron?”

“Is that why you agreed to come so quickly?” Feyre asked back.

“Partly. Lucien suggested you had gifts. And the other High Lords do as well. I do not have much time left—before I must return to the lake. To him.”

“Who is he?” Feyre breathed, and Az’s ears perked up. He was curious about this death-lord as well. There was little not Cauldron-forged which neither his shadows nor Elain’s scrying could pick up.

But Vassa didn’t answer Feyre. Perhaps she couldn’t. “Can you break my curse?”

“I—I don’t know how to break those kinds of spells. But … we can try.”

“With the healing of our armies, I won’t be able to leave for some time. Perhaps it will give me a … loophole, as Lucien called it, to remain longer.” The woman certainly kept bringing up the male she’d traveled with every few sentences as if she couldn’t get him out of her head. “We shall discuss this later. Along with the threat my fellow queens pose.”

Feyre seemed at a loss for words.

“They will try to intervene. With any sort of peace talks. Hybern sent them back before this battle, but I have no doubt they were smart enough to encourage that. Not to waste their armies here,” the woman continued.

“But they will elsewhere?” Nesta asked. It was the first thing out of her mouth, her voice hoarse from disuse, but she sounded genuinely afraid. As if she could not stomach another war.

“We shall see. And you will think of ways to help me.”

Vassa made her way into the sitting room, head held high before Az heard, “Good luck with that,” come out of Nesta’s mouth.

“Where are you going? The meeting is starting,” Feyre asked.

“Why should I be in there?”

“You’re the guest of honor. You killed the king.”

“So what,” Nesta spat.

“You’re our emissary as well. You should be here for this.”

Az could tell how much Feyre wanted her in there, wanted her family to be together in this moment, wanted the support of her sister.

“Do you think it will work—this meeting?” A dangerous question with a room full of Fae ears able to pick up whatever was said if they cared to listen.

“I don’t know, but I’m willing to try. I want you here for this. With me.” An olive branch. To perhaps make peace with the sister who had not known it since the moment her father died yesterday.

Az gave Cassian a little nod and the two of them moved over near the windows, reforming with their friends, reaching the other side just as Feyre and Nesta appeared, hand-in-hand through the archway.

They made their way through this room which was still reasonably torn apart, until Feyre reached Rhys, who nudged her to take a step into the middle of the room to address the gathered crowd.

“My name is Feyre Archeron. I was once human—and now I am Fae. I call both worlds my home. And I would like to discuss renegotiating the Treaty.”

Az listened as Feyre recounted her story, most of which he’d heard already, though she’d thrown in some extra details, about her time Under the Mountain, what she’d seen when she looked in the Ouroboros. It was quite the tale to behold.

Miryam and Drakon also pitched in with the tales of how their two peoples had been able to live in harmony since the last war, how true peace was possible if everyone was willing to work together to make it happen.

Of course, there were the dissenters, those who had seen Fae take advantage of human weaknesses—who told stories of certain relations which had gone horribly wrong—but his family made sure to point out that those instances were few and far between with the Wall up.

And now that it was down, and the Fae were agreeing not to turn a blind eye, things would be different. Boundaries would be enforced. Denizens of the courts would be held subject to laws even within the human lands, and those creatures who had served Amarantha—they would be hunted so they could not take advantages of the humans on the other side of the Wall. Or where the Wall had been. Nothing like it would be erected to divide their worlds again. Not if Feyre could help it.

The were significant quarrels about whether or not the Wall should be erected anew, with many of the High Lords throwing their hats into the ring. Somehow, they still hadn’t reached an agreement on that, but had managed to redraw the Court lines with relatively few issues.

And everyone stayed. Unlike the meeting of the High Lords, every major player stuck around until the hours-long meeting was over.

It was a start. A tentative, fragile start, but a start nonetheless.

As the others left, his family stayed around to see them off hospitably and also for the sisters to get one last moment in their old, human home.

Az didn’t fail to notice Elain glancing out the window as Graysen’s delegation took its leave, watching him ride off into the night without so much as a glance back at her.

She was still wearing that damn ring. No matter what she said, the look on her face was still longing. It seemed that when push came to shove, she couldn’t let go. Not with Graysen around. Az hoped never to see his face again.

He vaguely heard Jurian mention something about joining Vassa’s court before they took their leave. He secretly hoped Lucien would too, though to bind himself to a mortal was not an easy decision to consider.

They winnowed back to the war camp, and Az left his friends as he went to go unwind from the night’s proceedings.

He’d taken notes, and now he just wanted to clear his head, to figure out his next move. He’d likely be on the road a lot, helping to build relations and scouting out the volatile lands for himself as they tried to gather information.

It seemed that the human queens would be a force to be reckoned with, and Az felt himself wondering if it wouldn’t be better to just depose them all and start fresh. Without them strongly enforcing their new Treaty, there was going to be hell to pay in the borderlands.

He jotted down some more thoughts, some individuals he wanted to meet with before the war camp dispersed and climbed into bed.

He was thoroughly exhausted from barely sleeping the night before and having to work relentlessly all day long.

Az, can I ask you something? Her voice was like music to his ears.

Anything. And he meant it.

Do you think he ever really cared? Ugh. They were discussing Graysen again.

Maybe, a long time ago, but never about you. About the idea of a wife—yes. If he’d ever cared about you, none of this would matter to him.

Okay. Goodnight.

Goodnight? That was all she had to say to him?

Fine. Whatever. She needed to deal with this on her own. It couldn’t be his problem.

He tossed and turned for a while, mulling over the last few days before finally falling into a fitful slumber.

Chapter Text

The next few days went by in a blur for Elain. She’d been doing a lot of thinking about her life, and she wasn’t sure where she stood.

She just wished more than anything that she could be spirited back to the townhouse garden. She missed the flowers and the peace she felt whenever she was around them.

Putting on Graysen’s ring again on the night of the meeting had been a mistake. She had woken up that morning and donned it out of habit, and then had decided to leave it on.

Perhaps Elain had wanted to dare him to approach her, to have realized that he made a mistake and that fighting in this war had changed his viewpoints.

Would it really reverse all of the hurt she’d felt from his words and actions? Not really. But there was just something inside her which wanted to see the good in people and to be able to let these hurts go. And it also would have lifted some of the ache of feeling so pathetically unwanted.

Elain had lost so much in her short life so far that she wasn’t sure how to just let things go. And when Graysen hadn’t even looked at her, she’d felt ashamed of the iron pressing coldly to her skin.

She had watched him go, longingly perhaps, but she knew that she was much more upset about the fact that this was the final time she’d be in these lands. At least in the near future.

She didn’t want to step foot in the ruins of this house again. She’d taken a look around but found nothing of significance that she wanted to take with her.

Nesta had spied the small carving lying on the mantle, apparently overlooked by their ransackers, and Elain hadn’t argued when her sister had pocketed it for herself.

She secretly wished it was hers, but Nesta had been through more than Elain could imagine. So she’d let go of this trinket, this last possession of her father’s to offer her sister some closure.

The ring and Siphon were now tucked at the bottom of her travel sack, amongst her discarded clothing, and Elain had never felt freer.

She studiously avoided Lucien, though the male seemed to have keyed in on that, and after the first full day in camp, she found that he mercifully wasn’t around.

While the others were busy negotiating treaties, she found herself wandering, sitting on the edge of a stream for hours on end, going to a nearby meadow to contemplate.

She had frustratingly gotten nowhere with her internal turmoil.

She kept inviting Nesta along, to do something other than lie in her bed, when she wasn’t dragged off as meetings to be an emissary, but Nesta had completely shut down.

Elain had even tried talking about how they could make a memorial to remember their father by in Velaris, but Nesta simply … didn’t care.

She wasn’t really speaking with Elain, with anyone at all. And when she was, it was usually to tell Elain to stop. Just stop. She didn’t want to hear it.

There was no crying, just emptiness. A complete disregard for what was going on around her.

Elain had even worked up the courage to ask Cassian what it was about. He just grunted, looking rather distraught, and Elain could tell that he didn’t know either. And it was killing him just as much inside.

Whatever this thing between them had been, whatever had compelled them to be willing to die for each other, Nesta had decided not to acknowledge it anymore.

Elain found herself wanting to talk to Az but lacking anything of substance to talk about. He’d been strangely silent since the other night, and she supposed it was for the best.

This alone time would be best for her. She’d always found herself more easily in the silences than around others.

She just needed to retreat into her shell a bit. She thought about using the shadows to travel somewhere if only for an hour—she knew that the second she went back to Velaris, she’d probably go back to her life cooped up in the house—but she could think of nowhere to visit.

The world was in disarray right now, and there would be no hospitality waiting for her, only a tired people working to rebuild their homes wherever she landed.

So she’d bide her time, learning how to be truly Fae before setting off on her own. She’d take advantage of the hospitality her sister was offering her until it was time to set off on her own.

Elain only hoped that would be sooner rather than later. But she had an eternity to look forward to.

She could move throughout Prythian if she wished, move over to the continent if she dared. And if she regretted the decision, she’d always have a home in the Night Court to return to, family and friends who she really should be trying to bond with more on a regular basis.

She realized that she hadn’t really talked to Nuala and Cerridwen since the incident with Graysen.

They had fallen by the wayside, casualties of the aftermath of that explosive conversation, and though she lived under Feyre’s roof, she hadn’t made much of an effort to engage with her sister, content to watch from the sidelines.

Well she would be content no longer. She would lean on them as much as they would allow as she adjusted to this new normal.

And it would feel normal. Elain would make it so.

Three exhausting days of bargaining and diplomacy later, they dismantled the war camp.

The Inner Circle stuck around with the other High Lords’ parties as the troops were winnowed home, until all which remained was for Rhys to throw their personal belongings in that pocket between realms and spirit them home.

Good riddance. It wasn’t the first war he’d cleaned up, and it may not be the last, but Azriel would give more of himself to make sure it didn’t happen again.

He had already planned some trips to meet with dignitaries in the coming month.

Everyone would travel home to settle down in their own courts, but peace would wait for no one, and spymasters, generals, and high-ranking officials alike would be working tirelessly after the small break they were giving themselves to ensure it went as smoothly as possible.

Starting with their summit in Day in a week’s time.

It was still one of the most neutral courts, so there was little relative to fear from traveling there. At least not enough to make everyone so worn down with the proceedings of the past few days want to question the location. They’d be alternating courts as the year went on anyway, so he couldn’t see how it really mattered where they started.

After saying goodbye to the other lords and exchanging formalities, Rhys winnowed the lot of them into the townhouse foyer.

Peaceful. It was so peaceful here. Somehow, there were still children laughing in the streets, despite the fact that many of their fathers had gone off into battle. It was strange how … untouched, unmarred Velaris was in the wake of the catastrophic battle which had just taken place.

But it was here that they all would heal. Slowly, but time would erase these wounds as they rebuilt their court.

“I supposed I shall have to eat real food now,” Amren muttered as they touched down.

What had she been doing these past few days? Drinking blood to see if it would still fuel her? Refusing to eat to figure out how this High Fae body functioned?

He guessed that she was used to go days on end without blood before, so perhaps the thought of eating hadn’t occurred to her before now, though her stomach must be protesting.

“A monumental sacrifice,” Cassian jested.

She flipped him off, but she didn’t have enough fire in her to truly snap back at him as she took in his wings, once again heavily bandaged and splinted—as if he just couldn’t stay away from trouble, where they were concerned, lately.

One way or another, they’d been injured—he’d been gravely injured—too many times in this war, over the past couple of months.

And then Amren’s gaze hit Nesta, whom Az realized none of them had really seen for the past few days. Elain had still been sleeping in the same tent as her and hadn’t reported anything particularly wrong, but they’d all noticed the fact that Elain tried not to spend much time in that tent and that Nesta’s food trays kept being sent back untouched.

She had already been thin, but a gauntness had crept over her face, and Az knew that, if left unchecked, she may end up as bad off as Feyre and Elain had been.

“I’m surprised you didn’t take the king’s head back to have stuffed and hung on your wall,” Amren said to Nesta.

Nesta’s dull eyes shot toward Amren, but she made no move to bite back, to strike with that infamous tongue of hers.

“Some would consider that joke to be in bad taste, Amren,” Mor chided.

“I saved your asses. I’m entitled to say what I want.” Amren didn’t even spare a glance back at the group as she prowled out of the house, likely to go struggle in silence as she adjusted to her new body in her apartment.

“The new Amren is even crankier than the old one,” Elain murmured in a hushed voice, as if embarrassed that no one else would find it funny.

Az couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face as he burst out laughing. For the first true time in weeks. The others joined along, Elain even grinning at how well the joke had gone over.

She was shining. She was a light in this new world, and he was so incredibly happy that she was able to find it within herself to even laugh after everything she’d been through. Even if it had seemed rocky between them since the battle ended.

He supposed it was to be expected that times were changing and so were relationships. He’d still try to be a good friend to her, but he got it. He really did. That she might begin to branch out and try to find herself, lean on others.

She would find her own healing, and he would find his.

Nesta remained on the outskirts, the only one not overtaken by the joy of the moment, but Azriel couldn’t bring himself to care. Not right now, when celebrating and being present with his family was so important.

“Come on.” Mor slung a carefree arm around his shoulders, as Az breathed in her heady citrus and cinnamon scent while she gingerly hooked the other around Cassian. “We need a drink.”

Indeed.

“We’re opening the fancy bottles,” Cassian yelled as the trio limped their way into the sitting room.

“Save a bit for me, at least,” Rhys countered, though Az knew he didn’t give a care in the world.

He had his life, his mate. Rhys wouldn’t truly be wanting for anything in the near future.

When they reached the sitting room, Cass broke off, on a mission to dig through Rhys’s liquor cabinet while Mor went straight to fetch glasses for everyone.

He knew he should be helping, but there was nothing else to busy his hands, and he was getting the world’s largest tension headache from the release of adrenaline.

For the past few days, he’d just been chugging along, letting the needs of others guide him, and this was the first time he’d allowed himself to just … stop.

Even for a few minutes. And now the weight of the exhaustion, the realization of what was to come as he didn’t get to settle back into his life like the others but had to go and help with unifying the territories threatened to drag him under like a lead weight.

He raised one hand to his head, rubbing at his temples, as the clinking of glass on glass grated against him.

Feyre and Elain entered the room, Nesta apparently having decided she was not going to attend their little celebration, and for the first time since he’d met her, there was a glimmer of hope and life in Elain’s eyes.

Az hadn’t been paying attention to what had been said after his exit, but whatever Feyre and Elain had discussed, it had made her cheerful.

“What now?” Elain asked no one in particular, as if she were dreaming of her own future in that head of hers.

A broad grin spread across her face, gorgeous and free, so lovely and comforting that Az felt his shadows stir in response. Where they’d been swirling around him, they stilled, fading from view, a few even running over to purr in her presence.

“I would like to build a garden. After all of this … I think the world needs more gardens.”

Az’s mouth parted in awe at Elain already being able to plan for such beauty in the world. That she was willing to try to make it a better place, in the best way she knew how.

“Yes—I think it does.” Feyre’s eyes seemed like they were about to brim over with tears as she gave her sister a kiss on the cheek.

What now for you? With the others now cracking open the bottles of whiskey, Elain had seated herself on one of the plush sitting room chairs and was now glancing shyly at Az.

I drew the short stick. After this week, I’ll be traveling around Prythian and the human lands as we work to unify, gathering intel. It’s not going to be easy, but somebody needs to do it. And I already need to keep tabs on everyone to make sure nobody decides to take advantage of this fragile state we’re in.

I see. How long will you be gone?

As long as it takes. Peace is never just as simple as winning a war.

Don’t you need a break?

Not everyone can have the luxury of that. He had to admit that his own words were getting a little clipped right now. He knocked back what was left in his glass.

Oh. Okay. She seemed on edge now, unsure of what to say to him. He really should stop being so cold with her, though he was having trouble controlling his bitterness as he thought about his role for the next few months. He wished more than anything that he could stay here. Will you still be able to train me?

I won’t be around very often, so I would recommend beginning to practice on your own. You’re doing great, and I’m sure that if you find yourself in need of a tutor while I’m gone, someone will be able to assist you. And we can always pick up when I return.

Whenever that is.

Whenever that is, he echoed. He took in her slight frown. Cheer up. It won’t be forever, though I am rather glad to hear that you’re going to miss me, he smirked.

Who said anything about that? Her cheeks were blushing now, though.

I think it was rather obvious, El. Now, come on, we should be over there—he nodded toward the hearth where the others were gathered—celebrating. We did just win a war after all.

And so the two of them walked over to where their family were clinking glasses together in a toast to their victory. The sheer disbelief of the outcome still seeming to be a bit of a shock. It had been days since the final battle, but this was the first time they’d truly been able to be themselves, relax just a fraction, since that dreadful day.

Already on her second glass somehow, Mor was rosy-cheeked and cracking jokes about the other High Lords, letting off some much-needed steam.

Az couldn’t help himself from laughing along with the others as Mor’s high-pitched cackle rose above all the rest. She draped an arm around Elain, offering the middle Archeron sister a glass of her favorite vintage.

Elain looked too embarrassed to turn it down, and they all laughed a bit as she took a tiny sip, cringing at the burn of the liquor as it went down.

Mother above, it was adorable, and Az could watch this for hours. His friends, laughing and joking like old times. Before Rhys had been captured. Before Hybern had declared war. Before their High Lord had sacrificed himself because he believed that building a better world was worth it, even if he wasn’t in it.

A High Lord who had supposedly slipped away to the restroom but still hadn’t returned. Az sent a scout looking for him, only to find that he was lingering in the kitchen, all by his lonesome, staring out the window at the garden.

Not a terrible pastime, but he should’ve been the head of the party.

Az knew that what had happened had hit home and Rhys, but he also knew how much love and support could do to heal the emotional wounds of war.

Our brother needs us, he said to Cassian, indicating with his chin that Rhys was in the kitchen when Cass caught his eye.

Cass nodded, and Az took the decanter, pouring out another glass to bring with them. An offering.

They sauntered into the kitchen, Cassian drawling, “You coming to drink, or are you just going to stare at the flowers all day?” as they crossed the threshold.

Rhys spun, trying his best to look casual, but his hands were in his pockets. He’d been a split second too late in hiding the slight frown of concentration he’d had on before attempting to greet them with a smile.

Az summoned his power, sending the glass across the room into one of Rhys’s hands, removed from the pocket just to catch the liquor.

“Sneaking up on your High Lord is ill-advised,” he replied. But still, he drank deeply, taking a large swig, draining half the glass in one go. He needed this distraction. Needed them to pull him out of this state.

“It’s good to keep you on edge in your old age,” Cassian quipped as he took a sip, leaning lazily against the doorway. “Why are you hiding in here?”

Az’s head whirled.

Wow, way to ease into it, Cass.

The prick knew he was being miserable. He deserved me cutting to the chase.

Rhys didn’t seem offended though. He just chuckled as he took another sip, eyes lighting up a bit in surprise. “You really did open the fancy bottles.”

A deflection if Az had ever heard one.

A silence crept over them, broken only by the sound of the females in the other room all erupting into laughter. Rhys’s head snapped to attention at the noise, and by the time his brother had schooled his gaze and glanced back at him, Az knew.

That Rhys was expecting this to be taken away from him at any second. That there was still that seed of doubt in his mind that this had actually happened. That any of this peace was real, was earned.

“It’s real,” Az murmured.

Rhys’s eyes began to tear up, but he slowly walked over to where Az and Cass were waiting for him in the doorway.

“Let’s not do this again for another five hundred years.” His voice was hoarse with trying to keep his emotions at bay as he clinked their glasses together.

Az couldn’t help the tentative smile at that, his brother coming back to them, giving in and agreeing to join in the festivities in his own way.

“And what are we going to do until then?” Cassian lifted an inquisitive brow full of mischief.

“Hey, bat boys! Stop comparing wingspans in there and bring us food. We’re starving!” Mor yelled from the sitting room amongst a host of giggles from Feyre and Elain. “And it better be impressive. With extra bread.”

A tipsy Feyre and Elain sounded like they were in stitches and would definitely all be in need of that bread to soak up a bit of the alcohol.

Az rolled his eyes. Leave it to Mor to break the tension so perfectly in her own ridiculous way.

At the sound of his mate’s laugh though, Rhys broke out into a genuine smile for the first time today.

“Until then,” he said, throwing his arms around Az and Cass’s shoulders, as they headed back into the sitting room, “Until then, we enjoy every heartbeat of it.”

Chapter Text

At the end of that first rebuilding week, Az took off from his apartment, tucked into the sleepy Velaris streets, in the direction of the Day Court.

Belos, one of Helion’s leading officials was to be holding a summit where they’d discuss their formal protocols for gathering intelligence in the months to come. What they would share with each other forthright and some general ground rules.

Now, nobody ever truly respected these, but such was the price of trying to form an alliance. To make it look as though they weren’t all itching to uncover each other’s secrets. That they didn’t already have deep cover agents in place collecting those bits and pieces already.

The most important topic of this meeting would be how to proceed with the human lands though. No one had been able to get in contact with the mortal queens, and it was making everyone a bit anxious.

Ugh, diplomacy.

How Rhys dealt with this for centuries was beyond Az. He hadn’t had a high enough standing in the last war to merit all these missions. Some other court member of Rhys’s father’s had had the honor of dealing with the nonsense.

He touched down in Hemera, their capital, finding a nearby tavern he liked to frequent when he had occasion to visit Day, paying for a hot meal and a room for the night. The delegation didn’t start until tomorrow, and he wanted to get a lay of the land after all the destruction Amarantha and Hybern had reeked upon it.

Luckily, it seemed that the infrastructure of the capital was largely intact.

Amarantha had raided their libraries, stealing valuable troves of knowledge, but most of those tomes had been discovered Under the Mountain as the High Lords prepped for evacuation, so Day had lost little of value.

Helion hadn’t outright led a rebellion either, meaning that Amarantha hadn’t see fit to destroy too much of his home out of spite. The west wing of his palace was still under repair, but it seemed to be doing better than Tarquin’s palace in Adriata had been described from Rhys’s notes and the Dawn Court palace as well.

During the High Lords’ meeting, the visitors had been intentionally shepherded to the useable portions of it, Thesan only wanting them to see the splendor he still was clutching in his grasp, but Az had flown around the estate many times, and there was little which could be shielded from the view of his shadows anyways.

Setting himself down in the corner of the tavern, he ate his meal, listening to the strangers around him gawk.

It was hard to fit in anywhere other than Illyria, hard to be conspicuous in any other court with the wings and the golden brown skin, but Az wasn’t looking to fit in tonight. He would hear enough in the hushed breaths, his shadows invisibly permeating every nook and cranny in the room to whisper those things back to him.

And as soon as he retreated upstairs, the words would flow even more freely, rescued from their restraints by the absence of the out-of-place stranger. Loose tongues, wondering about him, wondering aloud about what he wished to know, assuming that even his Fae hearing couldn’t pick up the low volumes.

Which they would be right about if not for his powers.

As he spent the last free night of the next few foreseeable months in the dimly lit corner of the pub, he thought about his last few days in Velaris.

They had passed in a whirlwind, as his court had held a handful of private counsel meetings, a ceremony to welcome the soldiers who had fought valiantly back to the city and a memorial to honor those who had perished in the brutality.

Many of the males from Velaris, and even some of the females, had joined with the troops marching south to aid in the war effort, and just like the Illyrians, like Keir’s Darkbringers, and like all the soldiers from the other courts, the citizens of Velaris suffered heavy losses.

Cassian would be going into the camps now that the dust had settled and meeting with the families of all the fallen warriors.

Az had volunteered to help him, if Cassian were to head to Illyria a few days early, but Cassian insisted in staying in Velaris just a little longer.

Az hadn’t asked any prying questions, but he was fairly certain he knew why.

Nesta had locked herself in her tiny bedroom in the townhouse, and wouldn’t come out for anything—anyone.

With their mating bond so prominently on display during that final battle, Azriel was sure that some of the others had noticed as well, and he was positive that Cassian was hoping that she would one day answer the door for him or emerge for long enough for them to have a discussion.

Elain had filled him in on the fact that Nesta had thrown her own body over him to act as a shield and had let Cassian kiss her in what they thought were their final moments, but there seemed to be nothing left of the female they had known before.

Nesta had just snapped, as if after all she’d been through, death had been the preferred option, and she wasn’t sure how to deal with being alive now.

Hopefully she’d figure it out soon though, because unlike Az, she had others counting on her.

Cassian likely wouldn’t truly be okay again until they’d worked through whatever thing was clearly going on between them, and Feyre even seemed to be growing a little fed up with trying to coax Nesta out.

But it was Elain who Az was truly worried about.

Nesta had been a rock in her life throughout those tormenting childhood years, the older sister she’d always looked up to, who had always protected her without a second thought.

Even when they had first come to Velaris, Nesta had thrown up those walls, daring anyone to get close to her grieving sister, acting as if she was going to suck the marrow from Lucien’s bones if he even looked at her.

And now she was gone.

Their rooms in the townhouse were adjacent, and his shadows had reported that Elain now left her door open a good majority of the time, so she wouldn’t miss Nesta if Nesta ever emerged. He had noticed Elain also sending her shadows to check on Nesta

But the shadows reported the same thing every time.

Nesta was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Not crying. Not reading. Not seeming to contemplate anything or showing any glimmer of emotion.

She was a shell. And if something wasn’t done about it sooner or later, somebody else was going to end up getting hurt.

Azriel had helped Elain a bit in the garden, when he could find a spare minute, and he had noticed the way she kept looking up at the house, at the window where she hoped to find someone staring back.

She had even mentioned to him offhandedly that Feyre was having a memorial built for their father, and Elain was growing some flowers to transplant there, but Nesta would not even contribute a word to the epitaph. She would not give any input on anything about the way it was being constructed.

Az had tried to assuage Elain’s fears that her sister was just being difficult and would be back to her brash, opinionated self soon, but even he was starting to doubt that now.

Even when Feyre had been broken, she had confided in Rhys.

With Elain, the confidant had been Nesta.

They had let others place a foot in the door and gradually wiggle it open, but Nesta was doing nothing of the sort.

Nesta’s leaving. Elain’s voice whispered into his ear. Speak of the devil.

What do you mean leaving?

She finally came downstairs, but the only thing she said to us was that she couldn’t suffocate in this house anymore, and she was getting out. She had her bags packed and everything. She doesn’t even have somewhere to sleep tonight. What will she do?

Calm down for a minute, and think about this. There are plenty of inns in Velaris. She’ll probably shack up there for a day or two, and maybe it will give her the space she needs to think.

But what next?

Well, she either moves back in with you or finds somewhere else to live. She may just need her privacy while she gets back on her feet. Everyone can hear every little thing that goes on in that house. It’s not a terrible surprise that she’d want to leave eventually. You’ll probably find yourself wanting your own place at some point too, but that’s beside the point. I’ll make sure she’s safe.

Thank you, Az. How’s your trip?

Short so far, but it should be interesting. I just arrived in Day. The real work begins tomorrow.

And then what?

A visit to all the other courts, some to the human lands. Creeping into the shadows and doing the dirty work. The usual. I’ll see you in a few months.

No chance of sneaking back before?

Unfortunately, no. At least not for any significant length of time.

Though he really wanted to. The thought of her being all alone again, even though she had Feyre to lean on now, was curdling his stomach. As was the thought that Lucien would be returning to Velaris.

He wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much—they were mates after all and would likely come together after she was over Graysen—but he just couldn’t help but think that Lucien wasn’t good enough for Elain. Nobody was.

Certainly not him …

Why was he even thinking like this? He still couldn’t get Mor out of his head. He was head-over-heels for her. Perhaps this trip would help him to clear some of that up too.

He hadn’t been able to escape Mor’s orbit for such a long period of time—since before Under the Mountain, when Rhys had trapped them all in Velaris.

I should at least be back by the end of the year. I know you likely never celebrated any holidays when you were a human, but the Winter Solstice is one of our biggest—the longest night of the year. Starfall is our other major holiday, which you’ll get to experience towards the end of spring.

That sounds lovely. She yawned audibly, and Az released her, telling her to go to bed and that they could talk more later.

He then sent a shadow out with the task of trailing Nesta, learning that she indeed had staggered her way into an inn, in the somewhat more seedy part of town—if any section of Velaris could truly be referred to as seedy.

She’s alright. Give her some time, he told Cassian.

How did you—? Elain.

Yes, Elain. She was worried sick, and I know that you are too.

Cassian grunted his thanks before signing off, a sure signal that he did not, in fact, want to talk about Nesta even a little bit.

Oh, well. Az finished his supper before retiring for the night, picking up bits and pieces along the way, but nothing truly surprising to hear. No secrets which could make or break this alliance.

He turned over and over in the too-small bed, made for ordinary Fae travelers, not those gifted with wings as he dreaded the next few months of his life.

“Are the flowers ready?” Feyre asked Elain. It had been a few weeks since the war was officially over, and Elain had cultivated a special patch of flowers to be transported to the memorial Feyre had said she was having erected for their father.

Elain nodded, leading her over to the corner of the garden where the daffodils were growing, in a rainbow of colors. She hoped they would serve well as a celebration of his life in his death.

“They’re perfect,” Feyre breathed before receding into herself for a moment as she formulated a plan. “I’m going to have some professionals transplant them for us—”

Elain began to protest, trying to state that she really needed the work and distraction, but Feyre cut her off.

“I know you want to pitch in, but I’d prefer to bring you there once it’s fully finished and polished. I haven’t even seen it myself, but Rhys has been pitching in and overseeing its construction. We’ll go at the end of the week.”

“All right,” Elain gave in.

When the gardeners arrived, she just needed to provide them a description of how she thought they might be arranged nicely. She knew it was their job to decorate in such a matter as they saw fit—and that they did it for a living—but Elain so desperately wanted her father’s memorial to be perfect.

Her father had shut down in the days following their mother’s death, and there had been little ceremony, little fanfare made of her resting place, despite the fact that they’d had the money at the time to have a nice headstone commissioned.

After Feyre took off into the heart of Velaris, Elain finished pruning the rose bushes she’d been cultivating on before wiping her dirty hands on her apron and reentering the cozy townhouse.

Nesta had now been gone for two weeks, and though Az had told Elain where she was staying, Nesta still would not answer her front door to let her sister in. Besides, the slums she’d decided to occupy frightened Elain a bit.

They were nothing as miserable as the hovel they had grown up in, but she still couldn’t fathom how Nesta—who was the image of cleanliness—was surviving in the ramshackle apartment building surrounded by shabby taverns.

She supposed her sister was still eating as nobody had seemed concerned about her starving to death anymore—at least not that they told Elain—but she hadn’t failed to notice the wine bottles sometimes strewn outside Nesta’s door.

Without Nesta letting Elain in though, there was not much she could do to really get a feel for how her sister was coping.

Thankfully, Lucien had also left the townhouse.

As far as she knew, he was still somewhere in the city of Velaris, but he had returned one day, after Nesta had already vacated the premises, and only stayed one night before asking Feyre and Rhysand if they knew of someplace he could stay in Velaris so as not to be an inconvenience anymore.

Elain had taken one look at him over dinner, sporting a fresh black eye and cut lip and shied away from his gaze.

She pitied him for having to visit Tamlin. From what Az and Feyre had told her, it wasn’t to be a casual, friendly visit to the Spring Court. There was a bitterness lurking there, between the two males—one who felt betrayed by his best friend and the other who had potentially been subject to his friend’s abuse for centuries. A small, fractured piece of her, deep in her gut, shrank away from that knowledge.

The injuries did enough to tell Elain that Lucien would not be calling Spring his home again anytime soon. Which was unfortunate for her, who just wanted the space to figure out her new life without the mating bond looming over her head.

She would not tell him to go outright—there was no way she could live with herself if she were ever that rude to him, but she was pleased that he seemed to sense the desire to be rid of him radiating off her.

As Elain rounded the corner leading to the stairs, she ran face-first into Rhysand, as he was descending from their bedroom, dressed in all his finery and working at the cuff on one of his sleeves.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Rhysand. I should’ve been watching where I was going. I’m just—”

“No need to apologize to me, Elain, and please. Call me Rhys. Only my enemies call me Rhysand.” He gave her a rogue wink. “You are my sister after all now.”

“Oh. Of course, Rhysa—Rhys. It’s just—”

“That you don’t really know me? That even though we’ve been living under the same roof for months now, we’ve hardly even crossed paths outside of large group gatherings?”

She nodded.

“For my part, I’m sorry about that. With the war and your sister’s absence, I was a bit preoccupied ...” He ran a hand through his silky, midnight hair. “But I want to start over. Despite your past together, you’ve been a wonderful help for Feyre since …” He sighed. “Perhaps I didn’t give you enough credit before …”

Here was one of the most well-spoken people Elain had ever met, struggling to find the right thing to say around her, as if he wanted to get something off his chest, but didn’t want to start this relationship off by offending her.

“I’ve apologized for taking advantage of her during those years, Rhys. There’s nothing I can do but move forward. As far as I know, she’s forgiven me as well. I was still young myself, and though that doesn’t excuse my behavior, I’m doing my best to make up those cruel mistakes to her.” Her voice was low, submissive.

“I know you are. I appreciate that you’ve stuck by her side in these trying times, unlike … Nesta.” A grimace spread over his face as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

At the mention of Nesta, Elain couldn’t help the tears that began to form.

“It feels like Nesta isn’t even part of the family anymore. I don’t know what to do,” she breathed.

“There’s nothing we can do for her if she refuses to speak to any of you,” Rhys frowned. “Feyre and I will continue to pay for that dump she lives in for awhile, but she eventually needs to let you in if you hope to do any good for her.”

“You don’t like her?”

“Unlike you, she hasn’t exactly seen fit to apologize to Feyre, she’s barely cooperated with anything asked of her, and now with the death of your father and Feyre’s need to feel like a family again, she’s disappeared.” He sighed. “I get that she’s been through a lot with the war, but she’s lashing out and hurting others. And I can’t stand for it. Cassian—” He stopped himself abruptly and looked like he wasn’t sure whether or not to continue.

“Cassian what?”

“Let’s just say that she’s been particularly cruel to him since that day.”

“Oh. Right.” The Illyrian was perhaps the only other person who had been trying as hard as Elain was to get Nesta to come out of her shell, and she should have guessed that Nesta had been just as bitter with him as Elain.

“Let’s not discuss this anymore though. What are your plans for tonight?”

“Ummm.” She had not really thought much farther than taking a bath and perhaps joining the twins in the kitchens.

“Let us take you out. We’ll bring Mor too. A small family dinner on the town.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

And it did. She was grateful for an invitation to get out of the house and out of her own head for a night. And Rhysand—Rhys—seemed like he was really willing to try to get to know her. “Thank you.”

With that, she took her leave, heading back to her bedroom to wash the grime off of herself and get ready for the evening.

Dinner with Feyre, Rhys, and Mor had been lovely. They had gone to a small, packed restaurant perched on the banks of the river.

Feyre had raved about the eatery during their relaxed stroll down into the heart of the city, and it had lived up to the hype. The rack of lamb Elain had ordered had been exquisite, as had the blueberry tart which had followed it.

She had even caved and had a glass of wine, at Mor’s behest, and though she was unused to alcohol, she found herself in such comfortable company that she was eager to unwind a little and let the stresses of her life be forgotten for the evening.

Though the others were busy with the rebuilding effort, they now made a better effort to try to sup with Elain if they were in Velaris, and she found the days flying by more quickly.

Elain would sometimes think of sending a quick message to Azriel, but she had no idea what to say.

She missed him, but she didn’t think that really warranted sending a shadow all the way across the continent to wherever he may be stationed at the moment. And she knew how busy he was. She would have hated to distract him at an inopportune time.

And he seemed to be doing just fine without her, or perhaps, he was just preoccupied enough that it didn’t cross his mind to tell her about his days. He was the one with the exciting life who would actually have stories to tell her.

She had not heard much of him since that first week of his absence, where he had visited Day and then Winter.

And then … silence. Such utter silence filled the place he had occupied that she’d found it easier to just try to forget about it and focus on her other friends and family.

She had finally gotten so used to him being a constant presence during the war that she was unsure how to cope without him by her side, training her and sending her little quips in his spare time. But he had a substantially more intense job now. It was only to be expected that he had forgotten about her in the chaos.

She had almost broken and asked Mor if she had heard from him, knowing that he would likely keep in touch with the female he was hopelessly in love with, but she could not get herself to admit to another how grating his absence was.

Today, Elain stood in front of her mirror, frowning at her appearance as she struggled to pick a gown.

She and Feyre were to depart around lunchtime to go visit their father’s recently-finished grave site, but before that, Elain would be making one more visit to Nesta’s place, to ask her again if she’d like to join them.

Feyre had given up, but Elain was reticent to let Nesta off the hook today. It was an important occasion for them all, and she could at least participate in it, even if she immediately went right back to that grungy apartment afterwards.

She settled on a dusty blue gown with sleeves long enough to keep her warm through the slight Autumn chill which was creeping through the air, before setting off into the streets of Velaris.

“No,” Nesta snapped through the slightly cracked door, her thin, haggard face peeking through it.

“Please, Nesta. If nothing else, do this for father. Come honor his memory.”

“We already did that on that hilltop by the sea. Feyre burned him to ash, and there’s nothing left of him to remember.”

Elain caught a heavy whiff of wine on Nesta’s breath, as if, even mid-morning, she had been drinking—or just awoken from a late night of it.

“Feyre’s set up a lovely headstone for him so he’ll always be remembered. And even if his body isn’t there, I’m sure his spirit is. Just come with us,” she breathed. Perhaps this would finally break through Nesta’s defenses.

“You’ll do just fine without me. I don’t want to go, and that’s final.” There was no life in Nesta’s eyes. She looked as though she’d been thoroughly drained.

“Fine. Then at least let me in. I’ve got two hours to kill before we head out, and I could use a drink today. Looks like you’ve got plenty,” she snapped.

“No. I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Elain.” There was a sound behind Nesta, a shifting, barely perceptible, but with her Fae ears, Elain was able to pick up on it.

“Who else is in there with you?” she pressed.

Who else had Nesta let in when even her own sister, who she’d been so close to was not allowed? Cassian? He would be fine, but Elain had heard that he was in Illyria until next week, so she knew that could not be the case.

She tried to stand up on her toes to get a look through the small crevice Nesta had made.

“It’s none of your business,” Nesta snapped before slamming the door in Elain’s face.

As if today hadn’t already been taxing enough, Elain still had to make that trek to the small hill just outside the borders of the city with Feyre, where they came across a marble headstone.

She drew in a shallow breath, mesmerized by the location Feyre had selected. It had a vibrant wildflower population, and there—right in the middle of the tangle—were Elain’s daffodils, spiraling out from the stone until they meshed seamlessly with the native flowers.

Tears spilled down her cheeks, as she climbed to the summit, resting her hand against the cool stone, tracing the engraving Feyre had so caringly had made.

“Here lies, Declan Archeron, beloved husband of Myla and father of Nesta, Elain, and Feyre. For the unconditional love and what you sacrificed so that they might live in the end. Mother hold you.”

It so beautiful that Elain sank to her knees.

This was it. Though she’d cried that day in the clearing, it felt final now. No one was going to walk through the door and tell her that it had all been a nightmare.

With such a permanent reminder, she would never be able to forget. And now others would be able to come visit and honor his memory as well.

After a minute, Feyre came up and sat at her side, eyes full of tears as well, and the two of them held each other through the throes of grief.

Elain was glad that she at least had one sister to mourn with her and together—with her family, new and old—she would heal.

Chapter Text

Azriel was exhausted, a feeling which had sunken to his core and hollowed him out. Months spent in others’ palaces, small backwater inns, and even camping beneath the stars in rogue terrain had drained him. The nights in his own apartment were few and far between.

He’d barely had a second to spare as he was constantly being tasked with keeping tabs on everyone and everything taking place in all the other lands.

Never before had he been worn so thin.

In times of relative peace, he had always done a fair amount of spying, but it had never been of such import to monitor everyone else all at once.

Usually, one of the other pricks was being more of a right pain in the ass, and he was able to focus more easily, letting his underlings handle the less important work.

The queens were plotting off in their corner of the continent. Vassa’s death-lord seemed to be tightening his leash. Tamlin was locking himself away and being a nuisance in his own despicable manner. Beron was openly fighting peace measures. Kallias was being coy. Helion, while cooperating, was never a delight for Azriel to work with. Thesan was rallying his Peregryns for some unknown reason. Tarquin was petitioning to get the book back from Amren. Graysen, along with Jurian and Vassa, was now one of those the humans looked up to. Az was now required to refrain from strangling him so as not to thwart his brother’s efforts with the new Treaty being drafted.

And Az was required to process and sort through these factors on a daily basis. He would sometimes meet up with Rhys and Feyre when the gatherings were large enough to warrant the High Lords—and now Ladies, as the trend had already been picked up by Viviane and Kallias—to attend.

He could tell that they seemed just as worn out as he did. Even though they weren’t traveling as much, there was much strife within the borders, it seemed.

Cassian had been staying in Windhaven of late to keep an eye on it, but between the Illyrians and Keir demanding reparations and visitation rights in Velaris, they had much more on their plates at home as well.

Speaking of Keir—Az thought back on what he’d learned last night from one of his shadows. Eris was on the move, making his way up to the Night Court to commiserate with Keir for the holidays. He needed to warn Mor. She usually made an annual trip there to check in, make sure they were behaving, and he wasn’t about to let her be caught off-guard again if he could help it.

Feyre still seemed to have enough energy in her to want to practice flying more. Rhys supposedly trained her when they found spare moments at home, but in those meetups across the continent, she still always came straight to him, eager to get away from it all and also to gossip about what had been going on in their lives.

Az had asked after the others, and even considered asking them about how Elain was doing, but he wasn’t really sure he wanted to know.

She had been silent for the past couple of months, their conversations having fizzled out after the first week or two of his absence. Conveniently around the time he had been alerted of Lucien arriving back in Velaris from his visit to Spring.

Azriel had given her some space, and it seemed like in the company of all the others, she wasn’t giving him a second thought anymore. Which he supposed was for the best. None of the others presented quite the same baggage that Az did—baggage which would only weigh down their friendship and slow down her healing if she continued to take it on.

Feyre had offhandedly mentioned that Elain’s garden was progressing nicely, and that she had even been shown some of the designs for Elain’s overall vision which would come to fruition come spring.

Now that the snows were about to be upon them, she was beginning to prepare the plants to survive the winter months, and would be ready to go the moment spring poked its head around the corner.

Elain had also apparently become quite the socialite, now joining them for family meals more often than not, and even Rhys seemed to have taken a liking to her—as Az had known his brother inevitably would. Even Feyre’s mistreatment as a child couldn’t hold sway over her mate when matched with Elain’s gentle spirit and exquisite smile.

No mention of Lucien or if she was still wearing Graysen’s ring. Perhaps because nothing had changed or perhaps because Feyre knew how Az felt about those two males in particular.

Everyone thought Graysen was a monstrous little shit, and only Feyre seemed to have warmed to Lucien after the centuries of bad blood between him and the Night Court. So it was no secret that Az would be fairly uninterested in their business.

Solstice was now fast approaching, and after months away, he would finally be returning home to Velaris.

Az wasn’t sure he felt in a celebratory mood right now, but he knew it was important that he be there to share the occasion with his family. He would also need to carve some time out in his break to visit Rosehall.

He had meant to do it as soon as the war was over, but he’d been so swept away by his work, that he hadn’t had a second to spare.

Az knew his mother would understand and simply be glad that he had thought to look after her, but it didn’t stop him from feeling guilty that he’d put off the visit for so long, even though it wasn’t by choice.

He pulled the piece of paper from Rhys out of his jacket pocket.

“This is a formal order to return home and celebrate the longest night of the year with your family. It is your High Lady’s birthday after all. I’ve prepared a room in the townhouse for you and will be awaiting your arrival.”

The arrogance in that lilting scrawl was just so typical of Rhys. Especially when he wanted something as badly as he seemed to want the family getting back together.

Mother above. He wouldn’t even let them stay in the House of Wind or—Cauldron forbid—Azriel’s actual home in the city, secretive though it was.

Whatever. He needed the sleep a familiar environment would provide anyways, and he felt an itch in his fingers as he thought about just how nice it would feel to pelt the bastard with a barrage of snowballs. They’d missed their annual camping trip due to the chaos following the war, but he sincerely hoped this particular annual tradition would still be on.

Rhys had only been back for a few months last year by the time Solstice came around, but he had been a shell of himself. Az and Cass hadn’t pushed him to attend the snowball fight, and according to Az’s shadows, his brother had slept most of the day away, arriving harrowed with deep bruising under his eyes at the festivities that evening.

Az and Cassian had all but abandoned the tradition during his captivity—building him an empty fort proving too depressing.

But, this year, with everyone important to them reunited once more, there was no way it would get put on the backburner again.

Azriel had spent some of his scant free time in Winter doing a bit of practicing of his own. He knew it was childish, but he was looking forward to being crowned the champion again this year. Even though he held the most overall wins, it still stung any any year where he had to watch either of his brothers gloat in the birchin after-the-fact.

When Az shadow-walked back to Velaris the next day, and took a pass around the House of Wind on his way to his room, he found Mor in the library, doing a bit of research and decided to drop in to give her a bit of news he had gleaned in person.

“Just a warning that Eris will be arriving in the Court of Nightmares today. Be wary if you were planning on going there,” he drawled as he crept up behind her.

“Cauldron, Az,” she squeaked, as she leapt a bit in her seat. “Can you not?” He could see the bags under her eyes, as if she had spent all night here. “I was already planning on visiting tonight, but it might just work to my advantage to meet him there.”

“You’re sure you want to see him?” he frowned.

“I’m not afraid of him, Az,” she reprimanded him. “Yes, I’d rather he not be in my life anymore, but with him working with Keir, I guess it’s better to just keep tabs on him. And to show him that I’m not going to run away from my duties just for lack of wanting to see him.”

“All right.” He did not have much more to say to her, still reeling from the way he had been the one to bring Eris back into her life. This was still all his fault.

“When did you get back, you sneak? I had no idea you even had the time for Solstice eve.”

“I wasn’t planning on it, but I received this lovely little summons last night.” He pulled the pristinely folded note out of his pocket and handed it to her for her perusal.

“You know he’s only doing that to be dramatic.” Mor rolled her eyes as she pressed the refolded slip back in his palm. “He probably only sent you that missive because he had to argue with Cassian to get him to agree to leave Windhaven for more than just the day of.”

“Oh. So he’s just loving it there?” Az was irked by the idea that his brother was spending so much time around those insipid people. It made it impossible to visit him without having to … rehash the worst parts of his own life.

“Not even a little, but I think he still feels guilty about well … Surviving. That blast which had wiped out a sizable chunk of the Illyrian legion. Meant for him. I get it, I really do, but I miss him … I’ve missed you too, Az.”

And just like that, months worth of repressed feelings came pouring over him. She had missed him.

He knew he was just being optimistic, but somehow nobody else had bothered to say those three little words to him in these months since he’d been gone.

“I’ve missed you too, Mor. Maybe we can go out, just the three of us after the holiday. Like old times.”

“Like old times,” she parrotted, though faintly, a dismissal.

He wasn’t sure they could ever fully go back to the way things had been between them either, but … he needed to talk with her. Maybe it wouldn’t happen just yet, but if they could go out together, even with Cassian again …

Maybe it’d help him work up the courage to have that conversation. To ask once and for all if she would ever give him a chance. And if she said no … Well at least he’d have an answer, and maybe this festering part of him would be able to just let go. Eventually.

He slipped out of the library, back to his own chambers to reflect on all which had just been said between them.

The next morning, Az finally decided to visit Rhys.

After giving him the night off, deeming their Court of Nightmares visit enough of an emotional strain not to share his intel, Az found himself knocking on the High Lord’s study doors just as dawn was breaking.

Rhys himself was already up and in the House of Wind at such an hour, so hopefully he wouldn’t mind too much.

His brother let him in with a wave of his hand, and the two of them headed back to the enormous oak desk as Az laid out his findings—documents he had obtained, notes he had taken, maps he had marked with places of interest and how the others were moving their own forces within their borders.

“It’s still tense as hell, Rhys,” he muttered as they went over his notes.

Az was in a grim mood, just wanting this to be over with so he could begin relaxing for the festivities.

He had realized upon waking up that he still had yet to buy Solstice presents for anyone, and the thought was far from pleasant as he thought about having to go out into the cramped streets, lined with revelers and other shoppers and try to find the perfect, thoughtful gift for people he’d bought hundreds of gifts for already.

“You really do know how to give Solstice presents, Az,” Rhys quipped as he took it all in. Az just stood frozen, using the desk as a buffer between himself and his brother. Something was clearly bothering him if he’d braved the frigid air to fly up here before sunrise, instead of staying in bed with his mate.

“You wanted information,” Az retorted, though there was no bite in his words. He was just itching to get this over with.

Rhys rolled his eyes, and put his weight on the desk, gesturing with his free hand on the assortment of document Az had procured for him. “You couldn’t have waited until after Solstice for this particular gem?”

He said nothing, his face unmoving, as Rhys thought better of the question. “Don’t bother to answer that.”

Because of course transferring the information as soon as possible was in their best interests, and this particular bit he’d gleaned last night …

His shadows curled in triumph, a slight smile spreading to his face as he felt the urge to let out a laugh at Rhys’s flustered behavior.

The High Lord had stared at his writhing shadows for a moment before his eyes caught on Az’s Siphons, unlit and resting idly atop his mangled hands.

Finally, after a moment of contemplation, his eyes shifted to the papers lying beneath those hands, and the smirk of his face faded, replaced instead by a grim frown, at what those files indicated.

“Have you told Cassian?”

“I came right here,” Az replied. “He’ll arrive soon enough, anyway.”

He had thought about sending a message to Cassian, but he knew it might only make Cassian fly here sooner. And though he missed his brother, there was something cathartic happening with him in Illyria. Azriel didn’t want to get in the way of that, so giving him this particular piece of news could wait a day.

“It’s more clans than I expected,” Rhys muttered, letting a burst of his own brand of darkness unleash throughout the room, taking the edge off. “Even in my worst-case calculations.”

“It is not every member of these clans. This overall number just reflects the places where discontent is spreading, not where the majorities lie.” He kept his voice mild, trying to soften the blow, as he pointed at Stormridge, a border camp near Windhaven, and perhaps the shining light in all this dark news about the Illyrian turmoil. “There are only two females here who seem to be spewing poison about the war. One a widow, and one a mother to a soldier.”

Because while he had been focused on monitoring the situation outside their borders, a festering wound had opened up within them.

Many of the Illyrians were distraught with how many of their brood had perished, led into battle as “expendable aerial cavalry,” as they put it. Many had witnessed Cassian flee the ranks which had been blown apart by the Cauldron without calling them off, having no idea that he was not even aware of the attack, just following the mating bond.

A bond he wouldn’t bring up with anyone—which he was trying and failing miserably to pretend was non-existent.

And now even the females were lashing back at them, upset about their husbands, their fathers, their sons. Nevermind the fact that the Inner Circle had been hard at work providing them with more rights, to be able to choose their path, whether the traditional Illyrian female duties or the male ones.

With such a fresh wound, with a debt they sought to have repaid, none of that mattered.

“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” Rhys responded. And he wasn’t wrong. Two clan members might just be the beginning of an uprising, or perhaps they were the only two brave enough in that town to speak publicly.

Az returned his eyes to the map, trying and failing to glean any real connection between the points he’d marked as those of contention—because the only real connection was their pain. They weren’t rallying across borders quite yet, not that he knew of anyways.

But why couldn’t they see that everyone had suffered? Everyone had lost loved ones. Even those so high up, of such privilege. Though they had kept Rhys’s short stint in the afterlife a secret, it was known far and wide that their High Lady had lost her father.

“The Illyrians are pieces of shit,” he breathed. Az could feel his aggravation growing, months and months of pent up frustration combining with his lifelong hatred of the Illyrian people.

They really were absolutely terrible. Their traditions were barbaric, and they treated anyone who wasn’t a male born of a decent bloodline like complete and utter shit.

He was seething now, and he could feel himself losing control of the shadows as they shucked off of him, wanting to avoid the worst of his wrath.

“They train and train as warriors, and yet when they don’t come home, their families make us into villians for sending them to war?”

“Their families have lost something irreplaceable,” Rhys replied, cautiously.

Az sharply waved his hand in the air, disregarding the comment. He didn’t see the Archeron sisters sowing dissent. And they hadn’t been raised in a warmongering community. “They’re hypocrites.”

Why would they train for centuries and claim to be a warrior race if they have no intentions of standing behind that decision when they were called to battle?

Wasn’t it their ultimate honor to be able to fight to defend their people? Wasn’t a death in combat considered the most highly respected and honorable way to go for an Illyrian?

“And what would you have me do, then? Disband the largest army in Prythian?” Rhys asked.

Az didn’t have an answer.

They needed the Illyrians. Their numbers were vital to the Night Court’s success and Rhys and Feyre maintaining power, but he didn’t have to like this fact.

Instead he just stared at Rhys, letting his brother remember what a monster he was. Letting him see that he was at his limit right now, that he couldn’t deal with this without rattling a few skulls, or leaving thousands in unmarked graves.

“I am not going to disband the Illyrians. There is nowhere for them to go anyway. And if we try to drag them out of those mountains, they might launch the very assault we’re trying to defuse,” Rhys said calmly, but firmly.

Pricks.

“But perhaps more pressing,” he continued, pointing to the continent across the sea on the maps, “is the fact that the human queens have not returned to their own territories. They linger in that joint palace of theirs. Beyond that, Hybern’s general populace is not too thrilled to have lost this war. And with the wall gone, who knows what other Fae territories might make a grab for human lands? This peace is tenuous.”

“I know that,” Az finally replied.

And he did. He been witnessing some of this firsthand, and if not with his own eyes, with those of his shadows. It was beyond a shadow of a doubt that some turmoil was going to erupt on the continent. It was now just a matter of when and where.

“So we might need the Illyrians again before it is over. Need them willing to shed blood.” He paused, and though Az knew he spoke the truth, he didn’t have to like it. And he didn’t want to be the one to make peace with those monsters.

“We will keep an eye on the dissenters.” Rhys let out a brief show of his power, reminding Az that even with Az’s history with the Illyrians, with his familial bonds with his brother, Rhys was still in charge here, and he would not be challenged.

“Cassian knows it’s growing amongst the camps and is willing to do whatever it takes to fix it.”

Sure, Cassian probably thought he knew the extent of what was going on, but he had always been too close to the source, too ingrained in wanting the Illyrians to accept him, too tied to Windhaven to be able to have the thousand-foot view which Az had gleaned.

“He doesn’t know just how many there are,” Az protested.

“And perhaps we should wait to tell him. Until after the holiday.” Az could only blink in confusion. As special as the holiday was for Rhys, it was important that they not gloss over the very real potential civil war which was about to take place within their borders. “He’s going to have enough to deal with. Let him enjoy the holiday while he can.”

Oh. Nesta. There was an unspoken agreement between them that they never outright mentioned her since the war. Even Mor, who had been so vocal about her dissatisfaction with Nesta prior to that final battle had just shut up.

Something had changed on that day, and even she knew that it was not her place to interfere. Even if Nesta was treating Cassian more miserably than before. Bemoaning her existence seemed to do more harm than good for him right now.

So Az let the comment slide, not bringing up the taboo topic. “He’ll be pissed at us for keeping it from him.” Especially if he finds out the exact reason why, Az didn’t need to add.

“He already suspects much of it, so it’s only confirmation at this point.” Sure it was. But Az knew better than to argue right now.

He fidgeted idly with Truth-Teller’s hilt, as he moved on to contemplate the next most pressing topic. “What about the human queens?”

“We continue to watch. You continue to watch.”

It seemed like he would be going back out into the field again soon. Though perhaps he would be able to maintain a somewhat permanent residence here if he was only monitoring one realm. He certainly wouldn’t be welcome or want to stay down below the ghost of the wall because …

“Vassa and Jurian are still with Graysen. Do we loop them in?” he asked.

No queen had ever been in charge of that small strip of land just south of Prythian, so it seemed that Jurian had taken it upon himself to rule over it—using Graysen’s family estate as his headquarters, with Vassa in tow.

It seemed that she had found a way to slip her leash for a while longer. Either with her mysterious keeper’s permission or through some loophole involving her sticking around to help other heal from the war effort.

None of the High Lords had been able to figure out how to break her curse, but for now … For now she seemed content to slum it up with two of the most miserable human beings Azriel had ever known, even if Jurian had revealed himself to be a double-agent.

He had still gone along with the king’s plan to hold his friends hostage by trying to kill Azriel only months ago, and that bitter betrayal wasn’t going to be smoothed over anytime soon in Azriel’s book.

“Vassa knows that the Queens of the Realm will be a threat until they are dealt with,” Rhys mused, Az remembering Lucien telling them as much in the days immediately following the final battle. “But unless the queens step out of line, it’s not for us to face. If we sweep in, even to stop them from triggering another war, we’ll be seen as conquerors, not heroes. We need the humans in other territories to trust us, if we can ever hope to achieve lasting peace.”

“Then perhaps Jurian and Vassa should deal with them. While Vassa is free to do so.” They were humans the Fae realms had a tentative alliance with, and in return for them doing their best to help Vassa with her curse, surely she could push their agenda. She had more reason than most not to trust the other queens. Let her spread her story.

“The humans must be given a chance to rule themselves. Decide for themselves. Even our allies.”

Rhys really wouldn’t push this on them, even though the continent was threatening to shred the very little they’d managed to accomplish. With or without their Fae allies.

“Send Lucien, then. As our human emissary.” It was a compromise, and one which Az thought might best be navigated by the redheaded prick.

If Elain was correct, he was close to Vassa, and perhaps that meant they were good enough friends for him to hold sway. And Lucien was a child of many courts, an ambassador who wouldn’t tie them down. He might as well do something useful with his time.

Az’s shoulders went taut as he thought about how the male might have been spending his free time now that the war was over. He had probably been mulling around Velaris, working on courting Elain.

She certainly hadn’t given him any insight into her life, and so he’d given them both some privacy. It wasn’t his place to intrude. His shadows flared again for some stupid reason. Why the hell was this pissing him off so much?

“Lucien is away right now,” Rhys merely stated.

Oh. That was a surprise. “Where?”

“You’re my spymaster. Shouldn’t you know?” Rhys gave him an infuriating wink.

He seemed … amused, as if he’d expected this little piece of information to irk Azriel for some reason. And pleased that he got to break it to him.

Az crossed his arms and schooled his face, trying not to let a hint more of emotion show here. “I don’t make a point of looking after his movements.”

“Why?”

“He is Elain’s mate.”

Rhys just paused, waiting for him to go on, not willing to settle without hearing the whole story. Which Az was loathe to share with him.

“It would be an invasion of her privacy to track him.”

He didn’t want to know what they were doing together. If Lucien ever sought her company, and if she let him. Elain had been on his mind more than he cared to admit as of late, but that was just because he missed his friend, missed what they had had together before they’d been awkwardly thrust apart in the wake of the war.

“You sure about that?” Rhys asked quietly, giving Azriel a knowing look. And what he was implying …

No. Az was still hopelessly in love with Mor. There was no room for another in that place, and besides, Rhys didn’t exactly know how close they had gotten as friends unless Elain was particularly terrible at keeping her thoughts from shouting in his direction.

He was only being protective of a dear friend, he kept telling himself.

Except that his hatred for Lucien had become burning and guttural these past few months. He had never liked the male, but something about the thought of him with Elain turned his stomach every single time it wormed its way into his private thoughts. Which was all the damn time.

He should really just ask her if they were together. He should fly directly out of this meeting and meet her in the townhouse garden.

Except, she’d made it clear that she was happier without Az. Otherwise she would have spoken to him. Right?

“Where did Lucien go?” he gritted out from between his teeth, coming out a bit more demanding than he’d intended. He needed Rhys to distract him, needed not to focus on this for at least a few minutes.

“He went to the Spring Court. He’ll be there for Solstice,” Rhys drawled. Choosing to kindly ignore the fact that Az was ordering him around.

“Tamlin kicked him out the last time.”

Please don’t let him come back in the middle of the celebrations, he begged the Cauldron, begged any otherworldly being who was listening. This small shred of hope could maybe get him through the next few days.

“He did. But he invited him for the holiday.” Apparently a few months of realizing that he had no friends were beginning to wear on the bastard, if he was willing to make the concession of inviting Lucien.

“I’ll discuss Vassa and Jurian with Lucien when he returns. See if he’s up for another visit,” Rhys conceded when Az remained silent. “Do you think he can handle being around Graysen?”

“Why should I be the judge of that?” He fought the urge to blush, pushing the icy calm through his veins to veil his emotions.

Graysen infuriated him even more than Lucien did.

He had done his best to steer clear of both males. Graysen because he was going to rip him to shreds if he got too close and Lucien because, well … He wasn’t going to think too closely about why he couldn’t force himself to spy on Lucien—even to himself—lest it be true.

“You mean to tell me you weren’t bluffing when you said you didn’t track Lucien’s every movement?”

Nothing. His brother would get nothing from him.  He was not going to yield to Rhys here. He willed his shadows, his vestiges of protection to shield him here, knowing that Rhys was looking a little too closely at him right now.

He settled for saying, coldly and evenly measured, as he controlled every word, “If Lucien kills Graysen, then good riddance.”

One down. The other hated for the war crime.

“I’m half tempted to give Nesta hunting rights for Solstice,” Rhys mused, lightening the mood in the room by a fraction.

But shit … He hadn’t even thought of …

“You’re getting her a gift?”

“I’d think bankrolling her apartment and drinking was gift enough.” He seemed to wave it off nonchalantly, but now Az really had no idea if it was expected that he get them gifts. Why hadn’t he thought to ask this earlier?

He ran a hand through his hair nervously. “Are we …” He cursed himself for stumbling over the words, but he hadn’t thought they would be buying him gifts and he had no idea what to get them. “Are we supposed to get the sisters presents?”

“No,” Rhys responded, and Az let loose a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I don’t think Nesta gives a shit, and I don’t think Elain expects to receive anything from us. I’d leave the sisters to exchange presents amongst themselves.”

Az just nodded. Did Elain really expect not to receive anything from him? He guessed that Rhys would know best, considering that he’d gotten all chummy with the middlest Archeron as of late. And he wouldn’t want to embarrass her if she hadn’t gotten anything for him either.

Rhys was now drumming his fingers on the map which was still staring the two of them in the face. “I can tell Lucien myself in a day or two. About going to Graysen’s manor.”

Oh? “You mean to visit the Spring Court?”

“Last night we ran into Eris in the Court of Nightmares. It was unpleasant at best, but he insinuated that Tamlin was not protecting his borders. Now he didn’t let me know whether Tamlin simply didn’t care to enforce them or if he was just letting anyone who asked nicely through. But I need to figure out what’s going on. And talk some sense into the useless beast.”

Annoying at best. Az picked a speck of dust off his leathers. He knew this would be difficult for Rhys, after all he’d seen Tamlin put Feyre through. It would take an incredible amount of restraint to be even remotely civil.

“I can go with you,” he offered.

Rhys shook his head. “It’s better to do this on my own.”

Because he knew how much Azriel couldn’t look Lucien in the eyes right now? That the second he saw the other male, he’d wonder what Elain saw in him that she didn’t see in Az?

Shit. He had to stop thinking about this.

“Are you talking about seeing Lucien or Tamlin?”

“Both.”

Az narrowed his eyes. Rhys knew. Maybe not the full extent of the war raging in his head, but the prick knew. “Will you ask Feyre to join you?”

“I’ll ask her in a few hours, but I doubt she will want to come. And I doubt I will try my best to convince her to change her mind.”

It was definitely Azriel specifically whom Rhys did not want there then.

Fine. As long as Rhys never breathed a word of whatever he thought he’d figured out to anyone.

Az nodded, hoping Rhys would just take that as his understanding that he needed to act alone, to settle the score, and not to allow his mate the stress of dealing with her monstrous ex-lover.

“No word on Bryaxis, I take it,” Rhys said matter of factly.

Of course not. Bryaxis being an escaped Night Court captive was a major issue for them right now. Az had had eyes peeled for any sign of the monster or any tales of some embodiment of fear showing up in a small town.

He stared at the floor, embarrassed to say that he had nothing to offer here. “Not a whisper. Or a scream, for that matter.”

Rhys let out a soft chuckle.

“Do you want me to hunt it down?” Az followed up. Better this task than being assigned to monitor the human lands. Leave that to Lucien if he took up the offer.

“Let Bryaxis enjoy the Solstice as well,” Rhys said nonchalantly.

Az couldn’t help the smile which was curling his mouth. “Generous of you.”

His brother dropped into his chair, the formal talk over, as he propped his feet up on his desk. “When do you head out for Rosehall?”

An acute guess. Rhys must’ve realized just how busy Az had been and that he hadn’t had time to check in lately. “The morning after Solstice.”

He turned to look at the vibrant sprawl of Velaris in the morning, many of the vendors just beginning to open up the stalls to sell their wares. “I still need to do some shopping before I go,” he muttered.

Rhys flashed Azriel a genuine smile. Happy. He looked so damn happy. “Buy her something from me, will you? And put it on my account this time.”

Az nodded, deflecting the demand. He wouldn’t. He had no need to spend Rhys’s money when his brother supplied him with the overly generous salary already. But he wouldn’t refuse him to his face.

He bid farewell to Rhys and set off into the sleepy streets of Velaris, eager to try to finish his shopping before the general rabble awoke and crowded them.

Chapter Text

Shopping yesterday had been … less fun than even Azriel had chalked it up to be. After hundreds of years of presents, there was no new thing he could hope to surprise any of them with. Save perhaps Feyre … and Elain.

He would have had no idea what to get Nesta, so he didn’t bother to try.

But Elain. He had kept wavering ever since he left the House of Wind. To get her a gift or not?

Azriel had finally settled on yes, but he wouldn’t give it to Rhys to distribute. Whatever he got her would have to be small enough to sit in the pocket of his jacket, in case of emergencies—an emergency comprising of Elain actually thinking about him long enough to buy him a present.

He had to admit that he was nervous. It had been a couple of months since they had last seen each other, and with their infrequent, practically nonexistent, conversations since he’d been away, he had no idea what to expect.

She was the only person in his life who could ever truly surprise him, and he just didn’t know what he would do if she scorned him for leaving her alone for this long.

Stupid. He had been so godsdamned stupid not to have gone and visited her yet.

He had been in Velaris for a few days now, and though he’d flown past the burlap-covered garden a few times, he hadn’t been able to build up the courage to just knock on the door, and see if she was home.

He should have sent her a message, but again, the fear of rejection bit at him. He would see her tonight, he kept reminding himself.

Last night Cassian had flown in from Illyria, and the two of them had drinks in the House and caught up on each other’s hectic lives.

From what Cassian told him, his data on the Illyrian unrest was sound, and though he yearned to just spill all that he’d learned, Az heeded Rhys’s warning—that Cassian needed this break and as much peace as he could find as he dealt with the Solstice.

Right now, Az was freshening up, donning a nice pair of leathers, and for some reason finding issue with his hair. It just wasn’t laying like he wanted it to. And … Why did this even matter again? It was inconsequential.

He eventually gave up and flew over to the townhouse. Cassian had gone over earlier to help decorate, and Az supposed he might as well help Cass and Feyre finish up before dinner. A dinner which Elain would be at.

He let down his shields as he flew, allowing the bitter wind to whip at him. Damn the hair which wouldn’t sit flat. He just wished for anything to wake him up and dredge him up from the eternal funk he was finding himself in.

Az smelled the booze before he spotted the culprits behind the gods-awful trimmings.

The lights on the trees were thrown on unevenly and haphazardly. The holly and tinsel strewn over the hearth was wonky and crooked. And they hadn’t even really bothered with hanging the wreaths. Those were just scattered throughout the room, on various pieces of furniture, as if they were throw pillows.

As Az swept into the room, he heard Feyre and Cassian cackling from over on the couch, with two empty bottles cluttering the table in front of them. He ignored them, and went about straightening everything, shaking his head at just how horribly the two of them had managed to decorate without a little guidance.

He was completely high-strung at the moment though, and the mindless labor gave him something to take his mind off of this dinner.

“Az, relax for a minute,” Cassian crooned from the couch. “Have some wine. Cookies.”

Wine. Maybe wine would be good to calm his nerves.

“Take off your coat,” Feyre cut in as she pointed the bottle she was currently drinking out of straight at him.

Oh. He had forgotten to shrug that off when he came inside. What was causing him to feel so completely … unhinged today?

He ignored his friends’ pleas, though, heading for a particularly terribly hung garland over the windowsill. “It’s almost like you two tried to make it as ugly as possible.”

Cassian exaggeratedly placed his hand over his heart. “We take offense to that.”

Az just sighed at the two of them. There was no getting through to them when they were like this.

“Poor Az.” Feyre poured herself yet another glass. “Wine will make you feel better.”

Az froze for a minute weighing his options before …

Fuck it. He swiftly crossed the room and snatched the bottle from her hand, chugging the rest of its contents.

Damn that felt good.

Cassian was grinning as if he’d just won a prize. Prick. It wasn’t such a large victory to get Az to drink with them. He already did so all the time ...

But then Rhys drawled from behind him, “Well, at least now I know who’s drinking all my good wine. Want another one, Az?” and Az had to work not to spit out the wine still remaining in his mouth.

He could feel the blush creeping onto his cheeks as he whirled to face Rhys to let him know what these ingrates were blaming him for. “I would like to explain—”

Rhys let out a deep, echoing laugh and told him,” Five centuries, and you think I don’t know that if my wine’s gone, Cassian’s usually behind it?”

Cassian raised a glass to that as Az watched Rhys’s eyes scan the room. “I can tell exactly which ones you two did, and which ones Azriel tried to fix before I got here.”

Az rubbed at his temples in frustration—and embarrassment from having his hand caught in the proverbial cookie jar, even if Cassian had taken the blame.

Rhys gave a pointed look to Feyre. “I expected better from an artist.”

Feyre stuck her tongue out in jest, and the two of them exchanged a gaze which lasted too uncomfortably long. Az averted his gaze but could not fail to notice the scent of arousal pouring off of Feyre.

He and Cassian were saved from trying to pretend the still-haphazard decorations were quite a sight to behold by Mor’s cheery voice floating in from the foyer.

“It’s cold as hell! And who the hell let Cassian and Feyre decorate?”

She made her way into the sitting room, as Az tried and failed to bite back a laugh at her question. As his headache lightened just a fraction, and he could feel his shadows fleeing.

Though she was busy with huffing warm breath into her hands to thaw them, she still managed a scowl as she took a look at Cassian and Feyre on the couch—and the bottles in front of them. “You two couldn’t wait until I got here to break into the good wine?”

They grinned like fiends as Cassian told Mor, “We were just getting started on Rhys’s collection.”

Rhys just idly scratched at his head if thinking it was absurd that they even needed to have this conversation. “It is there for anyone to drink, you know. Help yourself to whatever you want.”

Indeed, Az knew that Rhys probably had enough saved up over the centuries and passed down from ancestors to tide them over for the rest of their immortal existences. And if somehow that failed, it’s not like he couldn’t afford more.

“Dangerous words, Rhysand,” Amren warned the High Lord as she sidled into the sitting room, her tiny body completely engulfed by an oversized white fur coat.

“You look like an angry snowball,” Cassian chided, and Az fought laughter along with the others.

Amren had been particularly cranky, he’d heard, ever since her transformation. Best not to get on her bad side today, even if those otherworldly powers of hers had disappeared.

But Cassian was very correct in his assertion, with only her frowning head peeking out, she very well could’ve blended in the the snow-capped mountains to the north.

“Careful, boy. Wouldn’t want to start a war you can’t win.” Amren began to unbutton her coat, giving Cassian a pointed glare as she continued, “Especially with Nesta Archeron coming for Solstice in two days.”

Instantly, Az’s headache began to creep in again. As far as he knew, nobody had confirmed that Nesta was coming to partake in the festivities with them yet.

How does she know this?

The two still speak on occasion. We have seen Amren entering her apartment. She must have asked during one of her visits.

Interesting. That Nesta would push everyone else out, but not Amren. Feyre had told him that she had tried to visit, but that the visits were usually extremely short before Nesta got pissed off and sent her on her way. Supposedly Elain had been trying as well. Neither of them ever made it over the threshold.

He could see Mor and Cassian stiffen, all the drunken merriment draining from his brother’s eyes as he told Amren in a low, warning voice, “Shut it, Amren.”

Mor looked like she was about to leap at Amren to tear her into bits, but Amren ignored her as she grinned and turned toward the coat closet in the hall. “I’m going to enjoy seeing her shred into you. That’s if she shows up sober.”

The cheery mood had completely vanished from the room now, replaced with a pregnant silence, a palpable tension.

“Leave Nesta out of it, Amren,” Feyre spat.

Amren, to her credit, did look a tad apologetic at Feyre’s remark, but she just continued to truck onward, speaking her mind. “Varian’s coming, so deal with it.”

Nobody made any comment on that as Amren grabbed a glass of wine for herself and retreated to the other side of the room, settling in a high-backed chair.

After a few minutes more of the awkward silence, Mor finally began pouring for everyone else, and launched into some tale about her adventures shopping this morning. The room let out a collective sigh and relaxed a bit.

For her part, Mor was being more exaggerated than usual, waving her hands, and imitating voices of the shopkeepers which she had found particularly hilarious. Trying to and eventually succeeding at lightening the mood again. Until everyone was cheerfully sipping on their wine and laughing alongside her.

Az fought the urge to ask where Elain was, now that they’d all gathered and it seemed like dinner would be coming along soon.

He hoped she wasn’t shying away from them all in her room, but he hadn’t spotted her outside amongst the sleeping garden or moving through the townhouse halls since he arrived. He could have reached out with his shadows, but he couldn’t bring himself to invade her privacy like that.

He was mulling this over, trying to figure out how to tactfully excuse himself to look for her when Feyre suddenly shot up, a thoughtful look in her eye and hastily left the room in the direction of the kitchens. Of course.

Elain wiped at her brow, possibly leaving a smudge of flour on it, but she didn’t have time to worry about that as the timers for the ovens went off, signaling that it was time to check on the loaves of bread she’d been preparing for supper this evening.

In the past few weeks, she’d been spending more and more time down in the kitchen. With the garden covered up until spring, there was only so much planning she could do in her down time.

She had also busied herself with going shopping more often with Feyre and Mor, beginning to form a budding friendship with the latter, but in the kitchen, with Nuala and Cerridwen, was where she had been finding her peace.

Just like gardening, it was a labor of love which kept her hands busy, and it didn’t hurt that she had been improving rapidly and her baked goods were not only appetizing but also beautiful as well.

She placed the loaves on a tray, and was spiriting them across the kitchen to a cooling rack, when Feyre startled her.

“Any word from Nesta?”

Elain stiffened as she blinked at her sister. “No. I told her to join us tonight, and to let me know when she’d decided. I didn’t hear back.”

Because tonight was the night they were supposed to come together as a family and begin the festivities, she had been told.

She had gone to that shady apartment and knocked on Nesta’s door, only to be given a brief few minutes to explain the invite before being pushed away again. And of course Nesta had not sent her word, had not invited her back in since then.

Elain had seen the emptiness in her sister’s eyes. The sister who had abandoned her in a time of need. As she mourned their father without Nesta by her side and began trying to accept her life now without her main support system in place.

Thank the Mother that she had Feyre, Mor, Rhys, and even Azriel. Wherever he was now. She still held out hope that they’d reconcile, but it had been strange rarely talking to him these past few months, and she had no idea where to begin with him.

She had gotten him a gift, so perhaps that would break the ice, thaw this wall that seemed to have been erected after the war.

She wasn’t sure exactly what she had done, other than being embarrassed to speak to him as she fought to hide the blushes which snuck onto her face sometimes. She couldn’t figure out why they happened, and it was frustrating her to no end. But she hadn’t even needed to worry about that in this creeping silence between them.

Elain reached her cooling racks and grabbed a dish towel from the counter, fanning at the bread until the loaves were cooled just enough that she could lift one and tapped the bottom.

The hollow echo resonating from the loaf was a good sign. These had risen rather nicely.

She absentmindedly threw the towel over her shoulder as Feyre asked, “Do you think it’s worth fetching her?”

Was Feyre really bringing this up now of all times?

Elain had barely slept last night as she tossed and turned, imagining a million different conversations with Az playing out in her head. If she had to admit it, she was beyond stressed about how seeing him for the first time in months would go.

And then she had visited Nesta this morning, and there was no returning from the rut her eldest sister had shoved her into.

“Are you asking me that as her sister, or as a seer?” She had the answer to the former, but the latter … She had done her best not to abuse that power. The small visions which had abruptly come to her, she couldn’t avoid, but she had never intentionally scried on anyone. She had barely even tried to use her powers for months.

There just wasn’t any need to train, and she still got visions often enough that the strain she had felt before discovering her magical outlet had not returned to plague her.

Feyre seemed to catch on to her admittedly huffy mood and said carefully, “You know Nesta best. I thought you’d like to weigh in.”

Did anyone truly know Nesta anymore? It was like her elder sister had just disappeared.

“If Nesta doesn’t want to be here tonight, then it’s more trouble than it’s worth to bring her in.” Nesta would just sour the mood anyways, if she was forced against her will. And Elain wasn’t in the mood to try to deal with Nesta, to reason with her.

She didn’t miss the subtle glance Feyre gave Nuala and Cerridwen though. Checking on her, as if Elain couldn’t just tell her how she felt. She couldn’t see the twins behind her back, but the trusty shadow which had not left her side in months acted as the eyes on the back of her head.

Cerridwen has informed her that this is not a good day for you.

Ha. Elain bit back a laugh. She appreciated the shadow’s comforting presence these past few months. No matter how thin Az might’ve been stretched, he had been careful to leave it for her. Maybe it meant he was expecting more messages from her, but she had taken to using it to help her feel out everyday situations.

And she was infinitely grateful that she had not had to pick up that Siphon to summon it on her own. She had almost grabbed it one night, curious to see what he was up to on the other side of it, to see if she could glean if he missed her as much as she missed him.

But that was the catch. If she opened up that bridge between them, her own thoughts and feelings might be laid bare to him, and she couldn’t stand the thought of the rejection which might accompany him learning how silly she was for missing him.

So it stayed in the drawer of her nightstand, gathering dust as she hid those innermost emotions deep within herself.

Feyre sidled up next to Elain, grabbing a knife and slicing the bread, preparing it to serve.

Elain could hear the others laughing from another room, Mor’s and Cassian’s laughter distinct above all the rest. No sound of Azriel. At least none that she could distinguish.

Had he even shown up yet? Maybe he wasn’t coming. If he had been too busy to arrive early, nobody would have bothered to tell her, and they would not have complained about it openly either, as he was only acting on their orders.

The sisters sliced in silence for a few minutes before Feyre finally cut through the lull, cautiously. “Nesta is still a part of this family.”

“Is she?” Elain might’ve been sawing through her current loaf a little too viciously now. “She certainly doesn’t act like it.”

“Did something happen when you saw her today?”

Yes. Elain was still trying to process it though. That Nesta had shut them out so completely. So she said nothing, as she fought to keep the tears at bay.

When they were done with the bread, they quietly helped Nuala and Cerridwen with the serving platters and began lugging them into the dining room.

“Nesta said she didn’t want to come to Solstice,” Elain breathed, finally having her emotions a bit more under control.

“That’s fine,” Feyre replied, but her voice was tight.

“She said she didn’t want to come to come to anything. Ever.”

As if Nesta was truly saying goodbye to Elain. She was terrified that something terrible was going to happen to Nesta, but how was she supposed to do anything if Nesta just shoved her further and further away. Today had felt final somehow.

“Did she say why?” Feyre had paused her footsteps, now looking Elain over with an assessing glance.

“No.” She fought the urge to scream. To yell about what was ailing her. To sob bitter, frustrated tears at Nesta’s attitude. “She just said … She said that we have our lives, and she has hers.”

Feyre sighed. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Don’t.” Elain was so done with this conversation. With Nesta.

She just wanted to be able to try to enjoy this meal at least, even if she would go cry about all of this later in the evening, when nobody else was watching. “She won’t listen.”

If she had gone months with stubbornly ignoring Elain, there was no way brash, little Feyre was going to be able to coax anything out of her.

She could feel her shadow swirling in the wake of her anger, just like she’d seen Az’s do with him when he got emotional, so she just began walking for the dining room again.

“And you? Are you—all right?” At least somebody cared enough to ask her that question.

Elain wasn’t sure if she was, but she certainly felt better than she had since arriving in Velaris. And in order to end this gut-wrenching conversation …

“Why wouldn’t I be all right?” She summoned a pretty, little smile to her face. She knew it didn’t reach her eyes, but it didn’t matter if it gave Feyre pause so Elain could find the space to breathe right now.

Thank the Cauldron, she was rescued by Cassian barrelling his way into the room and pausing only briefly to plant a kiss on her cheek before practically lifting her out of his path to the table.

Gods. He must really be drunk already. They were on amicable terms, but they still hardly even knew each other.

Amren merely nodded at her, as the delicate female made her way to the table as well.

Mor kissed both Elain’s cheeks and Feyre’s, her own rosy and flushed as she passed by them.

Rhys just chuckled, shaking his head at Cassian, who had already begun spooning food onto his plate, before smiling at Elain and seating himself next to Cassian.

That was everyone, except …

Azriel finally made his way through the doorway, and Elain’s heart stopped dead in her chest. He was dressed in more finery than she’d ever seen on him. Even though the black jacket and pants were relatively simple and unadorned, they were quite contrasted to the fighting leathers she was used to.

And his hair, perhaps a bit longer than she remembered, was casually swept back, looking as if he had just flown in. Though he already had a wine glass in his hands as he approached her, and she swallowed drily.

This was it. She could hear the others jabbing at each other in the background, but she only had eyes and ears for Az, as she struggled to figure out what to say.

How long had he been in Velaris? Why hadn’t he come to say hello? Or was she just overthinking things and he had arrived only minutes before she emerged from the kitchen?

“Hello,” she breathed.

Ugh, what an idiotic thing to say. Though it was customary, the word held none of the emotions whirling inside her, the questions she had for him. She wished she had a free hand so she could properly smack herself upside the head.

Hi, he said cautiously. As if he was just as nervous as she was right now. But why?

She wasn’t given any time to dwell on it though as she zeroed in on him as he kept moving toward her.

Until his rough hands had brushed over hers—until she had released the potato dish she had been carrying into his awaiting arms.

“Sit. I’ll take care of it,” he murmured as she stood there frozen, unable to move her icicle arms still hovering where they had been holding up the platter.

As if breathing wrong might break this moment between them. Might scare him off. Might make him realize that the contact between them had felt electric, and he would run from that.

Elain still wasn’t even sure what to make of the tingling sensation that had passed through her hands at his touch.

She just ... blinked. And all of a sudden, he was moving for the table, and she looked down at her hands, the apron which was coated in flour and couldn’t help the heat flushing her cheeks as she realized how disheveled she must look to him.

‘I—I’ll be right back,” she murmured, as she raced down the hall into the washroom.

Chapter Text

Staring at herself in the mirror, Elain quickly shucked the apron, throwing it in the corner of the washroom, too frazzled to figure out exactly where she should be properly putting it.

She would find it and deal with it later.

She splashed some water on her face, grabbing a cloth and scrubbing off the bits of flour which had gradually caked on as she baked all day.

When that was done, she dusted off her gown, until little trace of the flour remained, and then quickly ran fingers through her hair, taking down the messy half-up style before redoing it in a simple braid down her back.

She was so embarrassed that she hadn’t even realized how haphazard her appearance had been until she’d been under Azriel’s assessing gaze.

He had seen her like that before, after long days spent in the gardens, and she wasn’t sure why she was so hung up on the thought. But there was no way she could have made it through that dinner covered in flour like that.

Giving herself a final onceover in the mirror, she swept back down the hallway and into the dining room.

Where she was mortified to see that they had all been waiting on her to begin eating. Every single second she’d spent in that bathing room had been holding them up.

“Please don’t wait on my account,” she said as she slid into the nearest empty seat, at the end of the table.

Cassian was glaring at Az who did his best to ignore his brother.

What happened? she asked of the shadow perched on her shoulder.

The shadowsinger ordered them all to wait for you. To wait for the entire party to be seated before anyone could eat.

She could feel the tips of her ears reddening as Az shot her a glance, probably hearing this conversation, and nobody else even made a move to touch the dishes on the table.

You might want to serve yourself, Lady.

Because whatever he had said or done … Nobody else was even making a move toward the serving dishes. As if they were going to wait for her to serve herself.

Just fantastic. There was no way to get out of the center of attention without going through the motions and scooping some meat and potatoes onto her plate.

And only then did the others finally resume their meals.

I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. It just would have been poor manners if I let Cassian finish the meal you’d worked so hard to make before you’d even had a chance to sit down.

She nodded absentmindedly at him, unsure of what to say to that. She didn’t really want to get into the reason she had darted from the room, though she did foolishly hope that Az had noticed that she had cleansed herself of the offending flour.

It’s just that I know my mother was a servant in my father’s household. I only heard about it from her later on, but she spent decades waiting on tables full of people who never once thanked her or invited her to sit with them and enjoy the fruits of her labor. And though you don’t serve anyone, I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t make them wait for you.

Oh. I’m sorry about your mother. Is she … ?

Elain couldn’t bring herself to ask if she was still among the living. He had never once brought her up, so perhaps she had passed in the centuries before Elain was dragged into this world.

Yes. She’s alive and well, I hope. I helped her escape my father, and though I haven’t seen her since the war, she lives with my stepfather in Illyria. She has a much better life now. I just think back on those injustices she faced, and it turns my stomach.

I can see why, she murmured.

Then after a brief silence, she asked, How are you?

I’m exhausted, but fine.

Not much of an answer but it was better than nothing. What was he holding back? He wasn’t the most outspoken person she knew, but he’d opened up to her way more before the war. Why wasn’t he giving her more than this?

I haven’t seen you in months, and that’s all you have to say to me? She was growing frustrated now.

I—I just—

But he was cut off by Feyre breaking the silence in the room. “Still getting used to it?” her sister asked, eyes fixed on the tiny portions littering Amren’s plate.

Amren grunted, as she absentmindedly pushed the food around her plate, like a toddler trying to make it look as if they were eating something. “Blood tastes better.”

She heard distinct choking noises coming from Mor and Cassian as they had been in the middle of perhaps ill-advised bites of food when Amren had spoken.

“And it didn’t take so much time to consume,” she complained as she lifted a miniscule bite of chicken to her ruby-red lips. “And then there are the other unpleasant results of eating,” she added as she minced the already bite-size pieces of carrots even smaller.

Az returned Cassian’s glance before looking down at his own plate and beginning to smile, cracking the serious mask which had overtaken his face while she was out of the room.

He looked like a young boy, trying to hold in his snicker at something forbidden, and it was adorable. But Elain had no idea what exactly was so funny to him.

Perhaps unwisely, she asked Amren, “What sort of results?”

“Don’t answer that,” Rhys cut in.

What was Elain missing that everyone else at the table seemed to have picked up?

Amren hissed as she looked up at them all with death in her eyes. “Do you know what an inconvenience it is to need to find a place to relieve myself everywhere I go?”

Oh.

Cassian was on the verge of bursting now, and even Feyre and Mor looked as if one more comment might break their resolve to stay silent.

“Shall we start building public toilets for you throughout Velaris, Amren?” Rhys drawled.

“I mean it, Rhysand,” she snapped. “I should have selected a male form. At least you can whip it out and go wherever you like without having to worry about spilling on—”

Cassian exploded, his joyous laugh interrupting Amren before she could specify exactly which objects she was so worried about spilling all over. Feyre and Mor followed in his footsteps, the laughter contagious as even Az couldn’t hold back a few chuckles.

The corners of Elain’s mouth curved upward and she giggled to herself as well, making sure not to look directly at Amren, lest the female single her out.

“You really don’t know how to pee? After all this time?” Mor was over the moon with roaring laughter.

“I’ve seen animals—” Amren started, gritting through her teeth.

“Tell me you know how a toilet works.” Cassian slapped a hand onto the table, rattling the wine glasses as he howled, “Tell me you know that much.”

Everyone was trying to rein in that laughter, but they were struggling miserably as Amren replied, “I know how to sit on a toilet.”

But Elain’s thoughts finally caught up to her as she realized Amren had said she had chosen this form. As if becoming a Fae female had been thrust upon her.

Had Elain not known that she could have chosen to stay human when she died in that Cauldron? Was there even a chance she could use her gifts from the Cauldron to change back now?

Dammit. She had thought she was past that … on her way to being happy here. But the second she was presented with even the slightest sliver of doubt, she needed to ask, “Could you have done it? Decided to take a male form?”

There was no way to come straight out with her question, but this seemed like a good way to pry a bit into how this making process was done.

The laughter in the room froze, as everyone waited on bated breath for Amren to respond—Elain included.

Elain’s cheeks must’ve been crimson from all the laughter and the eyes now pinned on her.

“Yes. Before, in my other form, I was neither. I simply was.”

So interesting. “Then why did you pick this body?” She couldn’t help herself from asking the question.

Why would anyone choose to be Fae? And why did she specifically choose to be female?

“I was more drawn to the female form. I thought it was more symmetrical. It pleased me,” she answered simply.

Mor stared down at her own ample assets and frowned. “True.”

Cassian snickered at that. And for a split second, Elain paused to wonder at the little exchange. But there were more pressing matters on her mind.

“And once you were in this body, you couldn’t change?”

There it was, laid out on the table. What she truly wanted to know. Now that it had been brought to the forefront of her mind again.

Amren narrowed her eyes at Elain, realizing what Elain meant by the question. Elain just held that gaze, firmly, waiting for the female to answer her question.

“Are you asking out of curiosity for my past, or your own future?”

Elain furrowed her brow in frustration. This question was not the response she had desired. She wished she could plead with Amren to give her information without making her speak the words aloud.

“What do you mean?” she asked, innocently. Best to play dumb and let Amren come to her own conclusions.

“There’s no going back to being human, girl.”

“Amren.” There was command and warning in Feyre’s voice.

Elain got further embarrassed by the way Amren had directly called her out.

She had been asking for it, but the other female could have at least not been so cruel as to insinuate that she knew what Elain was contemplating.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied coldly, not giving a damn inch. She was going to keep her head held high.

She didn’t fail to notice the grimaces on others’ face as they took in the ill-thought-out conversation Elain had just made a reality. Shit.

And on Azriel’s face. Pity. That was pity and … sorrow? What was he so sad about?

What? she asked.

Do you really still wish to go back to your human life? He sounded a bit wounded, as if her choosing not to love this new, Fae life directly reflected on him.

Yes, she admitted. She hadn’t thought about it in awhile, but that life had been so much simpler. Had held so much less pain in it. But … Not all the time though. It’s just so unfair that I didn’t have a choice.

Would you leave this all behind? Leave … He didn’t finish his sentence, but Elain caught the gist of it.

Leave my family? She didn’t dare address him directly yet. Nesta is making that quite easy at the moment. But I don’t think I could leave Feyre right now. I know that she’s happy with Rhys and all, but … I would miss her terribly. I don’t want to lose her again. As for the others? I like them, I really do. Even Amren in her own way. And you? Well it’s not like you’ve been around for me to leave, Az.

He paused at that. Is that a bad thing?

What the hell? Why would he ever think she would just be okay with that?

What do you think? she bit out before going back to her food and avoiding his gaze.

“Amren, you have a spectacular gift for ruining dinner conversation,” Rhys mused. “I wonder if you could make a career out of it.” He was staring Amren down, warning her not to say another word about Elain.

“Pick on someone your own size,” Cassian added as he spooned more food into his mouth.

Protecting her. They’d all chosen to have her back here, these people. Her … family.

“I’d feel bad for the mice,” Az muttered, and though she was still unsure how to feel about him at the moment, she appreciated the attempt at deflecting and lightening the mood. In his own way, with that wry sense of humor of his, he was trying to make this up to her.

She gave him a grateful smile, blushing as he looked back into her eyes with a smile of his own.

Cauldron boil her. It was hard to stay mad at him when he looked at her like that.

And for the first time all day, Elain’s smile brightened even further, and it felt real. Not just plastered on to appease the others looking on. She was genuinely smiling, and she was incredibly thankful to him for turning her day around.

They had dined peacefully after that, though neither Azriel nor Elain had resumed their own private conversation, both seemingly content to let the others distract them.

What was Azriel even doing? Elain seemed to be properly miffed at him for the silence between them lately, but wasn’t she just as much to blame for it?

She was the one who had begun to pull away from him, and he had respected that distance. She genuinely would be better off without him weighing her down. She had all these other friends to rely on, and his dark past would just drag her down too if she let him back in.

And what of Lucien? He felt like he needed to ask, but what if he asked her only to have her scornfully laugh in his face. She had not singled out Lucien when she had talked about leaving the others, but he very well could have been included in that group.

They might be close friends now if not something more. And maybe she didn’t bring him up to spare Az from being confronted with the fact that Lucien had filled the hole he had previously occupied. Because bringing Lucien up would mean admitting that she didn’t need Az in her life anymore, and she was too kind to hurt his feelings.

After dinner, the group transitioned into the sloppily decorated sitting room.

Az contemplated fidgeting with the garlands, but thought better of it as he reminded himself that he was supposed to be relaxing.

Bothersome though the uneven decorations might be, they had still been hung merrily by his friends. And he didn’t want to wipe anymore of their hilariously drunken efforts from the room.

If Rhys really cared to fix them, he could with a snap of his fingers.

But his brother seemed not even a little bothered with the state of the room as he sat with his mate tucked into the crook of his arm on the couch.

Rhys and Feyre had disappeared for a brief outing, not giving much more information but pleading with their family to make themselves at home and enjoy themselves.

It hadn’t taken much effort from his shadows to learn that the two of them had tracked down Nesta, and though Rhys had thrown a shield around the conversation, Az was fairly certain that it had been about Nesta appearing to celebrate Solstice with them.

And by the look on Feyre’s face afterward, he wasn’t sure it had quite gone according to plan.

But she had schooled her emotions by the time they had returned, only fifteen minutes later, and joyously reunited with the rest of the party, taking the couch the others had left vacant for them.

They had all partaken of the mulled cider the twins had brewed up, and as the warm alcoholic beverages took hold in them, Az noticed quite a few drooping eyes in the room.

Exhausted. Even through the merriment, it was hard for anyone to truly hide how taxing this past year had been.

Even he, seated on a chair near the fire, felt himself slipping from consciousness as he took in the sleepy room.

Amren had left not long after dinner, to no one’s surprise.

A slight pang cleaved through his chest at the sight of Mor, head rested on Cassian’s lap across the room on the couch, but his eyes caught on Elain.

The delicate female was curled up behind Mor, head tucked against Mor’s side, looking for all the world at peace.

As if she had not been asking those questions at the dinner table which Az would be mulling over. As if she had not sounded incredibly frustrated with him. As if she might be happy in this Fae body of hers.

Rising out of his chair, he roused Rhys who awoke with a start and took in the room.

His brother scooped Feyre up and, at a signal from Az that he would take care of the rest, winnowed them undoubtedly up to their bedroom.

Next, he went for Cassian, who just grunted that he was fine sleeping here. Az supposed he would end up on a couch tonight too.

Rhys had been supposed to show them to their rooms before everyone had wound up like this, and Az had no idea which ones they were intended to use.

He shook Mor awake next, the female delicately laying Elain’s head on the couch as she extricated herself and slouched all the way up the stairs. She must have been staying here for awhile already.

And finally, that left Elain, now unconsciously stretching out a bit at the newly found room on the couch.

Her movements were precious, and Azriel couldn’t bring himself to wake her from her slumbers, though he knew she would be much more comfortable in her own bed.

He gingerly scooped her into his arms, careful not to wake her and tiptoed up the stairs.

As he approached her door, she nuzzled into his chest, and the flowery scent of her washed over him.

He promised then and there to make this up to her. Whatever was bothering her. To try to repair what he might have unknowingly broken between them.

As soon as he could get her to tell him exactly what that was.

Chapter Text

Elain woke the next day a bit confused as to how she had managed to wind up back in her own bed.

She remembered dinner from the night before, followed by drinking and unwinding in the sitting room, followed by … nothing.

She must have fallen asleep downstairs, but how had she made it back to her room?

He carried you.

Who?

Elain was startled by the assertion. And the fact that the shadows hadn’t specified, as if they thought it was obvious to her. She wanted it to be the obvious choice, but she needed to hear it for herself. Concretely.

The shadowsinger. He brought you here after you fell asleep on the golden one.

That’s right. She had been sharing the couch with Mor and Cassian. And she must have accidentally fallen asleep on Mor’s shoulder, and then Azriel helped the other female out by removing Elain to her bedroom. Of course.

No. Everyone else had already resigned for the evening. He wanted you to be comfortable so he didn’t wake you but instead brought you to your own bed.

Oh.

Elain blushed at the thought of it and immediately went to go bathe. She needed to get up and moving this morning. There were still a few gifts she had not yet acquired, and if she stayed in bed any longer, dwelling on what she’d just been told, she knew she would dig that Siphon out of the drawer to indulge her own curiosity.

And she knew that was against her better judgment.

Elain found only Feyre awake as she descended and made her way into the dining room.

Rhys, Feyre informed her, was still asleep, thank the Cauldron, and though Elain could hear Cassian’s snoring through the open doors to the sitting room, the others were nowhere to be found.

After downing a cup of tea and a couple of scones, Elain asked, “Would you be up to walking with me through Velaris? It’s been awhile since I’ve gotten out, and I still need to pick up a few things.”

Luckily, she had already procured Feyre’s gift so this was the perfect opportunity for escaping the house and her thoughts.

With Feyre around, it would be difficult for her to dwell too long on any one topic. On any one person.

“I’d love to!” Feyre replied, enthusiastically, and Elain could tell that she meant it. “I need to finish a bit of shopping of my own. I still have no idea what to get Rhys.”

Elain herself had been struggling with the thought of how to find something new and interesting for a group of Fae who had received thousands of presents over the centuries.

Though she had lucked out by coming up with a few ideas, she still worried that someone would open up one of her gifts and secretly hate it, even if they were kind to her face.

“Me neither,” Elain admitted.

Rhys had been particularly difficult to shop for—the High Lord who seemed to purchase every he wanted at a whim—but she had been living off of his generosity for so long now that she needed to come up with at least a small something to express her gratitude.

Feyre laughed, agreeing that he was terribly troublesome to think up gifts for, and the two of them headed out into the teeming streets of Velaris.

They passed bakeries and jewelers, pottery studios and leatherworkers, scoping out the wares, and occasionally, Feyre picked up something small.

But then they passed a narrow weaver’s shop, and Elain just had to duck inside, feeling like she might have finally figured out what to get the twins.

As they made their way through aisles of silks and linens, fingers running along the lengths of the fabric, she couldn’t help but notice the pronounced downward tilt of her sister’s lips

Still, after all these hours of shopping together, Elain would look up to find her sister staring at some gorgeous trinket, frowning, lost in her own little world inside her head.

“I know it’s not easy for you,” Elain finally offered, unable to ignore Feyre’s mood for much longer, as they stood staring at some tapestries and blanket laid out before them.

“What’s not easy?” Feyre turned from the tapestry of a mountain peak, crowned with three stars—a symbol which Elain had been seeing everywhere she looked around the city today—to face her.

Elain took in the fine craftsmanship of the tapestry, admiring its beauty. “Buying things without a dire need to do so.”

Even though it embarrassed her how much she had craved fine possessions when they had been impoverished, Elain had to admit that she felt the same way as well.

There were so many people out there who would never know the sort of wealth they had been fortunate to experience, with the exception of those few miserable years in the hut.

“We have everything we need,” Feyre murmured. “Buying presents feels excessive.”

“It’s their tradition, though.” Elain had been telling herself this time and time again since she’d learned of the custom. “One that they fought and died to protect in the war. Perhaps that’s a better way to think of it, rather than feeling guilty. To remember that this day means something to them. All of them, regardless of who has more, who has less, and in celebrating the traditions, even through the presents, we honor those who fought for its very existence, for the peace this city has now.”

She had given this a lot of thought, as she tried to process how they could celebrate like this after all that had occurred, after all the pain and the sorrow—as she tried to reconcile that with what she was going through.

“You’re right,” Feyre breathed.

Good. Elain was glad that whatever ramblings had been going through her head made sense and seemed to put Feyre more at ease, if only just a little.

Her eyes went back to the tapestry. It really was mesmerizing.

The thread used for the background was a black so deep that it seemed to be absorbing all the light around it, while the mountain and star pattern was woven with a thread with was so shiny and reflective that it reminded Elain of starlight.

And as mesmerized as Elain was, Feyre seemed even more entranced.

“You’re thinking of getting it?” Elain asked her sister. She was still searching for a gift for Nesta, but nothing in here seemed to fit the bill for her. Regardless, it was still all lovely, and Elain was enjoying just being here in this store, in the city, away from the woes which followed her around the townhouse.

She knew she would likely get Nesta books of some sort, but she hadn’t directly led them into a bookshop because she wanted to drag this out, to enjoy the freedom of getting out of the house and out of her own head for just a little while longer.

And Elain had a feeling that Feyre was in a somewhat similar boat.

“I don’t know who I’d get it for,” her sister admitted, but she held out a hand in order to touch the enchanting tapestry. The second her finger came in contact with it, it disappeared from view. Not gone, but hidden from sight, the light now unable to grace it with illumination. “But …”

Feyre’s gaze turned toward the weaver who owned the small shop.

The slight woman had pale skin and inky black hair braided down the small of her back. She wore comfortable clothes for crafting, and as she felt the weight of Feyre’s assessment, she looked up from the loom she was hunched over and took the two of them in.

“How can I help you?” she asked. And Elain noted the hint of emptiness, of melancholy in her eyes. There was something deep down that was eating away at her from the inside.

“I wanted to know about the tapestry with the insignia. The black fabric—what is it?” Feyre replied.

“I get asked that at least once an hour,” the weaver sighed, resigned. She smiled up at them, but the haunted look in her eyes remained.

Elain’s eyes caught on a couple of blankets then—a fuzzy, pale pink one and its purple twin folded neatly on a nearby table.

She immediately thought of the twins, who were so devoid of color themselves, with their dark shadow-wraith complexions and the black outfits they chose to wear on a daily basis—the better for blending in with their surroundings and fading out of view if they so desired, they claimed.

But they had been very taken with the garden, always asking Elain about the pops of color in her flowers and wondering how she decided which blooms to pick and how to lay them out in order to have them mesh so well together.

And in those small moments, Elain had been able to pry out of them what their favorite colors were. Nuala a deep purple and Cerridwen a soft pink.

Whether or not they chose to decorate themselves with the colors, they should at least have something to decorate their rooms with which sang of color.

And it was so unbelievably chilly in the winter months that Elain hoped these would be appreciated.

After rushing over to pick them up, she returned to Feyre’s side.

“Sorry to add to that,” her sister winced, unhappy that she was just another to add to the explanations the weaver seemed a bit weary to have to dole out.

The weaver waved a hand, ignoring the apology. “It’s an unusual fabric. Questions are expected.” She propped her hand on the edge of the loom. “I call it Void. It absorbs light. Creates a complete lack of color.”

“You made it?” Elain asked, in awe that something like this could exist, even with the presence of magic coursing through so many Fae veins.

The weaver nodded gravely. “A new experiment of mine. To see if I could take it farther, deeper than any weaver has before.”

Elain was taken aback at that.

This female must have experienced a great tragedy in order to be able to pour so much negative emotion into the thread.

Even Elain, perhaps, had not been quite so distraught through all the changes taking place in her life during the past year to have created such … nothingness. Something so devoid of life.

“Why?” Feyre breathed, and Elain could tell that her sister was on a similar wavelength.

“My husband didn’t return from the war.”

Oh. The poor thing. To have loved so greatly and lost him to the useless fighting which Hybern had brought upon them.

“I began trying to create Void the day after I learned he’d fallen.” Something to pour that bitter, mutilated part of her soul into.

Elain wished she’d had such a medium when Graysen had betrayed her. She knew their situations were not the same, but having been left on her own to cry into a tent far away from either of her homes, with nothing to do to distract herself, had been devastating.

“He thought it was right. To help fight. He left with several others who felt the same, and joined up with a Summer Court legion they found on their way south. He died in the battle for Adriata.”

“I’m sorry,” Elain murmured, just after Feyre had begun to say the exact same words.

And she was. So sorry that anyone would have to go through that heartbreak. She remembered how relieved she had felt when Az had told her that none of their friends had fallen, in those moments where Nuala had helped her communicate with him.

This female had never gotten anything of the sort. It seemed her husband hadn’t even made it through the very first skirmish, let alone the entire rest of the war.

“I thought we’d have a thousand more years together.” Her hands began moving again, likely her preferred way of dealing with telling this particular story. To not have to idly sit and narrate but to have a distraction. “In the three hundred years we were wed, we never had the chance to have children. I don’t even have a piece of him in what way. He’s gone, and I am not. Void was born of that feeling.”

Nothing Elain had ever experienced held a candle to the raw emotion pouring out of the weaver.

She felt incredibly guilty that she’d thought her problems to be so overwhelming. If Graysen had perished in that final battle, she knew her mind would not have immediately thought of not having children to remember him by. She would have just continued to wonder, “What if?” as if it would help her cope with the loss.

She straightened a bit as she once and for all let go of Graysen from her heart. She wasn’t ready to love again, but she would spend no more time mourning him. No more feeling for the man who had likely already forgotten about her.

If she were to have a love to rival what this unknown female had, she would need to one day feel free to give her heart wholly to another—another who might love her back just as fiercely.

Was Lucien capable of that? Given that Feyre was such close friends with him, she liked to think so, but she still couldn’t wrap her mind around the concept of falling in love with Lucien.

She didn’t know him, though she hadn’t given him the chance to get to know her, but did that matter? Was she really going to bow to the will of the Cauldron just to find love?

No. She would not yield to something so simple as that, and if he were to ever win her heart, he would have to try for it for a change. Try harder than letting her push him away and going willingly.

Elain knew it was petty, but she wanted someone who would fight for her. Unlike anyone she’d known in her past.

Like Azriel had sacrificed his safety to get her back. She let the thought flash through her for a moment before she reminded herself that he too had left her.

They were just good friends, but even that had not been enough to allow him to see through her pretenses these past few months. He had stayed away from her, thinking it was in her best interest, just like Lucien.

No male would hold her heart, she decided. Not for awhile yet.

Let her learn to enjoy this life, to become happy, and she would then reevaluate how she felt about them. She would then further investigate the silly butterflies which had been in her stomach all last evening, from the moment she’d first seen him, more handsome than she had remembered.

She turned her attention back to the weaver. “I keep hoping that every time I tell someone who asks about Void, it will get easier,” the female admitted.

“Why not take it down?” Elain asked, softly. She knew she wouldn’t want to be constantly reminded of her own heartache.

“Because I do not want to keep it.”

Agony was rippling off her in waves, and Elain understood. It was worth reopening the fresh, raw wound of grief if only so that someone might take kindly to her plight and remove it from her forever.

Otherwise, this tapestry would sit somewhere—under a bed, in the back of a closet—rubbing her raw every single time she came across it. The looming weight of the Void would eat her alive from the inside.

But if the soul-crushing black was called Void …

“The silver thread. What is that called?” Elain needed to know. Because amongst all the despair, it was a thing of unrivaled beauty.

The weaver paused her loom for the first time since they had brought up her husband’s story and held Elain’s unwavering gaze. “I call it Hope. I made it after I mastered Void.”

Hope. Even in the depths of this tragedy, the weaver had found a tiny sliver of hope, bringing it to life in the iridescent silver forming the insignia.

And now Feyre was frozen next to her, and Elain knew that she was reliving those moments in which Rhys had died, wondering if she would have ever been able to pick herself up like this and create again.

Feyre had the kind of love this female had for her late husband, and it was breaking her apart inside as she internalized all this fierce female had achieved.

Elain hoped to find something similar one day. But for now …

“Feyre?” she asked, warily.

And Elain saw the moment that name had triggered something in the weaver, when she recognized exactly who stood in front of her, in her humble shop.

She bowed her head. “My lady,” she breathed reverently.

“How.” Feyre stepped up to the weaver, fighting tears. “How do you keep creating, despite what you lost?”

And Elain knew that this interaction, this piece of fate in meeting the weaver had been infinitely more necessary for Feyre than Elain could ever imagine. Even if she knew she would be walking away with a different outlook on her own future.

“I have to.” The weaver’s gaze was full of agony as she admitted this. “I have to create, or it was all for nothing. I have to create, or I will crumple up with despair and never leave my bed. I have to create because I have no other way of voice this.”

The weaver placed her hand over her heart, and Elain knew she was not the only one tearing up right now.

“It is hard, and it hurts, but if I were to stop, if I were to let this loom or the spindle go silent …” She glanced at the tapestry. “Then there would be no Hope shining in the Void.”

Feyre’s lip wobbled, and the weaver closed the distance between the two of them, reaching to squeeze Feyre’s hand in comfort and knowing.

“I would like to buy that tapestry,” Feyre finally declared.

And Elain knew it was for nothing other than the fact that the story had awoken something within her sister.

She wondered where exactly Feyre would choose to display it, or if it was something she would guard closely, not sharing with others. Outside of perhaps her mate.

The weaver had graciously accepted their coin for the tapestry and Elain’s two blankets before promising to have the former delivered to the townhouse later that afternoon.

Elain and Feyre browsed more of the stores downtown in relative silence, both too shaken by what they had experienced before Feyre broke off, making some vague excuse about needing to check on a present before bidding Elain farewell and winnowing away.

Elain understood—that Feyre needed more time to process. That it must be excruciating to have to wonder about what would have happened if her mate had not come back to life. To also have to carry the grief of their father who had not been so fortunate as well.

And so Elain finally made her way to a bookshop she’d noticed earlier.

She cracked open the door, the smell of old leather and well-worn paper assaulting her nostrils as a tiny bell chimed from atop the door.

A older, waif-like female with caramel-colored skin and lovely dark hair shot her head up from where she’d been shelving books and asked, “Hello, dear. What can I do for you today?”

Oh, thank the Mother.

Elain had no idea what exactly to look for in a book for Nesta. She wasn’t particularly well-read herself, preferring to work with her hands over staying inside reading all day.

Occasionally, she would borrow a book from Nesta’s collection, but they were all epic romances or stories of such fantasy that Elain had no idea where to begin today. Some she’d even had to put down because of the uncomfortable amount of physical contact between some of the characters.

How did Nesta maintain a straight face while reading it all?

But if Elain could somehow picked out a handful of books for Nesta which her sister would enjoy, maybe that could start a conversation between them.

It was a long shot, and she wasn’t even sure if Nesta was getting her a present in return, but Elain didn’t care. All that mattered was trying to reconnect with the sister she’d lost.

“Ummm … I’m not sure. I’m looking for something with romance and adventure. Perhaps a bit heavier on the romance side. If you have a few recommendations, I’d gladly take you up in them.”

“Do you care if they’re explicit?” the shopkeep asked, and Elain blushed.

“That would be preferred, I think,” she murmured, completely out of her element here. It was one thing to have given herself over to her fiancé, but the impropriety, silly though the human customs might be, still made her incredibly embarrassed.

The female raised a hand to her mouth in thought for a moment before her eyes lit up, and she held up a finger, signaling Elain to wait while she shuffled further back into her shop.

She came back only a minute later with a stack of books in her hands. “I think you’ll find these to your liking, dear,” she said. “It’s a series of books set in a faraway, make-believe land, and if I do say so myself, the romance is pretty steamy. Take a look for yourself. Feel free to flip through them to make sure they’re to your liking,” she prodded.

Elain just shook her head. “They’re a gift. I’m not sure I’d be able to fully appreciate them if I took a glance right now or even determine if they were the right fit, but I’ll take them. I greatly appreciate your help. I had no idea what I was looking for.”

The female chuckled at her discomfort but went ahead with calculating the total for the books.

As Elain handed over the gold pieces, she asked, “Would you like me to wrap these for you?”

Oh, right. She still had a pile of gifts in her armoire which she needed to wrap tonight. “Yes, please.”

The female took out a small box and a sheet of functional, brown paper and deftly went about wrapping up the parcel for Elain.

“Thank you,” she offered, reaching to take the packaging and exit the store.

“Anytime, dear. You make sure you come back here if you ever find yourself in need of your own adventure. I’d be happy to help you pick out the perfect one.”

Elain nodded, gratefully and took her leave, the bell tinkling again as she exited the way she had come in.

Now done with all her shopping, she stopped by Madja’s stall in the Rainbow to pick up the item she’d had specially ordered and began the long trek back to the townhouse.

Her legs burned with the effort, but she relished the slight discomfort. At least she was out doing something for herself for once, no longer caged in that house. And if she found excuses to walk down to the river more often, she would grow stronger, her muscles rebuilding themselves.

Even gardening for the past few months had been difficult on the legs she had allowed to atrophy in her despair. Bending to pull weeds and squatting next to flowerbeds proving taxing on her sapped reserve of strength.

Elain took note of a few cafes with riverfront seating and vowed to come back and visit them when it wasn’t quite so chilly out.

As she returned home, she opened up the hall closet downstairs to find an assortment of wrapping paper, and grabbing a few of her favorite patterns, she made her way up to her room where she worked on her gifts until dinner time.

Chapter Text

The three Illyrian males touched down in front of the townhouse late in the afternoon.

Rhys and Cassian had come to him earlier in the day, asking him if he wanted to go to Windhaven with them for a meeting with Devlon and their Illyrian commanders.

He’d cordially declined the kind offer, thanking them for thinking of him. But before he’d even managed to go five feet, Cassian had looped his arm through Azriel’s, pouring on the charm.

Clearly this was something which the two had expected of him, as a high-ranking Illyrian official, so without putting up too much of a fight, he gave in to the pricks and went along with the idea.

It had been every bit as miserable as Azriel had expected.

He sat and listened to the proceedings but found that he truly had nothing much to say to the commanders as they argued over inane territorial disputes and brought up concerns from the vocal majority of their villages.

He had heard it all before, and it was all eerily similar to what he’d reported to Rhys only a couple of mornings before.

At least one of the camp lords, Devlon, hadn’t given them much trouble. Though it was eerie enough that he was acquiescing them by not fighting their new measures to have the females train that Az was keenly suspicious that he was hiding more under the surface.

Azriel was subjected to an excruciating hour of the deliberations and concerns before Rhys finally decided that they were getting nowhere else anytime soon and called off the meeting for the day, ordering that the commanders return home to their families and join them in the festivities.

They would be coming back soon after the holiday was over to further discuss what had been brought to light today.

Just wonderful. Az couldn’t wait for yet another useless meeting like this. Happy Solstice to them.

And now Rhys was marching them through the townhouse toward where they would be staying for the next few evenings.

Their brother was apologetic that he had failed to show it to them before last night, and also at the size of it.

Apparently Mor was in Feyre’s old room, and Nesta’s room was being reserved for her, if she showed her face. At least Lucien was the one relegated to the attic if he bothered to come back from Spring.

Azriel sincerely hoped neither of them would bother to make an appearance. He couldn’t particularly stand being around either of them, and he had a feeling Elain would be distressed at either of their presences.

Cassian suddenly broke through his thoughts by chucking his leather bag onto the tiny bed on the left side of the room. It rattled with what sounded like a lot of steel scraping against steel.

“You brought weapons to Solstice?” Rhys drawled from the doorway.

Azriel flashed Cassian a wary look, as he set his own overnight bag carefully on his equally narrow bed. Not quite meant for hulking Illyrian warriors, but it was better than the couch.

And Rhys kept insisting that they needed to stay here. As a family. So Az would live with it for the next two nights.

Cassian shrugged as he flopped onto the bed. “Some might be gifts.”

“And the rest?”

Cassian kicked off his boot and leaned back against the headboard, casually folding his arms behind his head as his wings dropped to rest on the floor. “The females bring their jewelry. I bring my weapons.”

Typical Cassian.

“I know a few females in this house who might take offense to that,” Rhys countered as Cassian flashed him a devilish grin.

Perhaps he was looking to get into it a bit during this vacation. A bit of excitement. Some fuel to the fire which Az had noticed had dimmed a bit in Nesta’s absence from Cass’s life.

Azriel strode to the window, noticing how it gave him a perfect view into Elain’s garden below.

It looked so forlorn, all covered in expectation of the weather, and he made a note to ask her how she was filling her days without it when he next saw her. To show some interest in what she planned to do with it come spring.

He knew she had to have something in mind as she stayed inside this winter. Her head was full of vibrant color and imaginative ideas, and he couldn’t wait to hear what was going through it right now.

“I’ve never stayed in this room,” he wondered aloud, eyes still on the masterpiece below. Elain had filled in so many blank patches already, the ground her canvas on which she painted.

“That’s because you and I have been shoved to the bottom of the ladder, brother,” Cassian replied. “Mor gets the good bedroom, Elain is living in the other, and so we get this one.” Not a word about Nesta’s empty bedroom.

“Better than the attic,” Rhys offered.

“Poor Lucien,” Cassian grinned, and Azriel felt one sliding onto his lips. 

Poor Lucien, indeed. If he showed, he would be sleeping up in the creaky attic, the slanted ceiling not even tall enough for a male to stretch to his full height. Oh well.

“If Lucien shows up,” Rhys reminded them. He had been invited to the Spring Court after all, and perhaps they would get lucky, and Tamlin wouldn’t have a fit and throw him out again.

“My money’s on yes. Want to make a wager?” Cassian asked.

“No,” Az said, not bothering to face him. And besides, with his luck, if he bet against Lucien showing up, the prick would swoop in just before the celebration started and ruin it completely for Az. Then he’d be out gold and having a miserable time as he had to watch Elain and Lucien together.

“No?” He could hear the indignation in Cassian’s voice. They so rarely ever passed up the opportunity to make bets.

Az’s wings tucked in tight as he strained not to let any emotion show. “Would you want people betting on you?”

“You assholes bet on me all the time. I remember the last one you did—you and Mor, making wagers about whether my wings would heal.”

Rhys snorted from behind him, but it seemed like Cassian wasn’t about to let this go lightly, for whatever reason. So, his gaze still unwavering from the garden, he asked, “Will Nesta stay here if she comes?”

It was a low blow, but he was willing to make it to get Cassian off his back. To gain a little room to breathe as he contemplated why he was not making that bet. Who he really had no desire to bet on.

The warrior is suddenly very interested in polishing his Siphons. Seems he has nothing to say to that.

But Az was actually extremely curious what Cassian’s thoughts were. They’d gone far too long just dancing around the subject of Nesta since the war.

Rhys was far too kind to Cassian, changing the subject for him. “Our meeting with the commanders went as well as could be expected. Devlon actually had a schedule drawn up for the girls’ training, whenever this oncoming storm blows out. I don’t think it was for show.”

“I’d still be surprised if they remember once the storm clears,” Azriel bit out as he finally turned around to face his brothers. He wasn’t going to hide a bit of the malice he felt for Devlon and the Illyrians.

Cassian did nod and grunt his agreement, to his credit. “Anything new about the grumbling in the camps?”

Rhys managed to keep his face clean of any emotion, apparently willing to stick to his decision to keep what Azriel had told him away from Cassian until after the holiday.

So Az just leaned against the footboard of his bed and told Cassian, “Little to add to what you already know. But they sensed that it’s growing. The best time to assess is after Solstice, when they’ve all returned home. See who spreads the discord then. If it’s grown while they were all celebrating together or snowed in with this storm.”

An easy lie, though he resented being coerced into telling it.

You owe me, he told Rhys.

Fine, fine. Just keep it up. Until after tomorrow at least. And for the love of the Cauldron never mention that you had this information the whole time.

Do you think I want him giving me shit for that?

Indeed, he had already built the excuse into the lie. It would be the perfect way to break it to Cassian without having to confess. The culprits likely wouldn’t fester too much more in reality, but that didn’t matter if Cassian believed it had happened while they were off celebrating the holiday.

Cassian finally spoke up, not acknowledging the information Az had given him, but rather asking, “Who used this bed? It’s Amren-sized.” 

Az could now see that Cassian, propped against the headboard was able to tap his toe against the footboard, even though his legs weren’t fully extended. What a fun couple of nights this would be.

Rhys laughed. “Careful how you whine. Feyre already calls us Illyrian babies often enough.

Az chuckled at the knowledge. “Her flying has improved enough that I think she’d entitled to do so.”

Azriel had gone out with her once since his return, and he had to admit that she was holding her own rather nicely now. She hardly needed the lessons anymore, but he had an inkling that she just enjoyed having an excuse for the two of them to go far from the city and just relax in the sky for an hour or two.

Though she likely preferred when her mate offered to do so with her.

“I can see about finding you two longer beds.”

It would be a difficult task on such short notice, even without the holiday. Though it made him laugh—the most powerful High Lord in history unable to even get his hands on improved furniture. Or to be able to improve it himself.

“No need. Better than the couch.” Cassian tried to wave the offer off. Az didn’t want Rhys to spend his precious free time trying desperately to track down beds for them for two measly nights either.

“You being too drunk to climb the stairs aside,”—Cassian flashed Rhys a vulgar gesture at that—“space in this house does indeed seem to be an issue. You could stay up at the House if you’d prefer. I can winnow you in.”

“The House is boring,” Cassian yawned. Ever the drama queen. “Az sneaks off into shadows and I’m left all alone.”

Illyrian baby, indeed. He shot the message over to Rhys and flashed him an exasperated look.

He was sure everyone knew he had somewhere other than the House to stay in the city, but he didn’t need Cassian bringing it up, didn’t want to remind anyone to try to look too closely for where he lived.

It was his retreat away from all of this madness, and he had purchased it under a false name, moving money to multiple false accounts he had set up before transferring it to the previous owner.

His goal was that nobody ever would figure out it was his. He used the shadows to enter and exit anyways, the windows covered by curtains, so none of the neighbors could even attest that they’d witnessed the owner at the property.

“Perhaps you should get a place of your own, then,” Rhys told him.

“I have one in Illyria.”

“I meant here.” Where his family was. Where Nesta was. If he ever hoped to one day have her move in with him. If that ever became an option she extended to him.

Cassian raised a brow in confusion, wondering why Rhys was chosing now to delve into this forbidden topic, even if he was skirting around it rather dexterously.

“I don’t need a house here. I need a room.” He kicked at the wooden footboard, loosening it and rocking it back and forth absentmindedly. “This one would be fine, if it didn’t have a doll’s bed.”

Rhys laughed at his joke but pushed him no further. Didn’t demand to know why Cassian was so adamant that he didn’t need a place of his own. Didn’t question the fact that he might actually want a place with such privacy soon.

“Perhaps that will be your Solstice present, Cassian. A new bed here,” Rhys finally retorted.

A pitiful present, but …

“Better than Mor’s presents,” Azriel muttered.

Cassian erupted with uncontained laughter, but Rhys shot Az an inquisitive look, before looking past him out of the empty window and into the city beyond.

He made a mental note to thank his brother one day for not giving him the same sort of shit they’d been giving Cassian over Nesta as he joked about the woman he was himself irrefutably, unrequitedly in love with.

What a pair he and Cassian made. Though at least Cassian had had some form of communication with Nesta before everything went to shit, making Az feel even worse about the fact that he had been hiding in his shell for over five centuries.

Soon, he told himself. After the holiday. After everything settled down in this world, he would face this head on. Soon.

Though he wondered if this was yet another lie he told to placate himself.

Everyone was gathered in the sitting room as the wine bottles were cracked open in honor of Solstice Eve, another tradition—to begin the celebrations before the day itself had even begun. The fire crackled in the hearth as Feyre entered the room, headed straight for Mor’s outstretched bottled. A wise choice indeed.

Amren hissed from next to Rhys, “You’ll make me vomit. Rein in that scent of yours boy,” as she kicked—kicked—Rhys in the shins.

“Apologies.” Rhys sounded anything but sorry for whatever scent Amren had been complaining about. He looked over at Varian, who had come into town earlier today to spend Solstice with them and flashed him an apologetic look for having been sentenced to deal with Amren.

Varian grinned, nodding toward Rhys.

Everything had been going very smoothly with his arrival until Cassian decided he had a very pressing question for the male.

“Do you even celebrate Solstice in the Summer Court?”

Azriel fought the urge to put his hands to his temples. Cassian might be many things, but tactful was not always one of them.

Varian turned his head to the couch Azriel and Cassian shared before responding, “In the summer, obviously. As there are two Solstices.”

Azriel took a sip of his wine to hide his smile from the rest as Cassian draped his arm over the back of the couch and asked incredulously, “Are there really?”

“Don’t bother answering him,” Amren cut in. “Cassian is precisely as stupid as he looks. And sounds.” She sent a cutting glance Cassian’s way.

Cassian toasted the air in front of him before drinking deeply.

“I suppose your Summer Solstice is the same in theory as ours,” Rhys offered. “Families gather, food is eaten, presents shared.”

Varian instantly seemed more at ease with Rhys bringing him back to the familiarity of his own treasured holiday. “Indeed.”

Rhys tugged Feyre deftly into his lap, as she approached the arm of his chair, and she went on to ask, “So Tarquin doesn’t celebrate Winter Solstice at all?”

Varian merely shook his head.

“Perhaps we should have invited him,” she mused.

“There’s still time. The call is yours, Prince.”

“I’ll think about it.” He stared down at Amren.

He would have to think hard about it because the instant his High Lord stepped foot onto foreign soil, it would become Varian’s duty to protect and attend to him, which would distract him from the real reason he had come here, the fierce, little female perched below him in the chair.

Mor plowed her way through the room, and planted herself directly between Azriel and Cassian, her thigh rubbing up against his own, giving him gooseflesh even through the fabrics of her dress and his trousers.

Her golden curls bounced and swayed wildly, filling his nostrils with the scent of her and causing him to need another large swig of his wine to distract himself from the presence which was so difficult to ignore.

“I like it to be just us anyway,” she said for all the room to hear. “And you, Varian,” she added.

Of course. He seemed more and more likely to officially become a part of their crazy, growing family as he had fawned over Amren these past few months.

Azriel was immensely curious when Varian would finally pop the question, and where they would choose to live once they got married. It was only a matter of time now, but it still made him chuckle to think of Varian being forced to spend whatever time he wished with Amren throughout the year in that horribly-decorated, one-room apartment.

He knew it was her favorite dwelling of the last few centuries and she’d be loathe to part with it. But he supposed that Varian was well aware of this fact, if he was already in this deep.

The other male merely smiled politely to Mor.

The clock upon the mantel chimed the hour, and Az felt more than saw Elain slip into the room.

Mor shot to her feet, leaving the seat between himself and Cassian vacant as she insisted that Elain take a glass of wine.

Mor did not sit back down though, perhaps waiting for Elain to take her old seat, but Elain just refused and went to go sit in one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs overlooking the bay window.

He knew who she must be looking out for. Nesta.

She may not come tonight, but don’t give up hope for tomorrow, he murmured to her.

I don’t even know the meaning of the word when it comes to Nesta anymore, she stated back, simply, without turning from her perch at the window.

Lies, his shadows hissed in his ears. And indeed, if she had no hope that Nesta was ever going to show up, she would not still be watching the twilight city with longing in her eyes.

But then Feyre lifted her glass and toasted the room. “To family old and new. Let the Solstice festivities begin.”

Elain turned at that, not moving from her seat but smiling—a smile which did not quite meet her eyes—as the others drank to that.

Azriel gave her a knowing smile, and he could swear she blushed a bit. But it could have just been a trick of the light.

Throughout the evening, he could tell she was enjoying the company of the others, but he kept coming back to the fact that she was not leaving her post, even for offers of drinks or invitations to sit with them all. She was simply waiting.

As if, if Elain wanted Nesta to join them badly enough, the eldest Archeron sister would sense it and come barreling down the street in a merry mood.

But unfortunately, that was never the case, and though he attempted to engage Elain throughout the evening, she never gave in.

Chapter Text

Az rose early the next morning, slipping downstairs and helping himself to the untouched breakfast spread which the twins had already laid out. Not exactly surprising that he was the first to rise.

As usual, most of their family had partaken of a bit too much in the wine last night, and with his constitution, Az found that with his constitution, he usually recovered the quickest—especially when he’d tried to pace himself last night.

He had been concerned about Elain, the way she was barely saying two words to him, the longing he’d seen pooling in her eyes as she kept them mostly fixed on the powdery streets, praying for a glimpse of her elder sister.

The others, though, would likely be bedridden at least until the sun was high in its ascent over the glimmering snowy peaks of the mountains.

As Azriel was finishing his slice of quiche, washing it down with a gulp of tea, he heard her. Of course she would be awake already, the only truly sober one at the gathering.

Her brilliant laugh was chiming out of the kitchen, echoing down the hallway in his direction like a chorus of temple bells. Here she was seeming happy and unreserved with the twins.

He didn’t begrudge her this moment of joy, but he had barely seen this side of Elain at all, and he couldn’t help but feel like he might have missed out on something precious these past few months while he traveled—if the sinking feeling in his gut was any indication.

She hadn’t been nearly as jovial around him since his return, perhaps a bit shaken by his appearance the other night, but never so unabashedly happy in his presence.

Maybe he should have reached out to her more. He hadn’t been able to help the fact that he was rarely ever allowed an evening to crash in his own apartment, but they could have kept in touch.

But she hadn’t sent for him either. Maybe their little conversation the other night had been a fluke. She just hadn’t been able to shut him out when she’d been so shocked at his arrival.

And she didn’t want to rebuke him in front of all the others—even if the shadows were unintelligible to them.

That must’ve been it.

Az had fiddled with the gift he’d purchased for her for quite awhile last night after Cassian had gone to sleep.

He’d wrapped it days ago, yet he still hadn’t given it to Rhys to store for him yet. He wasn’t sure Elain even wanted a gift from him, or if she would go about picking something out for Azriel.

Better safe than sorry. He resolved to simply hide it on his person throughout the evening, yet he couldn’t help the nagging feeling that maybe he should just give it to her, regardless of whether or not she reciprocated. But if it embarrassed her, and made her less inclined to let him back in …

No, best just to play it safe. Nuala and Cerridwen had scolded him when he suddenly showed an interest in whether or not Elain was planning anything, saying that he couldn’t have it both ways.

Either he respected her privacy or her didn’t. And if he was to violate it, he’d have to engage his shadows—they were having no part in her betrayal.

He sighed. They were right. He just wished he knew what had transpired while he was out on his missions, wished he could get her to tell him, could ask her certain questions without being too forward.

Azriel didn’t bother leaving his seat before he slipped into his own shadows and reappeared in the training ring above the House of Wind.

Letting the icy wind whip at him, he pulled out a handful of training dummies, positioning them strategically around the mountaintop.

Settling back to one corner, he threw a shield over his hands to keep out the chill and picked up a handful of snow. He worked it in his palms until he had exactly what he wanted, a perfect little sphere of snow.

Reaching his arm back, Azriel launched it through the air until it collided in a powdery explosion with the nearest training dummy. Not a perfect shot—it hit lower on the torso than he was aiming for—but Cauldron, it had been decades since he’d done this. And months since he’d briefly visited Winter.

He tried not to let the reason why rush over him, or to reminisce on the fact that they could have last year but let the tradition fall by the wayside, and hurriedly busied himself with creating a cache of snowballs, gradually increasing in creation speed and quality as he found a familiar rhythm again.

When he’d created a heaping pile in the snow next to himself, he began his assault on the training dummies in earnest, pelting them with a barrage of fluffy, pearly projectiles until half of his stash was depleted.

Now for the hard part …

He knelt on the ground and practiced aiming from a crouching position, as if under cover. Now more of his shots went wide than he would have liked, but it was only to be expected. During the frenzy of battle, his accuracy would surely be even worse.

He felt shadows tugging on his consciousness, but he ignored their incessance as he didn’t want to lose focus while firing this round of snowballs. He could listen to their whispers when he wasn’t on a roll anymore.

One. Two. Three. All striking home before he picked up a fourth and lurched at the hand which was placed on his shoulder.

“Shit!”

“You know, some would call this cheating,” Cassian drawled from behind him.

Just one more reason for his shadows to taunt Az later. If he had let them in, he wouldn’t have gotten blindsided by Cassian’s presence.

“As if you’ve never been guilty of warming up in the past,” Azriel shot back, not bothering to hide his annoyance, the mask which was set to hide his embarrassment at being caught off guard cracking.

He had been certain that the others would sleep far later than this, and quite frankly, he had hoped to hide this little practice session from them. “I haven’t thrown a snowball in …”

“Fifty years. I know. Me neither.”

They both stood there stunned into silence for a minute before Cassian broke the ice.

Grabbing a snowball from what little Az had remaining, he hefted it, tossing it in the air a few times before chucking it straight at one of the dummies. A perfect hit.

Az gaped at him a bit, as Cassian cocked his head as his brother and grinned. “You’re not the only one who’s been at it in secret. Now let’s make little Rhysie rue the day he was born.”

The High Lord has risen, the shadow Azriel had sent to alert him when Rhys was ready for them to abduct him, to steal him away for their tradition, whispered in his ear.

One way or another, they were going to haul him up to that cabin for a bit of normalcy.

And he’s … decent?

Yes. He and the High Lady are enjoying their breakfast in the dining room.

A sharp relief washed over Az. He could never be too careful when it came to Rhys and his taste for his mate. It was Feyre’s birthday after all, but it seemed like his brother was saving the festivities for later.

He quickly banished the thought from his mind, motioning that Cassian join him before Az slipped them into the shadows and into the townhouse foyer.

Cassian held a finger daintily to his lips, signalling that they attempt to ambush Rhys, as Az just rolled his eyes.

Azriel was not the one who needed to worry about making a cacophony of noise in the ten feet it would take them to reach the archway.

It was Cassian who sometimes lumbered across the hardwoods as if he forgot how muscular and heavy he was. If Az truly wanted to sneak up on his brother and abscond with him, he could have easily used the shadows to do his bidding.

They padded over to the open doorway in unison, before counting off silently and rushing through it over to where Rhys was seated.

Rhys startled, the tea kettle flying from his hands at the jump he let out before recognizing who exactly was lumbering for him menacingly as he attempted to dine peacefully.

But the prick was dressed head-to-toe in fighting leathers so it was obvious that he had been planning on upholding their tradition anyways.

A smooth wave of darkest night lowered the rogue teapot back down to the safety of the table just as Az and Cassian each took him by an arm, and hauled him toward the entryway.

“Please bring him back in one piece,” was all Feyre asked of them as she continued to nibble on her pastry, the initial shock at their appearance having waned.

Cassian’s eyes flashed brilliantly—more vividly and wickedly than Az had seen in months—as he promised their sister, “We’ll take good care of him.”

Az could feel his own cheeks aching at the splitting grin he was wearing as well.

Normal. This was the first time in decades where everything had just felt … at ease between them. Just like old times.

“If he can keep up,” he added to Feyre’s raised brow. But he didn’t have much longer to explain as they’d already made it to the threshold of the house, Rhys in tow.

“Tradition,” Rhys managed to get out. Only the one word before he finally just winnowed them all the way up to the mountain.

“I haven’t told her a thing about … this,” Rhys chuckled as he was set into the thick powder coating the field adjacent to the cabin. “I’m surprised she’s not flooding my mind with questions, so I might get away with ditching her on her birthday.”

He ran a hand through his jet-black hair.

“Oh please,” Cassian grinned. “If she’s really on edge about it, she can pummel me when we home. But she probably was secretly hoping we would all forget about it anyways. As if we could! Birthdays are meant to be a grand occasion!”

“We all know you think that. But not all of us have wanted a parade to twist through the streets of Velaris in our honor.”

“That was one time! And I was wasted! You can’t blame me for the suggestion!” Cassian huffed. “There will be cake though, won’t there?”

“Of course,” Rhys laughed. “She’s not getting off so easily. Elain and the twins will be working on it this morning. It was Elain’s idea actually, and I think she was excited for the opportunity to design it.”

“Oh?” Az found himself asking involuntarily.

She had started to show an interest in baking during the war, but he hadn’t seen it really go anywhere. Their world had gone to shit too quickly, just as she was beginning to awaken and experience the world anew.

“Especially now that the garden is covered for the weather, she’s been spending a good majority of her free time in the kitchens under the guidance of the twins. That meal you ate the other night was probably just as much her handiwork as theirs,” Rhys commented casually. “But surely you knew that?”

“We haven’t really spoken in ages,” Az admitted, somberly.

“And your shadows … ?” Cassian asked hesitantly.

“You know I don’t voluntarily keep tabs on your lives any more than necessary. Why would she be any different?”

He wished he had though. Finding out about her life second-hand from his brothers was excruciating. Even if respecting her privacy was a no-brainer.

Rhys and Cass locked eyes knowingly for a moment, which irked Az to no end. There was no secret here for them to suss out of him. They were friends. Friends traveling down a jagged, craggy path right now, but just friends. And that was enough.

Lies.

He banished the unwanted shadow.

Before he could spiral further into whatever was making him think about the delicate female at all hours of the day, Az coaxed his shadows down to the slush around his feet, commanding them to start rolling.

Rhys and Cassian’s eyes went wide.

“New trick?” Cass asked, not bothering to mask his shock and the tang of jealousy at the specialized skill he was just now learning his brother possessed.

Shit. Az had hidden this talent for centuries—not that it was particularly useful when one of the rules was “no magic”. But in this act of desperation, to bring a halt to the conversation, he’d slipped.

He hefted a snowball, tossing it between his two shielded palms a handful of times. “Not quite,” he smirked, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he drew first blood—five points—on Rhys, who was now silently sending tendrils of night into the powder beneath his feet, working out how to control them correctly to produce the same result.

“No cheating,” Az yelled back at him as he pelted Rhys until he retreated.

“But you—”

“Have used no magic since the beginning of the battle,” Az shot back, grinning.

“A technicality,” Rhys growled as his wings suddenly disappeared from sight.

“Hey, no fair!” Cassian grumbled as Az felt something spine-tingling and freezing land on the back of his neck, the force and surprise of the blow, causing him to stumble a couple of steps.

“It’s fine Cass. Wings are only worth one point anyways. We don’t need the pity points like Rhysie over there does, right?” He whirled and launched another at Cassian, who’d snuck up behind him, clocking him square in the chest.

“Fine, you insufferable bastards, but I get a five minute head start with full immunity if you two are going to pull this shit.”

“Ah. You’re already succumbing to the temperature. I can’t believe I’ve had to wait fifty whole years to hear you complaining like a whelp again, Cassian. Good to know the cold still puts you on edge,” Rhys chuckled.

“I’ve had enough of it to last me a lifetime,” Cassian grumbled, though half heartedly as he was already low to the ground, compacting large blocks of snow to build his own fort, taking this self-declared immunity to heart apparently.

He had already whipped out a pair of gloves to replace the shields around himself which he was forced to dispel at the beginning of the battle.

None of it bothered Az. He easily had a leg up on Rhys one-on-one, and he could slowly build up his own walls while assaulting Rhys in the meantime. Cassian was wasting his immunity purely on defense. The fool.

Thirty minutes in, it was an already all out bloodbath. Their walls had all made it about to their midsections, suffering from the chaos of trying to construct them in the heat of battle. But that was all part of the fun.

They’d found, through trial and error, that being able to fully premeditate their defenses made the thrill of battle less interesting in the years where they’d allowed it, so it had been banned for at least a good century.

An hour after Az had opened fire and they were fully at war, each of them having fully fortified their forts. Now it was simply a matter of how accurately they could lob their projectiles up and over. And hopefully catch the others off guard.

Az crouched beneath the slightly curved lips overhead which afforded him a bit of protection, the chill from the wall he was pressed up against biting through his wings though as a snowball whizzed into his stronghold. Another few inches and it likely would’ve collided into his shoulder.

The High Lady and the golden one are here, a shadow whispered in his ear.

The first he’d heard throughout the melee as he’d specifically had to instruct them not to play spy on his brothers. He wouldn’t be accused of cheating. Not when he was so close to this major milestone. Only one more year if he played his cards right …

Cassian let out a howl which had nothing to do with the appearance of the two females. “You bastard!” he hollered at Rhys. That one must’ve been straight to a wing then as Rhys cackled from across the field.

Azriel used the moment to fire snowballs of his own from both hands up into the air in Rhys’s direction.

“Asshole,” Rhys cursed, miserably as Az took a moment to tally his points.

“You two just going to keep bellyaching or am I finally going to get some real competition?”

He ducked back under the lip of his fortress, trying not to double over in laughter as he was almost immediately pelted from both sides.

Only one projectile managed to clip his leg. He hissed at the hit, but he was still significantly ahead, according to his calculations.

The shadows would confirm the scores of all three at the end of the match.

Another hour later, and he finally received the signal that time was up.

All finished. You can emerge now, shadowsinger.

He rubbed his soaking, bright pink fingers together, trying to find some semblance of warmth as the adrenaline began to wear off and he could feel the icy wind nipping at his rosy cheeks again.

Though he appreciated his body’s ability to go into some sort of frenzy during the heat of battle, it was always a bit disorienting to have to come back to reality.

He flew up and out of the safety of his barrier, hoping the swift movement would get his blood pumping more vigorously. And maybe even dry him off. Though that was a bit of a stretch.

As he waited for his brothers to arrive on foot, he shook out his hands, trying to break the permafrost on them, jumping from side to side.

“Come on!” he shouted.

“Cauldron, you’re behaving worse than Cassian right now,” Rhys drawled as he approached. “Which is impressive because he must be frozen solid with how slowly his legs are moving.”

Cassian ignored Rhys as he swept up to them and they all shook hands. The traditional way they ended their battle, before the score had been announced and while niceties could still be shared.

The shadowsinger is the winner with five hundred and thirty-two points, his shadows hissed blessedly in his ear.

Only one win away from two hundred victories.

He smirked at his brothers as they both reluctantly clapped him on the back before breaking out into grins as all three of them raced back toward the cabin.

Following Rhys’s lead, they went through the front door, even though their aim was to end up out back in the birchin.

Az couldn’t help himself from grinning goofily as they trekked slush in through the entryway, and he could see a similar smile breaking onto Cassian’s splotchy face.

Throughout everything which had happened to them since their last snowball fight, things finally felt like they were steadying again.

Their personal problems all seemed to momentarily vanish, and they felt like a unit again. No female problems, no haunting memories, just their brotherhood shining through today. Cauldron, if only it could stay like this forever.

“So?” Mor was snuggled next to Feyre under a plush blanket on the couch. The two each had a wine glass in hand, and judging by the rosiness of their cheeks, they were having a splendid afternoon.

“Az won,” Cassian grunted, crossing his arms over his chest but still failing to look even the least bit like he was upset about the loss.

“How many is that now, Az?” Mor pressed him.

“One hundred and ninety-nine,” he beamed. “And you know what that means?”

“That you practically have more victories than both Rhys and Cassian combined?” Feyre’s brows raised, not quite in surprise, but more as if she was deeply impressed.

“Well, that’s true, but next year, these two are going to have to take me out for drinks to celebrate my momentous milestone in this domination I have over them.”

“He’s really subtle about the gloating, as you can plainly tell,” Rhys muttered before he went over and planted a soaking kiss into Feyre’s hair.

It’s the one thing in my life I actually can gloat about without feeling guilty about it, Az wanted to chime in, but he held his tongue.

“Well, we’re off to take a steam,” Rhys added jovially, before walking back to his brothers and, in an unnecessary display of power, winnowing them approximately twenty feet over, into the birchin.

“We have legs you know?” Cassian joked, as he began stripping off his leathers.

“I needed to get out of there before my mate distracted me any further,” Rhys admitted, having simply willed his own clothing off. “As much as I needed this steam, I was almost unable to resist just whisking her off that couch and taking her back home.”

Cassian let out some grossly over-exaggerated gagging noises. “Can you not? It’s bad enough that you two are throwing puppy eyes at each other in every damn meeting we have. You at least don’t have to bring your sex life all the time too.”

“He’s not wrong,” Az muttered in agreement, fully unclothed now and taking up a relaxing seat on the wall farthest from the door.

Already the steam was beginning to permeate his skin, his fingers feeling as if they were on fire from the sudden, drastic change in temperature. But once he got beyond that, the frozen fibers of his muscles gradually began to relax as he thawed.

“I’m still newly mated! I’d like to see you two try to control these urges better,” Rhys shot back, and both their eyes flew to Cassian for a split second before darting away.

“How long are you going to use that excuse?” Cassian chuckled as Rhys threw a towel at him.

“Fine. How are your love lives going then? If I have to ‘disgust’ you it’s only fair I get to hear your tales too.”

“I’m getting around just fine,” Cassian retorted, eyes closed and head now leaning back against the wall.

Liar. Az laughed to himself, shaking his head in disbelief, but he didn’t go so far as to answer Rhys’s question.

He hadn’t sought anyone out in months. He had always fucked for pleasure without any sort of relationship attached, but even this he had denied himself since … Sometime before the madness of the war had overtaken his life.

“Az’s lover is practically attached to him. At the wrist,” Cassian laughed, Rhys chuckling at the innuendo.

Just because it was true …

“Dammit, I’ve missed you two,” Azriel couldn’t help himself as he joined in.

“Same,” Rhys and Cassian replied in unison.

“Are you going to come visit me in Illyria soon?” Cass probed.

Rhys shot Az a not-so-subtle glance, reminding him not to spill his insight to Cassian.

“I suppose if I have to. Things elsewhere might be quieting down a bit. Or at least enough that I can offload the work to others. But you’ll have to give me awhile. I’ve barely seen my own bed in months, and the thought of spending my precious free time in Illyria,” he gave and exaggerated shudder, “gives me the chills.”

“It’s not that bad,” Cassian tried to soothe his anxieties.

“I’m still not sure how you can be so nonchalant about how ass backwards they all are.” The subject was starting to irk Az down to his core. He didn’t simply dislike Illyria. He despised it.

“That’s what I’m trying to fix, and once you get past the few blatantly horrendous things they—What the fuck?!” Cassian practically jumped out of his seat as he opened his eyes and glared at Rhys.

“What—Oh,” Az gasped.

For there, sitting before them, was Rhys in all his glory, with a gods-damned erection in the middle of their relaxing, holiday tradition.

“So not okay,” Cassian yelled as he shot Az a look, who simply nodded back, agreeing that they were indeed on the same page.

“Come on, you two. It’s just a little—”

But Az and Cassian had already hoisted Rhys by the shoulders and tossed him out into the snow.

Their brother let out a yelp like a whelp going through puberty and then began pounding on the door, but Cassian and Azriel had already thrown all their weight against it, standing side-by-side afraid they were going to topple over from laughter at their brother.

Feyre surely would be the death of him.

It looked like it was shaping up to be quite an interesting Solstice after all.

Chapter Text

Elain awoke early the next morning, barely finding herself able to sleep with her anxiety over whether Nesta would decide to show up tonight.

Nesta had rarely been present these past few months, but Elain had hoped that surely she would want to spend the holiday with them.

Apparently not, if last night were any indication.

When the sun began its ascent over the city, and Elain could no longer pretend that she might manage to be reunited with slumber once more, she stumbled out of bed, donning a simple dusty-pink gown, braiding her hair back, and making for the kitchens.

She needed something to keep her hands and her mind busy, lest she spend another whole day agonizing over the fact that her elder sister—previously her closest confidant, who had always taken care of her—truly might break the backbone of her family.

Nuala was already deep into sculpting small, tiered cakes, her ebony skin coated in flour and stray spots of frosting as the wraith leaned over a pastry, piping designs onto its iced surface.

Cerridwen seemed to be sweetening fruit for pie filling across the room, a handful of already-baked pie shells sitting in front of her, awaiting their completion.

What was missing here?

Cookies, Elain immediately thought.

Holidays had been forbidden in the mortal lands when she was growing up, but their mother had always ordered them the celebratory sweets on their birthdays.

Elain went into autopilot, hunting down the cookie cutters she had noticed in her many forays through the kitchens, tucked away in a corner because they didn’t seem to get much use.

There wasn’t really much to choose from—and certainly nothing which screamed “Winter Solstice” to her. She’d have to search for one in the craft baking shops downtown after today. Perhaps she could find a lovely snowflake to use for next year.

Options limited, she grabbed a heart-shaped mold from the drawer, and got to work mixing up the batter for the simple butter cookies which would flatten quite nicely and be perfect for icing.

At least then she could make festive patterns on them with icing, no matter the shape.

Hours later, Elain had iced a few dozen cookies, attempting to add snowy designs to them. She was no artist, like Feyre, but she ended up rather pleased with how they turned out nonetheless.

She had already laid the cookies on the table in the dining room for everyone to enjoy, when she was hefting a heavy tray full of succulent jam tarts which she’d assisted Nuala with out for display and ran into Feyre along the way.

“Those look pretty,” her sister offered, inclining her head towards the tray in her hands.

“They taste as good as they look,” Elain smiled as she set the tray on the table and handed one to Feyre.

She couldn’t help beaming with pride at the noise of sheer pleasure which escaped Feyre’s lips as she bit into the tart.

Elain got busy, arranging the sweets artfully on the platters, mixing and matching them to make visually pleasing designs.

It felt so good to have her efforts actually appreciated. Sometimes, it still felt like she slipped through the cracks a bit, but she had noticed the others making more of an effort with her lately.

Even if she was frustrated as hell that Az had disappeared off the face of the planet for months and now seemed to be trying to suddenly make that effort with her again. As if his lack of communication with her could simply be forgotten. She’d missed him, dammit, and she still felt as if maybe he didn’t miss her as much.

She had purchased him a gift for Solstice, but honestly, despite his sudden reappearance in her life, had he even bothered to get her one in return?

She’d only contemplated the idea after she’d given it to Rhys to keep hidden, and there was no way she was going to be able to take it back without explaining why she was so nervous about him not reciprocating.

“How long have you been working on this?” Feyre asked, having swallowed another bite of the tart and shaking Elain from her thoughts.

She shrugged awkwardly. “Since dawn. Nuala and Cerridwen were up hours earlier.”

She felt it was important to give the twins their due credit because, though she had assisted in the pastry preparations, they were the true masterminds behind the spread now sprawling before them.

Feyre didn’t really acknowledge her statement but simply finished off her first tart before reaching for another.

Finally, Elain couldn’t take not knowing anymore. She’d been out of the kitchens, freed from her distractions for a few minutes now, and already thoughts about Nesta were flooding her again and threatening to overwhelm her.

“Have you had any word from her?”

Feyre didn’t have a chance to give her an answer before a firm knock sounded against the front door.

Nesta! She was here! Nobody else would feel the need to knock before entering this house. They were all staying here anyways.

For this, for choosing to spend the day with her, Elain could forgive her behavior these past few months. Everything would be back as it should be.

Elain flew towards the door, not caring if Feyre managed to keep up with her as she hurried to fling aside the glass door, followed by her hands deftly unlatching the sturdy, oaken front door.

Shit. Elain took an involuntary step backwards as she beheld Lucien—not Nesta—on the porch in front of her. Her hand ricocheted back, as if the door handle was a brand.

No. This was not supposed to be how this day went. She did not want to see him—not even as he gave them a tight, awkward smile, and wished them, “Happy Solstice.”

“Come on in.” Feyre stepped in front of Elain, taking the lead, knowing that Elain was at a loss for words. It wasn’t as if she was going to even attempt to mask the disappointment on her face.

She guided him into the sitting room, and not knowing what to do with herself, afraid of offending either her sister or her guest, Elain followed, quiet and morose as a wraith.

She took a seat on the couch, close enough to not seem rude but far enough away to maintain some breathing room between herself and the two others, now perched in the armchairs.

“You look well,” Feyre offered to Elain’s mate.

“You as well.” He cast his fire-illuminated gaze upon Elain from a split second before returning to focusing on warming his hands in said fire. “Both of you.”

Elain couldn’t really form the words, but she bowed her head, ever so slightly in a motion of gratitude for the compliment.

She could see Nuala and Cerridwen slipping through the walls with their abilities and cursed herself. She desperately wished she could just slip into the shadows and fade out of this very room as well, but her Siphon was collecting dust up in her bedroom, the freedom afforded to her by the shadows temporarily out of her grasp.

But wielding it would bring another unwanted complication into her life anyways, she reminded herself. Best to just grin and bear it.

“You brought presents.” Feyre seemed to feel like it was her duty to bridge the silence weighing heavily in the room as she nodded toward the handful of boxes now stacked near the window at the front of the room.

“It’s Solstice tradition here, isn’t it?”

“You’re welcome to stay for the night,” Feyre offered.

But where would he sleep? Elain wondered. The only remaining bedroom left was Nesta’s, which even Feyre certainly wouldn’t give away.

Her stomach flipped at the thought that she may be asked to host him, ridiculous as the fear was, so he wouldn’t have to spend the night on the small, living room couch.

Lucien placed his hands firmly in his lap as he leaned back and drawled, “Thank you, but I have other plans.”

Thank the Cauldron.

Elain was beside herself with relief. It was already terrible enough that Nesta might decline to attend the festivities, but surely Feyre would have attempted to force the two into small talk throughout the evening if Lucien was present.

“Where are you going?” Feyre kept the conversation sputtering onward, and Elain was thankful for any second of it which might divert the attention she knew was still focused on her, try though he might to not look at her directly.

Hidden deep within her was the faintest twinge of awareness of him. It was so weak, she could barely discern it, but with him so close, she knew her body was reacting to his proximity, his moods.

And it terrified her that the same might be mirrored on the other side of the room.

“I …” Lucien was struggling to find words, perhaps out of reaction to her relief. “I’ve been at the Spring Court every now and then. But if I’m not here in Velaris, I’ve mostly been staying with Jurian. And Vassa.”

Interesting. What Elain wouldn’t give right now for the brilliant female to distract Lucien from this bond between them. With the flaming, red hair, Vassa certainly looked more suited for Lucien than Elain was at least. Was there any hope that something romantic would blossom between the two of them?

“Really? Where?” Feyre shot up straight in her seat, eager to learn of this new gossip she hadn’t been privy to.

“There’s an old manor house in the southeast, in the humans’ territory. Jurian and Vassa were … gifted with it.”

By who? Elain was curious as to how the balance of power was adjusting in her old home, but not curious enough to speak up and give him an excuse to focus on her.

“Rhys mentioned that they were still in Prythian,” Feyre mused. “I didn’t realize it was such a permanent base.”

“For now. While things are sorted out.”

While the humans learned how to live with Fae. While Vassa was still able to escape her captor. Elain had heard that the reprieve was temporary and that the woman was still due back in at that lake whenever her master remembered to come looking for her.

“How are they—Jurian and Vassa?” Feyre pressed.

“Jurian …” Lucien’s eyes hovered on the ceiling as he contemplated how to respond, a breath escaping his lips. “Thank the Cauldron for him. I never thought I’d say that, but it’s true.”

Elain didn’t fail to notice how he ran his hand through his silken locks before continuing. “He’s keeping everything running. I think he’d have been crowned king by now if it wasn’t for Vassa.” A faint spark gleamed in his one good eye. “She’s doing well enough. Savoring every second of her temporary freedom.”

“She and Jurian are getting along?”

Lucien took a moment to consider before answering. “Vassa and Jurian are two sides of the same coin. Mercifully, their vision for the future of the human territories is mostly aligned. But the methods on how to attain that …” This caused Lucien to look directly at Elain and frown. “This isn’t very Solstice-like talk.”

Oh, so he still thought to coddle her, to shield her from the worse realities of her world, as if she were still a child.

Here she was, staying in this room so as not to offend him, but he wouldn’t even treat her as an equal, worthy of having this knowledge. So why was she even still here?

Elain jumped to her feet, murmuring the first excuse which came to her head, “I should get refreshments.”

She inwardly cursed herself. Even this was more courtesy than he deserved, but she couldn’t seem to let go of that part of her which needed these petty formalities.

She rushed out of the room, fully tuning out whatever it was Lucien was trying to say to get her to remain. She didn’t fucking care.

By the time Elain made it to the kitchens, well out of earshot of the sitting room, she could feel tears stinging the corner of her eyes, her throat tightening as she fought to keep her composure.

Big breath in. Big breath out.

She didn’t even care that he was her mate, so why did him treating her so fragilely wound her in the first place?

Cerridwen approached Elain and gave her a knowing hug, not exchanging any words. But the physical comfort was enough. Enough for her to even overcome the fact that her eyes were probably blotchy and swollen at this point.

With a few last gasping breaths, she steadied herself, content to have her friend hold her for a few moments longer.

He wonders how you’ve been. How you’re getting over the mortal, a shadow hissed in her ear.

It was none of his gods-damned business. Elain felt herself fuming. Was this what defined her to everyone?

How was Elain dealing with having her heart broken? Who would she choose next? She must always be attached to some male or else it was something to gossip about.

She’d had enough of going to balls alone during the social season to be familiar with the feeling of her ears burning from all the off-handed comments made behind her back.

And it seems that even hundreds of miles away, with her family no less, nothing had changed.

They’ve had a bit of a spat. The eyeless one has left and the High Lady approaches.

Just what she needed. Elain rolled her eyes, breaking the embrace with Cerridwen and asking timidly for a moment of privacy with her sister.

Her friend meekly nodded her head, letting Elain know to call if she needed the twins, and stepped through the wall into the next room.

Elain walked over to where a kettle sat idly next to the sink, filled it, and threw it on the stove. Let it appear that she had meant to prepare them all tea. Just like at that petty ambush Feyre had arranged for her all those months ago. 

And then, she just stared at it, trying to leash the anger, both at her sister and her mate for all they had put her through.

She faintly heard Feyre’s footsteps as her sister plodded into the kitchen. What she hoped to accomplish from seeking out Elain after that disaster, she didn’t know.

“He’s not staying for tea.” Feyre broke the silence which had been wafting over Elain like the steam from the kettle in front of her.

With no need to keep up the pretense any longer, Elain detachedly grabbed the kettle off the stove, her movements seemingly calm to mask the lightning storm brewing within her.

“You couldn’t say a single word to him? A pleasant greeting?” her sister continued.

Elain’s eyes only followed the kettle as it arced toward the counter, landing with a tinny clunk of metal on stone, when she let it down perhaps a bit too roughly.

“He brought you a present.”

Obviously. Elain wasn’t blind.

Somehow, Lucien’s sudden appearance had negated all the progress she and Feyre had made these past few months. As if her sister thought her somehow broken for not instantly jumping at the chance to be owned by these primal instincts. As if Elain choosing to create the space in which she could find herself was blasphemy.

Ever so slowly, she turned on her feet, until she had her back to the counter, eyes stabbing pointedly into her sister. Let Feyre see the lucidity in them, the crystal clear depths they held.

Elain was far from broken, far from mad. She was just … Elain. And day by day, she was finally beginning to figure out what that meant again.

“And that entitles him to my time, my affections?” she bit back.

It was petty, but so was expecting Lucien to be able to shower her with presents and win her over. Elain had no use for endless amounts of worldly possessions.

If that was what it was supposed to take to win a female’s heart, perhaps she should be swooning over Rhysand instead for providing the roof over her head, her salary which she did not truly earn, and everything else she owned in this new life.

“No.” Feyre blinked, taken aback. “But he is a good male. He cares for you.”

How could he care for Elain if they’d rarely even spoken?

“He doesn’t know me.”

“You don’t give him the chance to even try to do so.”

And why should she? She owed nothing to the male who had laid his claim over her in Hybern, on the worst day of her life, the male who bided his time instead of coming for her in her hour of need, the male who everyone magically expected to fix all of her “problems.”

She was sick of this territorial Fae bullshit, wishing for the first time in many, healing weeks that she had never come to know this life. It had taken her a tremendous amount of effort to get to that point, and this one ambush had her sliding back down in an avalanche of emotions, as she desperately tried to keep her footing.

She felt her mouth tightening against her will, the maelstrom inside her fighting for purchase on her face.

“I don’t want a mate. I don’t want a male.” They caused nothing but trouble in her life. Human men may not have been any better in her eyes right now, but she wanted this to sting. She wanted to remind Feyre of all she had lost, because of her choices. She wanted her sister to feel just how out of line this particular vein of questioning was.

Feyre huffed out a steadying breath. “I know you don’t. But …”

Elain could see the wheels turning in her head, as Feyre tried to backpedal, tried to find purchase once more in this conversation.

“He is a good male, And it … it just …” Feyre had a pained expression on her face. “I don’t like to see either of you unhappy.”

Elain stared at the counter for a moment, letting the remaining pastries in progress, which the twins had quickly abandoned to give her privacy, draw her attention.

I’m not sad, she wanted to scream, daring anyone to challenge her, but … it wasn’t even close to true. This facade she was putting on had been helping her cope with her fate, had helped her bond with the friends who were gradually helping her piece her soul back together.

But there were only so many plugs she could jam into the mess of holes littering her inside.

A hole for that human girl whose heart had plummeted to a halt as she fought the undertow. The girl who was now living as an anomaly, straddling the line between both her worlds but completely lost for direction.

A hole for her ex-lover and the jagged, grating feeling he left behind which had her questioning if anyone could ever truly love her. How could they when she was damaged goods?

A hole for her father who had been ripped from her grasp right when she was on the cusp of getting him back. He had loved her so thoroughly, but she had been unable to repay the favor by saving his life.

A square hole for the round peg of her mate which was constantly being violated as if by a precocious youngling who hadn’t learned better. Every time it was tested, it grew more and more raw from the violations of her boundaries.

A hole for the best friend she’d made so swiftly but estranged all the same. She still found herself wondering what she had done wrong to make him forget her existence. She still found herself wondering if she shouldn’t have fought for his attention. She realized that, though a chasm was widening between them, when the silence had been broken the other night, she was breathing more easily than she had in weeks.

A hole for the sister and protector who suddenly just … wasn’t anymore.

A hole which was gradually on its way to being filled for the sister and provider who was trying her hardest but still failing to fully understand and comfort Elain in her time of need. The effort was appreciated, but the need to be seen for everything she was was still lacking.

Where did that leave Elain?

“I know you don’t,” she admitted solemnly, eyes never breaking out of her daze.

Feyre took it as enough of a dismissal that she only lightly brushed her hand against Elain’s shoulder before striding out of the room and leaving Elain to her own devices.

The tempest which had been eating away at her insides weakened into a simple rainstorm, her cheeks the plains which flooded as the clouds burst, and the storm front moved, out of the publicity of the kitchens and into the privacy of her bedroom.

Where she could waste the majority of this supposedly joyous holiday wondering at those wounds plaguing her.

And the words her sister had spoken about both Elain and her mate being unhappy. Was this anguish what he was feeling too? Was there the tiniest spark of similarity between them, if only in their misery?

She felt a tiny window in her heart crack open to let a breeze of empathy for him pour in, but the one she flung wide open was the window which would allow the storm winds in to sweep away all the turmoil within herself, to attempt to wipe her own slate clean.

Chapter Text

Elain tiptoed out of the kitchens, removing her apron and lifting the hem of her amethyst gown so as not to trip on the cascading layers of tulle.

Nuala had come up and sat with her, rubbing soothing circles along her back until the sobbing had ceased, until she was left bitter and raw, grated down to the core but … better than she had been after seeing Lucien this afternoon.

Her friend had then helped her slip into the gown she’d been saving specifically for the occasion—it was a cool purple, perfect to celebrate winter despite the deluge of embroidered flowers throughout the dress—and then created soft, loose curls in her hair, which now draped down the length of her back.

With the cold compresses the wraith had given her for her eyes and the smudged kohl on her lashes wiped away and painted anew, she knew nobody could tell that she had spent the afternoon feeling utterly alone for the first time in months.

But somehow she felt like they would be able to see through her pleasant, content facade tonight, that her turmoil had branded her forehead, saying, 'Look at this complete and total mess of a person.’

She took up a place near the window, along the periphery of the merriment, as she silently stood in the shadows, watching as Cassian teased Mor and how Rhys was deep in some sort of conversation with Azriel which she couldn’t quite make out. Amren and Varian were nestled into each other on the couch, for all the world pretending that they were alone back in her apartment, as far as mingling with the others was concerned.

It was only when Feyre, the glue which held this ragtag little family together, came sweeping down the steps, in a gown which appeared to be fashioned from starlight, that everyone began to come together.

Mor made her way around the room, handing out glasses of wine, which Elain would have declined if it hadn’t been the fact that there was to be a toast, and then the room fell silent, all eyes locking on Rhys.

He stood in front of the night-black marble mantle, looking resplendent in his suit, as Feyre approached his side.

Elain readied herself for a barrage of formalities, but the High Lord—her brother—only raised his glass and said, “To the blessed darkness from which we are born, and to which we return,” before the others also raised their glasses.

She hurried to follow suit, and then drank heartily as the toasting ritual completed.

When it became clear that the structured part of the evening was over and she was free to return to her sulking, she returned her gaze to the window.

The longest night of the year had already fallen upon the shimmering streets of Velaris.

She huffed a sigh, as she cursed the fact that she was spending this sacred night in such dour spirits, silently praying for her luck to turn around. That her estranged sister would show up. That she could just somehow forget all that had occurred in this very room earlier today.

A cool breeze brushed up against the small of her back, the familiar tickle of shadows breaking from the orbit of their master in order to play with her instead. Which meant—

“Happy Solstice,” Az murmured, sounding as if he were only a few steps behind her. The tenderness, the hesitancy in his voice betraying that he was as nervous about whatever had wedged its way between them as she was.

You look radiant tonight.

All those pent up words which Elain had repeated to herself over and over again, alone in the privacy of her chambers vanished from her head. They weren’t important right now. At least not when this was supposed to be a happy occasion, and despite their lack of communication these past few months, her best friend was trying to make peace with her again.

She pivoted, her gaze rotating from the captivating snow juxtaposed against the bitter night until she saw him—in a navy suit which must have been made for him with the way it caressed his muscles ever so perfectly.

For the gift he was giving her, she gave him a fraction of a smile, before replying, You look rather handsome yourself.

Indeed, it was difficult not to stare at the attire—so in contrast with his usual leathers—the only similarities the Siphons which never left his hands and the cloak of shadows which would hound him always.

Realizing that more than one other pair of eyes had landed on them now, she added aloud, “I’ve never participated in one of these.”

Rhys caught her eyes then, and Elain gave him an almost imperceptible nod of the head. Feyre’s attention was fully fixed on them, her sister halfway across the room, as if she had been heading to Elain’s side as well, but Azriel had beaten her to it.

The High Lord of the Night Court gave her a wink before vanishing from the room.

It was Amren who pitched in from the other side of the room, “They’re highly overrated.”

Mor’s lips tilted into a knowing smile. “Says the female who makes out like a bandit every year. I don’t know how you don’t get robbed going home with so much jewelry stuffed into your pockets.”

Amren gave Mor a shark-like grin. “Careful, Morrigan, or I’ll return the pretty little thing I got you.”

Mor didn’t retort after that, although Elain had a feeling that it wasn’t merely from the threatened loss of a present but also due to her eyes locking on the enormous, tiered cake her cousin was ferrying into the room.

Feyre’s eyes snapped to her mate, as she exclaimed, “You didn’t.”

Rhys was grinning broadly, like a fool, at her, his face barely peeking out from above the twenty-one perfectly arranged candles which were alight atop the cake.

Cassian placed a hand on Feyre’s shoulder, drawling, “You thought you could sneak it past us, didn’t you?”

Her sister likely had. Their mother often forgot precisely when Feyre’s birthday was, and after she had died, Feyre would never bring it up herself either. Elain supposed she thought it was simpler to fly under the radar and not make a big todo of the occasion.

“You’re all insufferable,” Feyre grumbled.

Elain padded silently to her side, admiring the lovely pastry, as she said, “Happy birthday, Feyre.”

She was willing to call a truce over what had transpired between them earlier for the sake of finally celebrating the sister who had provided for her all those years—and continued to provide for her now. It was difficult for Elain to stay angry at someone she loved.

Feyre’s eyes locked on Elain. “Did you …?”

Elain nodded in affirmation. “Nuala did the decorating, though.”

She had finished baking and stacking the layers this morning before explaining exactly what sort of design she had in mind to the twin.

While Elain was decent enough at decorating cookies, piping an enormous cake was a whole different matter, but Nuala had done a remarkable job with the details. Elain had told her as much when the wraith had snuck her downstairs after Elain deemed herself presentable enough for the party.

She could see the recognition flashing in Feyre’s eyes as she added, “I asked Nuala to do it in that order. Because you’re the foundation, the one who lifts us. You always have been.”

Elain had never forgotten that dresser, the once source of brightness in their otherwise dim and dull bedroom back in the hovel which had once been their home. Feyre’s designs had been so fitting for all three of them. Flames for Nesta. Flowers for Elain. And the night sky for Feyre—which made all the sense in the world now.

She had requested that the starry sky hold up the flames which would hold the flowers, an accurate representation of how both her sisters had supported her throughout the darkest of times in her life.

Feyre took Elain’s hand, the gentle squeeze all the thanks which Elain could ever require for this birthday gift.

“Make a wish and let us get to the presents,” Mor yelled from across the room, breaking up the quiet spell which had befallen them all.

Elain didn’t bother to hide the soft laugh which escaped her lips. Leave it to Mor to be the one to move the party along.

Feyre hovered over the cake, locking eyes with her mate for a few heated seconds before inhaling a deep breath and blowing out the glimmering candles.

Cassian cut into the cake, doling out slices on decorative little plates to everyone in the room.

Once Rhys got his piece of the confection, he guided Feyre back over to the couch, drawling, “You know, it’s utterly acceptable to eat cake before dinner on Solstice.”

“Oh?” Feyre’s eyebrow shot up.

“Especially before the presents.”

“What presents?” Elain’s sister scanned the room.

Rhys snapped a finger, and veritable mountains of presents took form in the middle of the bay windows.

“Oh,” Feyre breathed as she seemed to realize that her gifts which she had tried to hide from even her own mate must have made it into the pile.

Did nobody tell her? Elain gave a pointed look at Az, amidst Mor’s impassioned squeal at the sight.

Apparently not, Az chuckled from across the room, having scooted away from his untouched slice of cake.

I worked really hard on that, you know. She nodded at the lonely little souvenir of her efforts this morning. She was willing to do anything to lighten the mood just a fraction, to attempt to have it feel easy between them again.

The talking could come later. Tomorrow. After the others went to bed. As long as it happened eventually, after the festivities were over.

A cobalt-blue tendril floated the plate back into his awaiting hands. Elain’s gaze never wavered as she watched one scarred hand take the slightest shaving of pastry and icing on his fork and gingerly place it in his mouth.

It’s a wonderful cake, El.

Elain could tell he was just offering this small fragment of peace, and she fought the urge to frown at the fact that he clearly was not a fan of her cake. But then again …

Had she ever even seen him take a bite of a dessert? He always sat there, glass of wine in his hand, not partaking of the sweets when they were laid out after dinner.

You mean wonderful for a cake?

Guilty. I’m not the biggest fan of sugar. And cake, with its globules of icing … Not quite my thing. He flashed her a shy smile, clearly as thrilled as she was that this something between them was beginning to thaw over a bit.

“I took it upon myself to add your presents to the communal trove,” Rhys was explaining to Feyre what Cassian had mentioned to Elain earlier this week.

“Everyone gave you their gifts?” Feyre looked shocked, as if she wasn’t sure Rhys out of all of them should be the one trusted with the task of not peeking at his own gifts.

“He’s the only one who can be trusted not to snoop,” Mor tacked on.

Elain didn’t miss Feyre’s eyes darting to Azriel, the master of secrets who should be no stranger to this task.

“Even him,” Amren told her.

Az cringed, awkwardly, the same guilty smile Elain had seen flashed across his lips on a minute ago returning for an encore. “Spymaster, remember?”

Can’t resist?

I can keep a mean secret, but not from myself. The curiosity always wins out in the end.

“We started doing it two centuries ago. After Rhys caught Amren literally shaking a box to figure out what was inside,” Mor continued the group explanation.

Oh, this was so much more amusing than the mere fact she’d just accepted without question from Cassian earlier.

“What they didn’t see was Cassian down here ten minutes earlier, sniffing each box,” Amren complained, amidst the laughter, clicking her tongue.

Cassian’s grin was nothing short of smarmy, as he retorted, “I wasn’t the one who got caught.”

“And somehow you’re the most trustworthy one?” Feyre’s attention was fixed once more on her mate.

Rhys put on an air of being truly offended by the suggestion. “I am a High Lord, Feyre darling. Unwavering honor is built into my bones.”

Elain chuckled to herself, along with Feyre and Mor, at her brother’s sass.

Amren, not content with waiting a moment longer to get her paws on something undoubtedly sparkly, finally broke and made her way to the closest pile of presents. “I’ll go first.”

“Of course she will,” Varian muttered under his breath, all the while grinning from ear to ear.

Amren glanced back only to give him a saccharine smile which curled Elain’s toes before reaching for the first gift of hers she could find.

The female destroyed the pink wrapping paper, which hid what she truly desired from view, in the matter of a second, causing Elain to pale at the ferocity. The others were not wrong when they compared Amren to a vain drake.

Amren almost let out a squeal of delight as she held up a pair of dazzling pearl-and-diamond earrings to the light and turned to Az, giving a nod of her head. “Thank you, Shadowsinger.”

“I’m glad they pass inspection.” Az merely inclined his head back in her direction.

Cassian then barreled his way past the slight female and began tossing presents to everyone else in the room, ignoring the feral hiss which emitted out of Amren as she was shoved out of the way.

Mor caught hers first, and Elain watched as she too unwrapped her gift with a vigor previously unknown to Elain. 

It was just a present, and back home, they had taken their time, especially in the years when they might have only received one present on their birthdays.

“Thank you, darling.” Mor beamed at Cassian.

“I know what you like,” Cassian preened as Mor reached into the box and held up—

Elain blushed, not failing to notice Az come a bit unhinged and whirl on Cassian as he took in the crimson lingerie which Mor now held up in front of her frame.

Cassian, to his credit, merely winked at Azriel, as the bewildered shadowsinger searched around for his wits, which seemed to have abandoned him.

But before he could find the words, Mor said, in a songbird voice, “Don’t let him fool you: he couldn’t think of a damn thing to get me, so he gave up and asked me outright. I gave him precise orders. For once in his life, he obeyed them.”

“The perfect warrior through and through,” Rhys drawled, as Elain huffed a laugh as she glanced sidelong at her friend.

Az seemed to have calmed a bit, but there was still an unnatural stillness about him. The mask of an unaffected smile just a tad off putting and forced.

He knows there is nothing going on between the winged one and the brilliant one, but it doesn’t mean that his heart did not stop in his chest for an instant, that he did not stop to wonder who she would wear them for.

Hearing his own shadows hissing little secrets at her certainly drew his attention away from his unrequited love beaming across the room and back onto Elain, as his mouth tightened, hands clenching at his sides.

She simply gave him a soothing smile. You know, I already knew this about you. It’s not like I can control what these wretched little creatures whisper in my ear.

The shadow hissed as it flew away from her and back to its master, stung by her words. Its master who was currently massaging away the headache now forming in his temples. Did he even realize he did this so often?

Elain had not seen him for months, but still the habit remained.

Az didn’t respond to her though, getting drawn back into the circle as Cassian cockily laid back against the couch, hands behind his head.

“Don’t worry, Rhysie. I got one for you, too,” he drawled.

“Shall I model it for you?” Rhys’s answering grin was wicked.

Elain couldn’t help bursting out into laughter now, along with Feyre.

Feyre heard her and ran toward the pile of presents, finally reaching for a small something hidden behind a much larger box when she froze. They all did.

At the single, terse knock which reverberated through the room.

Elain’s heart threatened to pound out of her chest at the thought of who could be behind that door, but she refused to get her hopes up, as she had earlier this morning.

Seven pairs of eyes flitted to the frosted glass, masking the greater oak door, which obscured the figure standing behind it.

Such utter silence befell the room, as everyone collectively held their breath, letting the roaring crackle of the fire fill the empty space between them.

And then Feyre was moving, the rustling of the hem of her dress against the hardwoods the only other sound.

She opened first the glass door, rushing to get past the oaken barrier behind it to reveal Nesta, looking frozen and miserable on the front step of the townhouse.

Chapter Text

Nesta.

The one person Elain had hoped beyond hope to see above all others, yet she still found herself frozen for a few seconds, listening to Feyre extend greetings and formalities to their elder sister before she could move.

But then, without even remembering how her feet had carried her there, she was worrying over the sister who could not be bothered to worry over her. “You’ll fall ill if you just stand there in the cold. Come sit with me by the fire.”

Elain hoped the smile which had unconsciously found purchase on her face at the joy of having her remaining family truly together tonight would soften Nesta enough that perhaps they could make these past few months of strangeness just … disappear.

Frigid eyes of steel caught Feyre’s as Nesta struggled to figure out whether or not she was going to enter.

Feyre did not relent though, did not slam the door in their sister’s face for her indecision, and eventually, Nesta wordlessly swept over the threshold.

Nesta sloughed off her outerwear rapidly, revealing a gray gown just as drab and emotionless as her eyes had been, and also revealing a lack of any presents. But Elain did not mind. Nesta being here was gift enough for her tonight.

Elain took Nesta by the arm, leading her farther into the warmth of the sitting room, noting how rigid and frozen her sister seemed in the process.

She did not let her smile falter though, as she wondered how to help Nesta. Perhaps the warmth of a little brandy. Elain knew Nesta was no stranger to drink, and the fiery sensation Elain often experienced whenever one of the others pressured her into trying a sip seemed like the best way to break the ice.

And Cauldron knew she needed a drink to take the edge off right now. Her heart was still threatening to thunder right out of her chest, even now that Nesta had come inside and clearly looked as if she would stay for awhile.

She passed the aforementioned seat next to the hearth en route to the liquor cabinet and heard Amren call to her from across the room, “Don’t take her to the wine—take her to the food. I can see her bony ass even through that dress.”

Nesta froze in place, causing Elain to come to a sudden halt, her smile slipping just a fraction as she worried over whether Nesta was going to lose it just then.

She didn’t fail to notice Cassian, a little too statue-still as he feigned a relaxed stance over near the fireplace.

“Happy Solstice, girl,” was all Amren added to her previous statement, as the room waited for its cue to unfreeze.

Nesta’s eyes locked with Amren’s, but only for a moment before the faintest inkling of a smile touched her lips and she offered, “Pretty earrings.”

Elain felt the collective sigh of the others as she told Nesta, “We were just getting to presents.”

She let go of Nesta’s arm and busied her shaking hands with pouring Nesta a brimming glass of wine. Of course Nesta would prefer this to drink—Most of the bottles she had seen trashed in the hallway were from vintage reds.

“We haven’t eaten yet. But if you’re hungry, we can get you a plate—” Feyre offered from her perch between the sitting room and foyer, as if unsure whether she should approach any further.

Nesta accepted the glass of wine which Elain pressed into her bony fingers just a bit too greedily, and when Elain turned back to face the liquor cabinet, she found herself needing her own helping of liquid courage.

Uncorking Az’s favorite bottle of whiskey, she poured a shot into her glass and knocked it back hastily.

Cauldron above. What was in this stuff? She failed to school her face as the raw, burning liquid scorched the back of her throat. It had not smelled particularly appetizing to her, but she hadn’t expected it to hurt quite this horribly going down.

A bit too strong? Az chuckled at her from across the room.

How the hell do you sip on this? It tastes like pure alcohol.

Elain heard an amused snort out of Amren, as she turned to face her sister once more.

Nesta though, was taking in what remained of the monstrous cake on the table, the three tiers still relatively intact, enough for her to make out the significance of Elain’s design.

“Happy birthday,” she murmured to Feyre.

Feyre nodded thankfully, if not a bit awkwardly, at their sister and told Nesta, “Elain made the cake.”

Oh, Feyre. Ever the one to attempt to smooth things over so they could all be one happy family again. But Elain did not need her assistance at the moment.

Especially not as Nesta retreated to the back of the room, finding herself at home in the seat nearest the bookcases and muttered, “You can return to your presents.”

Elain took that cue to bound towards the mountains of presents in search of … There!

She grabbed the carefully wrapped box and turned back to Nesta. “This one’s for you.”

A present—this present—would help her break the ice.

She noticed Rhys study Nesta for a moment before he began to press Varian, inquiring after how the Summer Solstice was celebrated by Tarquin and his family. She made a note to thank him later for giving her some semblance of privacy in this room crowded with her family.

Elain used that time to close the remaining distance between herself and Nesta, pressing the box firmly into Nesta’s lap.

Nesta, slowly, tentatively unfolded the brown paper concealing her gift, not bothering to shred into it like the others had.

When she reached the leather box beneath, she took out each novel and read through the titles, agonizingly slowly, not saying a word.

When she raised her head to look Elain in the eyes, Elain put on her best grin and told Nesta, “I went into that bookshop. You know the one by the theater? I asked them for recommendations, and the woman—female, I mean … She said this author’s books were her favorite.”

She didn’t bother to include the tidbit about her being so terribly embarrassed to admit she knew nothing about purchasing romance novels.

“Thank you.” Nesta’s gratitude was tense, her voice sounding as if she was going to crumble at any second.

Elain maintained her seat beside her sister, watching with wistful eyes as Nesta took her books and began to flip through them. Showing interest was a good sign, right?

Nesta remained silent and contemplative, Elain content just to sit stock-still, so as not to disturb the delicate balance they had created when Feyre bounced back in their direction, laying a medium-sized parcel in her lap.

It was the first present Elain had been gifted all evening, and she tore into it, revealing a lovely sky blue cloak. Feyre then eagerly showed her the armholes which she hoped would help Elain keep warm in the winter months.

“Thank you! It’s absolutely perfect!” Elain beamed. She was now itching for the snowfall to cease so she could test out how functional it would be for gardening.

She did not fail to note that Feyre had not thought to give a present to Nesta. She guessed it was only fair, considering that Nesta did not seem to have brought anything for them, but Elain worried that Nesta’s resulting frown might result in an eruption later in the evening.

Elain watched from afar as Feyre doled out the rest of her gifts, mostly paintings which the recipients each gave a shy smile at and kept to themselves.

What did she paint for you? Elain asked Az, hesitantly.

I’ll show you later tonight. It’s … my hands. The way she sees them with her artist’s eye.

Elain could tell that Az was grateful but a little stupefied, perhaps mortified.

Leave it to Feyre to try to take this horrendous piece of Az’s history and try to make it beautiful. Though Elain had to admit, she was dying to know how Feyre had interpreted them. Those mystifying whorls trailing down from his wrists to the tips of his fingers. She still got lost in them sometimes when she found herself staring.

Elain watched as the others passed Feyre all her gifts from the pile, and the resulting squeal as Feyre unwrapped her monogrammed paintbrushes was well worth the effort it had taken to have them custom made.

She hoped they were the right tools for Feyre’s craft, but the salesman who had crafted them for her had assured her that they would be top-of-the-line.

As the night wore on, the heaps of presents gradually shrank until there were only a handful left. Feyre took one of the boxes for herself, revealing even more liquor inside them.

Cauldron, this family really could drink when they put their minds to it.

And then she passed another unopened gift to Elain.

She frowned as she read who the present was from—Lucien. She had almost managed to forget that he had even shown up this morning.

“Enchanted gloves,” she murmured to herself, reading the note aloud. “That won’t tear or become too sweaty while gardening.”

He truly did not know her at all, did he? This “ever-so-perfect” mating bond between them could not even point him toward the fact that she liked returning inside after a long day of toiling outside with a bit of grime on her. It made her feel like she had actually accomplished something—that she, Elain, could work hard and create some good in the world.

She fervently allowed herself to become distracted by Amren’s squeals of delight at the gems which Rhys had gifted her, allowing herself to become entirely lost in the other’s reactions.

It felt good to get out of her skin, to ignore the heavy box which felt like a lead weight on her chest. Even if she didn’t want or need the gloves, it would be rude not to thank Lucien for the thought, and that meant … actually opening herself up to him just a fraction. And it was utterly terrifying.

Elain turned back to Nesta, earning a frown of disapproval as she interrupted Nesta in the middle of the first chapter of one of her new books, but Elain wanted to know more about them. Had the shopkeeper steered her in the right direction? Was Nesta enjoying them?

She felt like a nuisance, but she was just so thrilled at having the opportunity to speak with Nesta somewhere where her sister couldn’t slam a door and shut her out that she was babbling on more than usual.

She was so lost in this one-sided conversation, that she almost missed Mor picking up the final present, a small box Elain was already extremely familiar with.

The otherworldly female squinted her eyes to read Elain’s script on the bottom of the small tag and said, “Az, this one’s for you.”

Az’s eyebrows shot up. Clearly he hadn’t been expecting any more gifts.

“Oh, that’s from me,” Elain blurted nervously as she turned away from Nesta to watch him unwrap her gift.

You got me a present?

Of course I did, Az.

She didn’t bother to remark on the fact that the gift wasn’t reciprocated, but she didn’t care about that right now.

Elain only watched with bated breath as he wordlessly lifted the lid off the box and extracted the tiny vial lying within.

“I had Madja make it for me.” Az’s eyes frowned as he tried to figure out why she would have gone to the family healer to procure him some sort of medicine. “It’s a powder to mix in with any drink.”

But what is it? Elain could hear the confusion in his voice as he spoke to her through the shadows, leaving the rest of the room in utter silence.

You mean your little spies haven’t deigned to inform you of its purpose?

No. They refuse to reveal your secrets. I swear they like you more than me.

Elain bit her lip in an effort not to laugh, a bashful smile beginning to play upon her lips as she revealed, “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.”

There was a beat of silence in which Elain worried that she had overstepped her bounds somehow, but then …

Az was actually laughing. And this wasn’t just any chuckle, which he would let escape his lips so easily, but the sounds was one of such unbridled mirth that Elain felt gooseflesh creeping along her skin as her heart began to thunder out of her chest.

When she looked up at him, she found his head thrown back as she drank in the closed eyes, the unadulterated smile which had broken through the mask, and it was one of the most beautiful scenes she had ever witnessed.

She had done this. Elain had done this.

Suddenly, the chasm between them seemed to be shrinking, Elain feeling the room collapse until she and Az were the only two in it, this frayed thread between them healing, as she wished more than anything that she had her Siphon on her—that she could feel this joy which was sparkling in his eyes.

And then Cassian swooped in, yanking the vial from Az’s hands with a laugh and giving it a onceover before telling Elain, “Brilliant.”

She smiled sheepishly before ducking her head, praying that they wouldn’t notice the blush creeping onto her cheeks.

“Thank you.”

Elain lifted her chin at the sound of Azriel’s voice, locking eyes with him for a moment and noticing for the first time the small threads of jade interspersed with the normal honey gold, as if her present was illuminating him from the inside out, and she was being given a glimpse even further into the mystery which was her dear friend.

“This will be invaluable.”

“Prick.” Cassian just laughed at the implication that Az would be needing this tonic to deal with the lot of them.

How did you know?

You’ve been doing that since the day I met you. And I figured, well, with the anxiety and the stress of your job that it was probably from tension headaches.

You really are wise beyond your years. He winked at her.

Elain only found herself reaching for a nearby glass of wine, not caring if it belonged to her sister and drinking deeply as a wave of warmth swept across her, trying and failing to shove it away with the drink.

Something about him receiving her present seemed to have thawed the bridge between them, Azriel mused as the evening went on.

He surely hadn’t missed her reaction to his gratitude and found himself wondering if this was really all it would take—if they could return to normal from this simple gesture.

And as the hours ticked by, and Elain spread her wings wider and wider, laughing and joking with the rest of the family, as she dipped more and more into her wine, he couldn’t help but latch onto her joy.

Time flew, and before he knew it, the clock had struck two in the morning, and everyone seemed to slow to a halt.

Amren and Varian took their leave, Varian hefting the weight of Amren’s newly acquired jewels as he escorted her back to her apartment.

And then, Nesta shot to her feet, murmuring a quiet good night to Elain and no one else, planting a kiss in her sister’s hair, before making for the door.

Cassian stilled beside Az, every muscle in his body focused on not getting up to follow her, trying to shield himself from the fact that she had not said a word to him all evening.

But Feyre trailed in Nesta’s wake, waiting until her sister had bundled up and was about to disappear into the night before pressing a small note into her hand.

“Here,” she offered.

Money for the viper’s rent, the shadows offered him as he wondered silently what the missive could be.

“As promised,” Feyre added.

And then Nesta clutched the slip of paper tightly, not offering a word of thanks—only a frown—before turning on her heels and slipping out into the frozen streets of Velaris.

The tension which had been coiling in Cassian’s gut released itself with brutal force, as his brother spared no mind for those he jostled on the couch as he barreled toward the door his mate had just slammed in his face.

When he reached Feyre, he paused only long enough to gently lift her and set her out of the path of his rampage before storming past, lightning flashing in his eyes as he disappeared out into the night as well.

The room was frozen, none of them knowing what to do in the wake of the calamity which was sure to be brought into this house.

Cassian had finally reached his boiling point, and if Nesta walked away from him tonight, Az cringed at the thought of having to pick up the pieces of the general in the coming weeks.

He sent shadows out to keep an eye on the situation, not trusting Nesta and that unknown death power of hers to keep Cassian safe, but they were only there to alert him if Cassian needed his assistance—Azriel had not desire to hear their conversations which went on behind closed doors.

What is he—

Elain looked as if she were going to vault out of her seat in pursuit as well, worried about what Cassian might do if left alone with her sister.

Don’t. Even if Nesta doesn’t want to acknowledge him, this is something the two of them need to handle. Alone.

But—

There is something festering between them which you and I cannot mend. If they stand any chance at all, they have to learn how to solve this on their own.

Okay, but what do we do now? She yawned, but her eyes were wide awake, like a frightened doe.

We continue on as if nothing has happened. What were all those seeds you got tonight?

“Oh!” Elain exclaimed aloud before rushing into the other room to grab a few handfuls of the little packets of seeds and a notebook which looked roughly used and well-loved. It wasn’t the same journal he had given her all those months ago, but this seemed to be for all her gardening work.

She skipped back toward the couch he was occupying, ignoring the confused glances from the others and spread the assortment of packets, each bearing small, hand drawn renderings of the flowers they would sprout into and opened up the notebook.

His eyes were assaulted with images, tiny doodles in the margins, inks of many different hues, cramped handwriting, on some pages entire grid-like layouts.

“I’m going to expand the garden. I’ve been using these past few weeks to plan it, and as soon as the snow thaws and I can uncover them, I’m getting to work.

Az listened to her, enraptured by the sheer amount of thought Elain had already put into the design, loving that she was babbling on, in the middle of the night no less, with such passion about her project.

She seemed reinvigorated, full of a new life which Az had wished for for her.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, lost in their own little world, the others watching in silence, beginning to doze in their seats, but eventually Cassian reentered the room, not bothering to utter a word to any of them.

His brother made a beeline to the liquor cabinet, knocked back a glass of whiskey and stormed up the stairs.

He felt a shift in his seat on the couch as Mor silently followed Cassian up the stairs with a gleam of unease in her eyes.

Let her deal with whatever had occurred between Nesta and Cassian for now. Az could swoop in later, when he went up to bed, if Cassian was still in this mood.

Only a minute later, once a door had been slammed, reopened, and then closed once more, Rhys and Feyre slipped from their seats, taking their leave of the sitting room.

Elain paused mid-sentence once the two were truly alone, taking a moment to glance up at him, sending these ridiculous shivers down Az’s spine, as he took her in, the rosy flush to her cheeks from the drink, the renewed vitality which replaced the frail form she had had when last he had been alone with her, before their worlds had been torn apart on that final day.

It used to be so effortless between them, hiding alone in the shadows, training in secret. So why did he feel so breathless, tongue-tied, as if his heart had lodged itself in his throat, pumping furiously.

Elain was similarly frozen for a moment before launching out of her seat.

“Do y-you … want to go for a walk?” she stammered, suddenly shivering.

He nodded to her solemnly before walking over to the coat rack and pulling off the new blue cloak Feyre had gifted to her.

Every footstep back to her echoed, booming in his head as he approached and held it up so she could slip her arms through the holes with ease before extending her his own elbow and escorting her out into the whipping winter winds of Velaris.

Chapter Text

Every crunch of the snow, every leaf broken beneath his boots, made the pregnant silence between them even more exaggerated.

Why was it so easy to banter with her with the others around, but it felt like that chasm between them was once again split open, the bridge they had been constructing all evening burned up in the early morning hours now that they were alone?

He threw up a shield around the two of them, watching as Elain visibly relaxed a bit at the relent of the wind’s assault upon her bundled form.

“Do you think I could do that?” she whispered as they strolled past rows and rows of burlap-covered hedges.

“If you truly wanted to. I mean you have the Siphon …”

He would not bring up the fact that she had not once touched it since returning to Velaris, preferring not to open conversations with him, preferring not to explore the powers which were now well within her reach if she dared to draw upon his shadows for more than just companions.

She nodded, a hush befalling them once again, which made this the perfect time for …

“I have something for you.” Azriel blushed as Elain turned toward him, surprise and a tired delight burning in those rich mahogany eyes.

“I didn’t think …”

He ran a nervous hand through his hair. “I had no idea if we would be exchanging gifts. We haven’t …”

“Why didn’t you talk to me?” she finally blurted. “I missed you. When we returned to Velaris after the war, I had nothing and nobody. I had to piece myself together day by day to get to where I am right now. And my best friend dropped off the face of the continent.”

“I didn’t … You weren’t sending me messages either. I thought you were happier that way. You had other … people … here to lean on, and so when the silences grew too great between us, I figured that you didn’t need to rely on me anymore. That you finally realized how much of a burden I am and found your peace in others.”

“I only had to rely on so many others because there was this gaping hole that you left. It’s not my … I couldn’t help that I had nothing to say. I wasn’t doing anything but sitting around the house while you were off on some secretive mission where you were seeing new, exciting sights every day! And you didn’t once think to tell me about them!”

Az was stunned, this admission so far removed from what he expected.

“Don’t get me wrong, they feel more like family now, but nobody ever fully replaced you. And with Nesta gone, I still haven’t been able to fully piece myself back together.”

“But … you seem so happy,” he whispered, his heart breaking.

“I’m better than I was, but I still cry myself to sleep some nights. After Lucien left this morning, I spent hours in my room frustratingly unable to stop sobbing,” Elain admitted.

Az froze at those words. That must have been why she had been so put out at the sight of Lucien’s gift. He had spent Solstice away from his mate, only bothering to leave the box behind. Had they fought, and that’s why he had decided not to stay here?

“Nobody here gets it,” she continued. “You saw me at my worst, and you just disappeared. You were the only one I could count on for months, and you left me.”

All his previous thoughts went flying right out of his head as his pulled her into a loose embrace.

“I’m so sorry, El. If I had known … If you had told me … I promise not to disappear on you again. Unless you ask me to.”

She flung her arms around his midsection, causing Az to twitch. Dangerously close. She was so dangerously close to grazing the spot where his wings connected to his back, though she had no idea what the touch would do to him.

“I won’t,” she promised. “Even if you’re being a pigheaded idiot, I doubt I will ever not want you as my friend.”

“You wound me,” he jested, backing out of the embrace and placing an exaggerated hand over his chest in feigned indignance.

“So what did you get me?” Elain’s face was glowing again, bright enough to outshine even the full moon cresting the night sky above them.

Az worked methodically to unsheath the hidden dagger which he had strapped to himself earlier in the evening, carefully concealed beneath the pressed suit jacket.

Nobody seemed to have noticed it hiding behind Truth-Teller and a layer of fabric.

She said nothing as she beheld the form of the present, lips tightening a bit.

Shit. This was not quite the reception he had imagined when he thought up the gift idea.

Az fully exposed the delicate blade to her, the steel flashing a brilliant silver as he hoped she would fully appreciate all the detailing of the hilt.

He had designed it so there were rose gold accents, forming into gorgeous rose blooms, amidst a golden tangle of thorns. And the blacksmith had done a magnificent job of bringing it to life.

She wouldn’t accept Truth-Teller all those months ago, but the vicious-looking blade didn’t fit her delicate style, so he had decided to have one fashioned for her, all her own.

“It’s for you. I had it made for you.”

Please just say anything, he pleaded silently, though intentionally holding that message back from reaching her ears.

“Why?” Her eyes were brimming with tears.

“So you can protect yourself, and if you’d like, I’ll—”

“I don’t need to protect myself. The war is over. I’m supposed to be allowed to live my life without worrying about this nonsense.”

“Just because the war is over doesn’t mean there won’t ever be unrest again,” he murmured, taking a step toward her, trying not to frighten her into running away. “And even if you never see combat again, it can’t hurt to know some self defense. Certain people might try to take advantage of you. Try though you might, certain males are despicable creatures, and I’d hate to see—”

“Lucien would never,” she breathed.

“I wasn’t …”

“Weren’t you?” She fixed him in a pointed gaze. “I know how much you despise him. But your feelings for him shouldn’t cause you to say something so cruel. I’m his mate. I get to decide if he’s a danger to me.”

Az took one panicked step backwards. How had this all taken such a turn for the worse? He truly hadn’t even thought about her using it to fend off her damned mate. The Illyrians were the monstrous faces which first flashed to his mind when picturing unknown males preying on females.

She was exhausted, he realized. And obviously more inebriated than he had initially thought. He shouldn’t have suggested this. He should’ve just let her go to bed, so they could’ve had this talk tomorrow. In the daylight. When they were both less emotionally drained.

“It’s not like he even gets close enough for me to use it. I’ve seen him twice—twice—since we returned to Velaris. He always goes scurrying back into whatever little hole he lives in now. I don’t want him, but I’m not important enough for him to even try.”

She was seething now, and if it hadn’t been for the dagger between them, Az might have gone to her side to comfort her. But, even if this passionate emotion had been lurking under the surface, just begging to be set free, it was still all his fault that he had accidentally wounded her enough to bring it to light. That he had missed all the signs telling him what a horrible idea this gift was. Especially with the timing. And the fact that Lucien had set her on edge this afternoon.

“I’m sure you are important to him.” Az gently set the dagger down on a nearby bench and raised his hands in surrender. “He probably hides some longing for you beneath the surface.”

Cauldron. Why the hell was he defending Lucien to Elain? All his fears about how she had been growing closer to the male had been washed away in the last few minutes of their conversation, but here Az was, attempting to give the prick a free pass.

“It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.” Her eyes were welling over now, the brisk happiness of moments ago replaced by this pain she had been holding deep in her heart. “Who could ever want someone like me? I’m just Graysen’s leftovers. Even he didn't want me. Not really.”

Az moved to close the distance between them, to reassure her that any male would be Cauldron-blessed to have such a caring female in his life, but she held up a hand to signal him to stop.

“I just want to be alone. Please,” she whispered.

And so Az obliged her, growling, “Happy Solstice,” before turning on his heels and storming back into the house.

The dagger taunted her from its perch upon her dresser.

Elain had sat on that bench, crying herself hoarse for longer than she cared to admit before the weariness had overtaken her.

She had seen the glint of steel from the corner of her eye though and was unable to leave that wretched blade out to rust in the snowfall.

Which it would do as soon as Elain moved inside and the shield came with her. Because through all the vitriol she had spewed at him, he had left her the bubble of his protection created by his Siphons, even long after he had left her side.

Why did she have to go ruining every damned good thing in her life just because of a little shock?

They had finally seemed to be getting back on the same page tonight, and the terror she had felt when she had imagined herself once again wielding a blade had overwhelmed her so thoroughly that she had let herself throw all her frustrations back at him, lashing him until he ran away with his tail between his legs.

The fearsome shadowsinger scared off by an insignificant little girl. The thought alone was enough to pause the deluge of tears if only for a moment.

She took a moment to admire the dagger—for a blade, she had to admit that it was stunningly beautiful, and she could tell how much hard work had gone into designing and crafting it.

Azriel had put just as much thought into her gift, misguided though it had been, as she had into his powder. He had just thought he was providing her something she might need which nobody else would come up with, and hadn’t that been exactly what she had striven to do with the special tonic mixture from Madja?

Sighing, as she finished preparing for bed, she doused her Faelight, throwing herself into darkness but not before whispering, Thank you, into the awaiting night.

Thank you.

Even this morning, the words were still echoing in his ears.

Perhaps an hour after he had come inside, Elain had safely turned in for the night, but not before sending him that phrase of gratitude.

He had been tossing and turning, unable to sleep amidst Cassian’s snores and the sheer panic that he had messed everything up with Elain once again weighing like a leaden weight upon his mind.

He had maintained control of his breathing enough not to worry that he was going to break down into hysterics, but those whispered words in his ear had eased the tightness which had been lingering in his chest by just a fraction only minutes before he finally managed to drift off.

Now he was standing, mouth agape in the foyer of Rosehall estate as his mother and Edon ushered him inside, out of the snow which had been creating a thin nest in his hair before he stepped under the awning and shook it off, not wanting to sully their home.

He wished he could say that not much had changed in the five decades since he had last visited, but everything seemed brighter, more airy, even in the dim gray gloom of the blizzard filtering in from the floor-to-ceiling windows in the sitting room.

And the biggest change of all was cooing up from him in awe from her seat on the floor, dribble spilling down her chin as she teethed on one of the many wooden blocks scattered around her.

“This is Iris,” Az’s mother murmured softly. “We invited you to come when she was born, but …”

“I was trapped in Velaris,” he finished the sentence for her. “And then the war happened. I’m sorry I couldn’t find time sooner. I’ve barely been home since.”

His mother tutted. “That High Lord works you too hard. I understand that Lord Rhysand and Lady Feyre have been through quite a lot, but you deserve a vacation too. And I’ve missed you.”

Azriel couldn’t help but feel out of place here. For centuries, there had just been him and his mother, outcasts within the Illyrian community. But she had found this new family, had found a new life here in this estate on the edge of Illyria.

And he had nothing—nobody—to call his own. Even his friendships felt strained and tenuous right now.

“Come now. Take a seat. I’ll put the tea kettle on the stove. She shuffled into the kitchen leaving him alone with the babe and his stepfather for a brief moment.

Azriel wanted to crawl out of his skin, still awkwardly clutching the flowers and small wrapped box he had brought with him.

Perhaps he should have gone and bought something for his little sister, but he had assumed she would still be at that useless age where babies could only wail and sip from their mother’s teat.

He knew little to nothing about children, and he certainly hadn’t expected her to be mobile enough to be entertaining herself, waddling around the room in search of a stuffed toys to place inside the small fortress she was building.

Iris would periodically glance over at him, but otherwise she didn’t seem particularly distraught by the morose, shadowed Illyrian warrior who was now seated in a chair near the hearth, watching her every move in awe and confusion.

“She’s gotten so big, hasn’t she?” His mother broke him out of his thoughts as she placed a warm mug in his hands. “I wish you had been able to come see her when she was little. I mean, her wings are already starting to unfurl, and before we know it she’ll be flying.”

Indeed, those tiny, leathery wings were spread wide for balance as she teetered around the room, flapping a bit every once in a while out of instinct.

“She’s …” Az murmured, not able to find quite the right words to say. He was so uncomfortable around kids, and the thought that she was his flesh and blood was still bewildering to him.

“Your sister. I finally was able to give you a true sibling after all these years. Those mongrels of your father’s don’t count.”

“I have a sister,” Az breathed, as the toddler bumped into his legs.

“You can pick her up. She loves to be cuddled,” his mother told him.

To Iris, she cooed, “This is your big brother, Azriel. He came all the way here to see you.” She poked the babe playfully in the chest, eliciting a barrage of giggles.

“Bruddazzz,” Iris garbled out as she looked up into his face. No fear in those huge, hazel eyes of hers.

Az reached down with tentative hands, Iris flocking to them without a hint of reservation, not even minding the abnormality of the scarring.

Once she was perched in his lap, his mother continued, “I know it must be strange for you to adjust to after all this time, and I know you’ve been at an age where you could have your own children for centuries, but I hope you will still be around for her as she grows.

“I wasn’t in a place to provide this for you when you were young.” His mother’s eyes were filling with tears now. “But I hope you don’t resent her for getting to live this life.”

Az’s first reaction had been one of slight jealousy, but now that he held his sister and reflected on how he had helped his mother get here—that he had inadvertently set this child up for a life of love and happiness. And he couldn’t fault her for it.

The little one squirmed in his arms, and he began to nervously bounce a leg beneath her, which seemed to bring about another giggling fit.

After a beat of silence, when his mother had caught her breath again, she finally asked, “So, is there anyone you’re seeing now?” At his piercing glare, she amended, “Fifty years is a long time, you know. To be fair, I haven’t asked you this question in half a century.”

“I think you already know the answer to that.” Az had to fight to keep his voice even, as he felt the tiniest of blushes slipping past his defenses and heating his cheeks. He had become so good at answering this question with a blank face for centuries that this quite surprised him. And he felt his mind shifting to the conversation he had had so early this morning for some unknown reason.

“Is it so crazy for a mother to want her son to stop pining after the same female who hasn’t given him the time of day for centuries?”

Az huffed a breath. “I don’t know why you dislike her so much.”

“If she put aside whatever was holding her back and chose you, I could come to love her as a daughter, but I’ve watched you hold a huge piece of yourself back from others, waiting for her since the moment you met as teenagers. And don’t think I didn’t see you blush just now. So are you together?”

“No, mom. We’re not.”

“If not her, then who? Who is making my stoic son brighten up just a bit?”

Cauldron. It was going to be like this then.

“I’m not seeing anyone. I haven’t seen anyone seriously since the last time we spoke either. The only new females in my life are Feyre and her sisters. I’m friends with one of them, but that’s it. That’s all there is.”

He gave her a pleading look to just drop it so he could enjoy the rest of his visit.

She waved him off with her hand. “There’s something you’re not telling me. I’m your mother, I’ll have you remember. I could see it written on your face, plain as day. But fine. As long as you promise to properly introduce me someday.”

Az almost spat out his tea in his confusion, only barely saving his baby sister from getting soaked.

After swallowing he turned to the babe, ignoring his mother’s last comment. “I think I’m starting to take a liking to you. You’re the only one here who doesn’t talk.”

Hours later, Az found himself back in the House of Wind.

The rest of his visit had gone fairly well, his mother having dropped the topic of his love life in favor of catching up on their lives for the past half a century.

He wasn’t sure why the conversation was irking him so much. His mother frequently brought up the subject, always wondering when he would be giving her grandchildren, which seemed comical now that she had just provided him another sibling.

But such were the ways of the Fae, he supposed. It wasn’t uncommon for children to be born centuries apart, due to their difficulties with reproduction and long life spans.

His annoyance was more than just at the jabs thrown at Mor, a female his mother had never been particularly fond of, but at the assumption that there was something else he was hiding from her.

And at that damned flush of his cheeks which he had been unable to control. 

He prided himself on his ability to school his expressions as a well-practiced spymaster, but something deep inside him had bubbled to the surface at the question. Something which he had been completely unaware of beforehand.

He had felt so defensive of his mother pushing him about his female friends, about needing to defend the fact that he was only friends with the Archeron sisters, although it was Elain in particular who had bugged him.

But he was not in love with her. He was not.

Cauldron, they had still barely spoken, and everything between them still felt frayed and raw. She was still the easiest friend he could talk to, even when they were fighting, but that was just it.

When was the last time they had spoken without this weight between them? Perhaps not since that night in his tent, when many apologies and confessions had been made. And then she had kissed his cheek, and his world had spun on its axis, for reasons he could not understand.

The next day had been so emotionally charged, and when everything had gone to shit, somehow they hadn’t quite recovered from the damage. Especially not when he had seen her finding comfort in Lucien and not himself, and she had just … stopped relying on him so heavily.

Solstice was supposed to have mended the gaping wound, but his idiocy had prevented that from happening.

Az had only be trying to get her something useful. She had everything she could have ever wanted already, and he knew little enough about gardening that he hadn’t wanted to get her something she didn’t need. And she wasn’t like the other females, where he could buy them something sparkly without it becoming tense between them.

It had terrified her though. That much had been clear from her face. She truly never wanted to use a blade again, and he had triggered some fear from that day.

Azriel viscerally despised himself for it.

And when she had thought he was insinuating that her mate had ill-intentions, she had become so defensive. No matter how much she insisted that she never saw him, that he stayed away, there was no fighting that instinct, and there never would be until she and Lucien addressed the situation.

Az had been putting off the thought for a while, but why was he so invested in what Elain and Lucien were doing?

The burning, passionate rage he felt for the other male was something usually reserved for those he found out were sleeping with Mor. Even though Lucien wasn’t his favorite person in Prythian, the guttural reaction to the thought of him was perplexing.

Even if Azriel ever developed feelings for Elain, it wouldn’t be fair to her. Mor was such a constant presence in his life, one he would never be able to walk away from. And there is no way Elain would ever desire him in return.

She had enough going on in her life. It seemed as though she was finally walking away from Graysen, but just last night, she had admitted to the shadow he was still casting over her. That she felt like spoiled goods.

Just like Az and his baggage. What a miserable pair the two of them would make.

No. He couldn’t afford to think like that.

All he could do was make last night up to her and pray to the Mother that they could reach a steady state again, that he could have his best friend back, and that things could just be normal between them again for the first time in a long time.

And he had an inkling of an idea about how to do so.

Chapter Text

Azriel was back in hell.

He had spent the past two days wandering around Velaris, searching for the perfect pieces of his present, assisted by Cassian.

He had started hearing rumors about a certain High Lord who had bought a certain plot of land along the edge of the river—and when Rhys confirmed it, he locked in his plan, the idea constantly on his mind as he scoured the city.

But for now, Rhys had finally called on Az to accompany himself and Cassian to Windhaven.

Because they were the two responsible for showing him the lists of troublemakers, especially considering that Kallon and his cohorts were high up on that list.

Az had been forced to admit that the little lordling had been particularly critical of both Cassian and Rhys—talking a big game about how much the two had left the Illyrians to rot—from the whispers he had picked, and Cass had been distant, stuck in his head ever since.

“What am I supposed to do to combat that little shit?” Cassian asked. “Even with the fact that I’m their commander and he’s not even a warrior yet, he still commands more respect from them than I ever will. I can’t imagine what will happen after he passes the Blood Rite.”

“Accidents happen in the Rite,” Rhys countered, in a misguided attempt to reassure Cassian that this little situation could be handled nice and neatly, if need be.

“We won’t dishonor the Rite by tampering with it.” Cassian’s face was grave. Why did he hold this tradition in such high respect when they still couldn’t return the favor for one who had passed it admirably?

But it didn’t matter to Az. “Accidents happen in the skies all the time, then,” he offered.

It would be so easy. Just the crunch of a Siphon-made bludgeon against his wings when he was off on his own, shields up to nullify the other male’s Siphons, Azriel himself veiled from view.

More than a few had met their fates that way over the centuries, and nobody had ever been able to pin them on him. When all that was left of his foes were the bloody, pulverized, unrecognizable bodies against the ground hundreds of yards below, no one could truly look too closely at their cause of death.

“If the whelp wants to bust my balls, he can grow a pair himself and do it to my face,” Cassian growled.

That was enough to signal that the conversation was over, and Cassian had been tight-lipped and pensive for the hours following the revelation this morning.

At least Azriel had heeded Rhys’s advice and not ruined the Solstice holiday itself for Cassian. Nesta had seemed all too willing to take that job anyways.

And they were now looking over the meager training ring, only six girls actively sparring in it, but Devlon had been halfheartedly instructing them on how to use a dagger when they arrived unannounced. It was a start at least.

Daggers were a simple introduction as well. Devlon, surprisingly, had not chosen one of the more unwieldy weapons which would have been highly discouraging to learn on—though Az did not fail to notice that there was a pile of Illyrian bows within spitting distance of the young girls, the strength needed to even draw back the bowstring of one of them sure to be a constant reminder to them that they were somehow lesser than the fully grown male warriors.

If Rhys’s father had not been adamant that Azriel be trained fairly, due to the greed of wanting to be able to wield Az’s powers for his own spying needs, Az was sure he would have faced a fate similar to these poor girls. If he had ever even managed to escape that cell.

His blood turned to ice in his veins as he was forced to relive those dreadful, pitch-black years of his life all over again—the memories his constant companions whenever he stepped foot on their blasted territory.

Azriel forced himself not to unleash an explosion of cobalt rage and instead focus back on the girls themselves, at the first ounce of progress Windhaven had made in centuries.

A fresh layer of snow had blown in with the Solstice storm, and these few girls who had braved the cold looked absolutely miserable, teeth chattering as they sloppily ran through their drills.

“I thought there were more,” he muttered under his breath, not bothering to hide how discouraging this turnout was to him.

“Some left with their families for Solstice,” Cassian replied, a bit of fight in his voice. “They won’t be back for a few more days.”

Azriel could not fathom why Cassian was still bothering to defend them, and why he was so damned invested in the Illyrian people.

Even now, he was letting off steam with low hisses anytime Devlon failed to correct one of the girls with a poor form or who had performed an awfully misguided maneuver. It wasn’t even the girls’ faults. They didn’t know any better, but in this toxic of an environment, they were still being set up for failure.

“Despite the grumblings in the camps,” Rhys gestured to the palpable divide between the two genders—the brooding males gathering as far away from the females as was possible within the designated training space, as if the young girls, the oldest perhaps sixteen, were contagious. “This is a good sign.”

Az only nodded, disgusted by the behavior, but willing to admit that any amount of progress was a step in the right direction. He could feel himself losing control of the shadows swirling around him though.

They had been put on full display, part of his brutal mask for these thankless brutes, craving their fear to be palpable at his every move, as they constantly wondered if he was listening to their thoughts.

He was no Daemati, but if they wanted to start such rumors about the extent of his shadows’ powers, who was Azriel to dispel them?

Many of the women had been herded into their homes, to shield themselves from his disturbing presence when he had landed in this wretched square.

To be fair to them, he did not want to be here just as much as they did not want him in their camp.

There was a silence between the three of them, the whir of steel on steel and the grunts of the warriors and girls alike the only sounds piercing their ears.

“It will be a good sign when there are twenty girls out there and they’ve shown up for a month straight,” Cassian finally broke the tension.

Az let out an involuntary snort. An improvement to this pitiful showing at least, but still unlikely to happen anytime soon. “I bet you—”

“No bets,” Cassian interrupted him. “Not on this.”

Az held Cassian’s stare, searching for any vulnerabilities, any sign that Cassian wasn’t fully serious about this. That he shouldn’t back down, should continue to remind him how futile this effort might be. They placed bets on everything.

But Azriel found nothing other than unwavering will and brutality in his brother’s eyes. He felt his Siphons flickered as his pride goaded him to yield to his baser Illyrian instincts and not give in to the challenge, but he finally relented.

He nodded. He could let Cassian hold onto this fantasy for just a while longer—until it was going to harm his brother, he supposed it was none of his business anyways. Azriel was the one who wanted nothing to do with these camps and had left their leadership entirely to Cassian.

If this was how Cassian was going to come to terms with their upbringing, then so be it.

Rhys, ever the bridge-builder did his best to break the tension between the two of them. He flung his arm around Cassian’s shoulders telling him, “Small steps, brother. Small steps.”

Az wondered if Cassian got a good enough look at Rhys’s face though. At that smile which did not even come close to meeting his eyes.

When Cassian turned back to the ring, Rhys just threw Az a heated look over his shoulder, telling him mind-to-mind, Just leave it. Let him have this one thing if it’s how he finds purpose.

Wouldn’t dream of ruining it. Az fought the urge to roll his eyes, remembering that they were still being heavily scrutinized by the warriors in the camp.

You don’t have to agree with him. You don’t have to live in the camps like he does, but he could use a little positivity, don’t you think?

Az nodded solemnly, stepping into the background and letting the shadows wash over him until Cassian had satisfied himself with watching the training and signaled that they could leave.

Are you free tonight?

The unanticipated message from a certain shadowsinger had halted Elain in her tracks as she kneaded dough in the kitchens. To the casual observer, she probably would have looked quite comical, hair falling out of its braid, flour coating her apron, and hands frozen in midair as she fought the warmth flooding into her cheeks.

It had been three days since their disastrous Solstice conversation. Three days of silence. At least two glasses of wine too many that evening. And one hangover which had caused her to look back on the accusations she had flung at Azriel with severe remorse.

But she had given him his space, waiting for him to be ready to speak to her again. At least this time it hadn’t taken months of soul-crushing longing for that bridge to be opened between them again.

Y-yes, she stammered out. Mother above. She couldn’t even produce more than one measly syllable when confronted with this olive branch from her best friend.

Would you like to have dinner?

Elain’s breath hitched in her throat. This wasn’t … No. It couldn’t possibly be a date.

Azriel had no idea how to even begin courting a female who wasn’t Mor. He definitely was not interested in Elain, and she knew that even if they had noticed, her shadows would not have betrayed her heart to him.

Because she still was not at all ready to give her heart to someone—not with her past looming over her and the iron engagement ring sitting menacingly on her bedside table—but she hadn’t been able to shirk the idiotic fear over the past few days that she had ruined something precious with Azriel.

It was preposterous, and before she had these moments of reflection, worrying at her drunken outburst, she would never have paired the emotions coursing through her with a mere crush, a childish infatuation.

But that’s what this was, wasn’t it?

Cauldron boil her. It was doomed to be unrequited for eternity. Her human heart was capable of moving past heartbreak, but if Az had been in love with Mor for centuries, despite the fact that he knew it was tearing him up inside, there was no way he would break from that path.

When she was fully ready to embrace a budding relationship—perhaps in a few months—he would still be trapped on that endless hamster wheel of torment which was his blind obsession with the utterly perfect female who never once glanced in his direction. Even if he admittedly recognized how fruitless his desires were.

But they could go back to being best friends, and she could learn to live with that. She had lived with that reality for quite awhile now, so there was no reason she couldn’t weather the unpleasant physical symptoms until her still-fractured heart moved on from this irritating new development. If the past few months had taught her anything, it was that no matter how painful her circumstances, she could endure.

Tears burned her cheeks frequently still, but they did not consume her every waking hour anymore. There was also joy to be found in her family and her new pastimes.

Elain conjectured that tonight she could apologize profusely, and if luck was on her side, they could wipe the slate clean.

Where? she breathed.

Someplace quiet? I can think of a few such restaurants, but if you have a favorite …

I’m sure whatever you choose will be lovely. She cursed herself for speaking so formally—and for not providing any useful input for him.

I’ll pick you up at seven.

And just like that, Elain once again remembered where she was and what she was doing with her hands and how much her appearance was a trainwreck and bolted for the stairs.

The bread was immaterial—some practice with a new recipe. There were only two hours left until his fated arrival, and she was a frazzled mess who desperately needed to bathe and do her hair.

Elain cursed herself as she looked in the mirror. She had no idea where they were going, and she had likely overdressed for the occasion.

She donned a long-sleeved, deep purple, velvet gown which hugged her chest before flaring out at the waist, which she planned to accentuate with the new cloak Feyre had given her for Solstice.

And the new gown, cut low, and dipping scandalously down her back, fit her form marvelously, all of her womanly traits highlighted—a style she was gradually becoming more and more accustomed to over the months since she had decided to embrace her life here in the Night Court.

If she had to admit it to herself, she looked stunning. Her face had filled back out these past few months since the war, and there was finally a natural warmth and color to her cheeks. She no longer felt the need to hide behind rouge in order to feel beautiful.

And now she was merely pacing through the sitting room as she waited for his knock.

Feyre and Rhys had left earlier in the afternoon with the intention of staying out late to paint her new studio, and the twins taking a much-needed day off. So there was nothing but the crackling of the fireplace to keep her company as she practically worried holes in the floorboards, fussing over what she might say to him to heal the hurts she had inflicted all by herself.

At seven on the dot, a methodical wrapping noise echoed through the chambers, and Elain flew to the door.

There, on the doorstep, resplendent in a navy blue dress shirt under his leather jacket, hair swept back off his forehead, was Azriel, and Elain couldn’t help the way her damned heart tried to take flight. She did her best to breathe evenly, to calm it so he couldn’t hear the way he affected her, but it was no use—every ounce of her composure had melted away.

“Not even a hello for your best friend?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Hello, Az,” she breathed, swallowing dryly. “Would you like to come in?”

“I believe if we dally much longer, we will miss our reservation, but I appreciate the offer.” He winked at her before setting down a large sack in the entryway and taking her hand.

Before she even had a chance to ask him what in the seven hells was in the bag, he had already pulled them into the shadows and emerged on one of the many brilliantly lit streets which comprised the Rainbow of Velaris.

“Where are we going, exactly?”

“To one of my favorite hiding spots—well, it’s not really for hiding, but it is usually rather quiet, has decent food, and the view of the Sidra is incredible.” Still leading her by the hand, they ducked under the archway of a dimly lit restaurant, and Azriel waved to the staff, who clearly knew who he was before leading her through a tiny sitting room and onto a patio deck hanging over the river.

“How have I never heard of this place before?” Elain asked as she took a seat in the chair Az had offered her.

“Like I said, a favorite hiding place. When the others go out to eat, they’re always looking for somewhere bustling and upbeat. Sometimes I just need a break from all of that. This is where I tend to end up if I’m dining all by my lonesome.”

“And you’re showing it to me?” The only lighting other than that filtering in from the hanging lanterns which lit up the length of the Sidra was emanating from a candle guttering between them on the table. Yet somehow, even in the midst of winter, with such little firelight, the deck was cozy and warm—surely the result of a protection charm placed over the establishment.

Despite all of the obvious words exchanged which proved otherwise, this felt an awful lot like a date. But even if that blossoming seed inside her desired that outcome, it was awfully apparent that Azriel was nowhere near that mindset.

“I trust that you’re not going to rat me out.” He gave her a quick wink before continuing. “I thought we would get off on the right foot. In apology for the terrible misunderstandings we’ve had for the past few months, here is something of mine that I wanted to share with you. And I thought you might appreciate the atmosphere as well. You’re like no one else I’ve ever met.”

“But I have nothing of the sort for you. I—” She had seen the mysterious parcel he had left in the entryway, and now here was one of his secrets laid bare for her, and she had nothing of the sort to return to him. And that admission drew all the breath from her lungs. “I didn’t know—”

“I blame only myself for what occurred. I should have known better than to assume that you cut me out of your life, El. Even though I was so busy, I should have sensed that you would never do that to me, and I sincerely apologize. What a horrid best friend that makes me.” He ran a nervous hand through his hair as a waiter placed glasses of red wine in front of them, and she remembered that perhaps she should be taking a look at the menu in front of her.

“And then I misjudged you again with that gift. I—”

“It’s a beautiful knife, Az. I’m sorry I got so upset about it. With Lucien and Nesta and drinking more than I’m used to, I was a bit off balance. It’s maybe not what I would have preferred, but I shouldn’t have acted so rashly.”

“No, no. You bought me something thoughtful and useful, and I gave you something you obviously hated. I had this all selfishly planned out in my head—how we could go back to training you in not only your powers but also in combat, but—”

“You were going to train me?” she breathed.

“Who else?” Azriel blinked, clearly befuddled by the question. “Even in such a place as safely guarded as Velaris, it’s worthwhile to know a bit of self defense. Who knows what riffraff might wander in now the the Court of Nightmares has some access, limited though it may be. And I’m sure you’ll eventually want to travel too.”

She had never confided that dream to anyone else, not even Azriel. It was astonishing how well he fully comprehended who she was, inside and out, even if he may have had periods of blindness.

“And what would this training entail?”

“Well, you already have a basic grasp of how to stab a stationary target, but I would likely aim to teach you some proper maneuvers for close combat. As well as a few ways to break free of an attacker if you’re ever caught weaponless. We could start slow, and gradually teach your muscles how to respond as if it’s second nature. It wouldn’t be nearly as intense as the sort of training Feyre indulges in. But that’s really up to you. I understand if you’re not interested …”

“I’ll think about it,” she reassured him, and she could have sworn that he looked as if he might choke on his wine.

“Really?” Not much caught the shadowsinger off-guard, but it seemed like there were still plenty of ways for Elain to surprise him.

“Let’s go back to our regular training sessions, and I’ll consider adding this other training to my repertoire. Fair?”

“Better than I expected, if I’m being honest.” He laughed to himself. “What more would you like to get out of your seer powers?”

“I still feel as if I have no idea what to do with them since the war. The visions I received then seemed so grand, while now I really only get small snippets of everyday life. There … There has to be more to what I can do, a way for me to be useful.”

“I’ll admit that having a seer to aid in my spying efforts could prove to be extremely valuable, but you would have to work to be able to scry across long distances and figure out how to break through wards.”

“If I spied for you, could I travel around Prythian? To the Continent? I was supposed to go with father on one of his trips, but that obviously never came about.” She felt a light returning to her eyes as she realized that this was actually a very real possibility.

“Let’s start with the scrying and see how you enjoy it. But perhaps if you agreed to train with me, I would feel more comfortable about knowingly sending you somewhere dangerous.” The beginnings of one of the smirks she had grown so used to drawing out of him began to form on his lips.

Cocky bastard. He knew exactly how to work every situation to his advantage.

“We’ll see.” Elain stuck out her tongue at him.

That shy smile blossomed into a grin as the two of them fell back into easy conversation, finally catching up on their months apart after their less-than-incredible, heated reunion of a few nights ago.

Elain didn’t envy the long hours and sleepless nights Az had spent abroad, even though she wished to see the oasis towns of Day and scenic snowscapes of Winter. She craved an afternoon of picking apples in Autumn and tanning on the shores of the Summer beaches.

He, on the other hand, showed a renewed interest in how she had gotten on with the twins during his absence, and how she had started to show more of an interest in baking.

Every once in awhile, he asked a bit of a pointed question about her other new friends, as she mentioned the fact that when the others weren’t busy, she had been spending more time in their presences.

They broached the subjects of how Rhys was beginning to become the older brother she had never had, how Mor was proving to be her safety net, and how Cassian, when he wasn’t in Illyria, was growing closer to her, always the one lightening the mood and trying to make her laugh.

He kept probing a bit, and Elain sensed that he was also curious about her relationship—or lack thereof—with Lucien, but if Az was going to beat around the bush, who was Elain to bring up the subject she least wished to talk about? Especially with Azriel. She fought the urge to blush that he was showing a thinly-veiled interest in her love life, even if he was in love with another.

Az was probably just showing that territorial, brotherly, Fae bullshit which she had noticed that Rhys portrayed—the grimaces her brother fought whenever he was in the room as Feyre brought up the subject.

Some wounds relating to Lucien’s time in the Spring Court as well as the fact that he sat idly by and let Feyre suffer, seemed to run deep and have festered in the Illyrians. Even Cassian grew quiet whenever the topic was broached.

Elain supposed that she couldn’t blame them, but beyond those pointed words Az had spat at her back after the battle against Hybern, she wished she had more insight into why the others couldn’t forgive him. And now that she thought about it, this was probably the only reason he was interested now—to know if she would eventually make Lucien a part of their social circle by default.

They dined for a couple of hours under the twinkling, winter sky before they were so thoroughly glutted that Elain thought he was going to have to roll her home. To try to work some of the wine, the rich roasted lamb, and the dessert pudding off, she suggested walking, knowing full well that he could have reached through the shadows of his own accord if he had wished.

As they wound through the markets of the Rainbow, glimmering jewels sparkling from their stands under the lantern-light, shopkeepers searching for an extra sale just before they closed for the evening, Elain found herself shivering, despite the cobalt field of protection veiling them from the worst of the thrashing winter winds.

Thick though her gown might be, it was cut in a Night Court fashion, revealing more skin than she was used to, but she had been experimenting with more of their styles lately, growing embarrassed of always needing to have her modest gowns be custom-made or imported from elsewhere.

And the cloak she had planned on donning was regrettably still hanging on its hook in the front entryway, forgotten in the moment when she had lost control of herself at his appearance before he had whisked her into the night.

“Come on, El. You’re going to freeze to death if we keep waddling home like this. Let me at least just take us back to the townhouse before you lose a few fingers.” Behind the soft chuckle, she noticed his eyebrows furrowing. He truly was worried about her, but though he took her hand in preparation to step into the shadows, he made no move to do so without her permission.

Her focus narrowed to that point of contact, his calloused fingers which were somehow still cool against her own icicles. She was still marvelling at the fact that this touch between them was such a natural occurrence, one he didn’t even question, when he interrupted her thoughts. “El, are you okay?”

All of the previous lightheartedness had left his eyes as he scanned her for signs that anything was amiss.

“I’m fine, Az. I just don’t want this to end.” Perhaps that was a bit too forward. “I quite enjoy strolling through the streets at night. Velaris is so … relaxing.” And even more so when you’re here, she couldn’t bring herself to add.

He seemed not to notice that little slip of her tongue, which she had expediently corrected—didn’t seem to sense the lie that although she did enjoy Velaris as a whole, she knew that she would have to relinquish him when he dropped her off at home for the evening. And who knew when next she’d see him?

No. She had to trust that things would change, that he would make good on his promise to be more present in her life and to train with her again. It was so tempting to give in to his request that she learn how to wield a knife, if not to give him the motivation to stick around more often.

“Then at least take this.” He shrugged out of his leather jacket, tendrils of azure power deftly undoing some hidden clasps around his wings which drew Elain’s attention.

“Oh, but I couldn’t let you freeze,” she fought back, letting the jacket dangle limply from his outstretched hand.

“Trust me, I’ll be fine. The rest of my leathers are much less flimsy than this.” He took his free hand and rubbed it along the velour sleeve covering Elain’s right arm, sending shivers down her spine which had nothing to do with the winds whipping around her.

“Oh,” she breathed before she unfroze and mechanically took the jacket from him, keeping her movements controlled as she threw it around her shoulders, immediately being greeted by the hug of his body heat lingering in the fur lining and a deadly whiff of mist and cedar which had her head spinning.

“Now, shall we?” Azriel extended an arm to her, reminding her of that fated day in the gardens when his shadows had approached her, and her outlook on this new life had finally taken a turn in the right direction. She greedily accepted the outstretched appendage and they resumed their trek through the lantern-lit streets.

With anyone else, this stroll might be considered romantic, but with Azriel, she just had to accept the fact that his love for another female would always trump anything which could build between them. But she could learn to be content with this—the familiarity, the touches which might always remain platonic in his mind—simply to keep him in her life and by her side.

Chapter Text

As the front door of the townhouse loomed in front of them, Elain’s stomach tightened. Her bubble—this high she had been riding all night—was about to burst.

But they took one step after another, and as they reached the front door, which Az held open for her as she stepped inside, she noticed that he was not beginning the formalities of giving her his apologies before disappearing into the night. In fact, he swiftly crossed the threshold and closed the door in his wake.

His attention slid to the floor, and now that Elain had been relieved of her preoccupation that the night was over, her gaze fell to the bag he had left here, and she immediately asked, “What is that?”

Az scooped it up, and sidled past her into the sitting room, Elain following without a second thought.

“I meant it when I said I wanted to make Solstice up to you. So in addition to making up the magic of the evening which I may have ruined for you, I also wanted to give you a much better gift.” He took a seat in an open-backed chair near the fireplace, and waited for her to take up her natural place next to him.

“But … But I told you I would keep the knife. It truly is beautiful, Az. There’s nothing to make up when you already put so much thought into the original gift.” She was starting to seriously regret the unfortunate display she had drunkenly made in the gardens the other night.

“Well, I’m going to anyways.” His expression had hardened a bit—frustration that she wasn’t just relenting and letting him unveil whatever surprise he had in store for her, shrouded by a thin veil of fabric.

“If you insist,” Elain murmured as she found her own seat, their knees only inches apart in the glow of the firelight.

“Two things.” He held up two fingers, in an unnecessary display of dramatics. “First one.” A brand new journal, bound in leather with painted flowers splashing across its cover floated out of the bag and into her hands.

“I still have the other one you gave me,” she mused, unsure what this could be for when there were so many blank pages remaining, just waiting for her to have more visions, to explore her powers more thoroughly.

“That’s not for training; it’s for your new garden. You were showing me all your designs the other night, pages crammed into that other notebook, and I thought with the new estate being built, you should have something much grander to store your ideas in. Look.”

Az reached across the gap between them, lifting the cover and flipping to a random page in the middle. Elain let out a sharp gasp as he tore it out, but he held up a hand to her before he unfolded it, the original sheet proving to make up one quarter of the area of the new one he held before her.

Without further ado, he folded it back up and placed it back into place, the tear instantly healing over.

“I had it enchanted so you could have more room to sketch out your designs without having to shove extra sheets in the notebook. And if you ever run out of space, though I hope this will last you awhile, I can always order more enchanted pages to add to it.”

“Wow, Az. Thank you.” This was going to significantly improve her quality of life. So many of her past sketches had been made across many pages drawn on loose sheets of parchment she had found around the house. “It’s incredible.”

“Only the best for you,” he responded, as a trail of cobalt dipped back into the sack and pulled out three more objects. Three decorative porcelain pots, with splashes of color dancing across them. And inside, three arrangements of colorful flowers.

“I thought,” he continued, “That you could use a little color in your life, even in the winter. I’ve been assured that these can thrive throughout the seasons as long as they get some sun. Perhaps you could place them on your balcony, within the protections of the house but in full view of the sunlight, and then you can always have a little piece of your garden with you.”

Before he could even process what she was about to do, Elain had gotten up out of her seat to hug him.

“Thank you, Az. They’re perfect.”

You’re perfect. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but some gods-forsaken filter in the back of his mind kept him from letting her know this. Tonight had been going so spectacularly that he didn’t need to ruin it by having her interpret them the wrong way.

Being too loose with his lips had landed him in hot water the other night, so he had vowed to keep tonight “safe”. No talk of mates, miserable love lives, or anything which could be loosely perceived as delving into those topics.

As Az got a whiff of her vanilla shampoo mixing with her usually flowery scent, he found himself wanting this moment to last forever.

But eventually Elain pulled away, not moving far though as she perched herself on the edge of his seat.

“Would you like me to help you carry them upstairs?” Anything to extend his stay at the townhouse a bit, to stay here in this moment with her where nothing was complicated. He still felt like their bond was tenuous, that at any moment, he might accidentally shatter it again, and Azriel did not want to return to the dark abyss without his best friend.

“Oh,” Elain blushed, cheeks noticeably darkening, even in the dim flicker of the firelight.

Azriel was about to rescind the offer—to make for the front entryway—when she broke the ensuing silence instead. “I would appreciate that.”

Elain took her new journal and one of her precious new plants in her arms before leading the way to the staircase. The trek up to her room was a familiar one—Rhys had owned this comfy house for centuries—but each stride up the hollow, wooden steps seemed to echo in the silence of the otherwise empty house.

When they reached the doorway, Elain turned to him, clearly more than a little concerned about the impropriety of a male entering her room.

“Oh, come on, El. I’ve carried you to bed enough times that this shouldn’t be considered taboo. I’ve been in here after all, even if only for a few seconds.”

“And what if someone comes home?”

Was Azriel imagining the split second where one of her canines seemed to tug at her bottom lip? He must have been because he blinked and any sign of it was gone.

“We’ll just tell them exactly what we’re doing, Elain. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I promise you my intentions are pure.” Az was having trouble fending off the urge to chuckle at her, but there was no hiding the grin which he could feel upturning his cheeks. “Now, come on. I promise not to touch anything.”

He strode through the doorway, continuing all the way to the balcony, feeling Elain following close in his wake. It wasn’t his shadows alerting him to her presence behind him, just this raw energy between them. After all they had been through together, he felt this sort of attunement to her—always palpably aware of where she stood in the room and what she was doing.

On the tiny balcony, overlooking the gardens, Azriel found the small table and chair occupying most of its space and placed his two flower pots atop it, Elain following shortly with the third.

They both stood in silence for a minute before he took her hand, and began to lead her back through the sparse bedroom; there was nothing personal about the space, other than the flowers they had just set outside. If he hadn’t known any better, Azriel would have guessed that this was still being used as a guest room.

As the rounded the end of the hallway, at the top of the stairs, they heard voices from below, rapidly approaching. Azriel prepared to let go of Elain’s hand, the better to create the facade of distance between the two of them before cursing himself for almost forgetting his options.

Do you trust me? He looked down into her doe-like eyes, wide in the fear of being caught in a completely innocuous situation. One day perhaps she would get over these preconceived notions which were so utterly human and not in the least bit Fae. But for now, he would oblige her desire to appear “proper” at all times.

Elain nodded, tightening her grip on his hand as Azriel stepped into her shadow, grabbing her more fiercely before reappearing above the House of Wind, wings spread wide.

A small shriek ripped out of Elain’s throat, as she grabbed on for dear life, her legs wrapping around his torso as best they could, face buried in his shoulder.

He hurried to shift his grip on her, keeping on arm around her torso, but effortlessly coaxing her legs around so he could place the other arm below her knees.

“What was that?!” she screamed less than a minute later when she seemed to finally catch her breath. Her loose curls had been completely whipped around her face in knots, and where only minutes before her cheeks had been blushed from embarrassment, now they were ruddy with the exhilaration of what she likely considered a near-death experience.

“I panicked.”

“You panicked? The cold-as-steel spymaster of the Night Court panicked?” Elain asked exasperatedly.

“I thought … I thought that it would be easier if we staggered our arrival with your sister’s own. I could have placed us on the front steps, but it would be rather strange to have appeared out of nowhere only seconds after they entered the house, no? So I thought it best to fly down from here.”

Lies, his shadows hissed in his ears. He shooed them away with a thought as they continued to hover in the air, hundreds of feet above the city. 

He had thought it a fine idea to delay Elain’s return home, and he had panicked a bit. But only because his first thought as he began his descent into the shadows had been of his home—not the House of Wind, but his private apartment known to none other in the city.

So he quickly fumbled for a second choice and idiotically placed them in the air above the House. Any male worth his salt would have never dared to shock their friend so, and the scare had been thoroughly unintentional, though her instinct had been to cling to him for dear life, which the small prideful being lurking within him purred at.

But why had he even considered, misguided though the thoughts had been, bringing Elain into his sanctuary? Azriel was going to have to be more careful with this friend of his who was beginning to untangle so many of the guards he had had in place for centuries. Those knots inside him which he had never allowed another to touch.

She was a danger to the entire fabric of his being, yet he was finding it difficult to deny her these intricate secrets forming the essence of him—at least he had been able to deny nothing she had yet requested of him. He was going to have to be more careful with her, while maintaining this bond they already shared.

And he was going to have to be infinitely more prudent with keeping a sliver of his guard in place, lest she unravel him completely. For no one could ever see to the core of him, decrepit and umbral, mutilated and morbid, and choose to stick by his side in any capacity.

These were the sides of himself which only he and the shadows were familiar with, those born of his darkest years, which he had kept under-wraps, even from his brothers and his mother and Mor. They never would have adopted him if they knew the truth, the horrors which would haunt him until the day he died.

“We could have at least landed on solid ground!” Elain took one of her hands from around his hand and lightly shoved at his chest, the gesture playful enough for him to pick up on the fact that her passionate reaction had been just that, and she had already forgiven him for his impetuous mistake.

He feigned being wounded, letting out an exaggerated groan of pain before smirking as he took in her haggard appearance and crooning, “But then I wouldn’t have been able to discover how much you truly trust me? I can’t be too terrible of a friend or you wouldn’t have grabbed onto me like a spider monkey. And you surely wouldn’t still be talking with me.”

Elain’s cheeks flared crimson, their owner completely petrified into silence as Az tried to process what he said to embarrass her so thoroughly.

“You ruined my hair,” she finally pouted, but there was a spark in those caramel eyes of hers that let him know she wasn’t so much upset about that as trying to deflect his attentions, to play with him in order to force him to change the subject.

“A pity, that,” he chuckled as he tilted himself downward, allowing for a steady descent until they had landed on one of the many balconies and he carried her through the House and into his room.

He fumbled around in his nightstand drawer until he found what he was looking for. A comb. The one he dutifully ignored, preferring to just let his short hair dry naturally and giving no care to if it got thrown around in the wind.

“Here. You can fix it before I take you home, and this time I promise to keep the wind at bay.”

She plucked it out of his hand with a nod and a quickly mumbled, “Thank you,” before beginning to use it to pluck at the snarls.

“It’s tiny,” she muttered a minute later, having barely made much headway through the cascading locks.

“It’s all I have.” Az sighed as he ran his hand through the top of his wonderfully knot-free hair. “Here.” He sat next to her on the bed and held up his hands. “May I?” Offering up his services was the least he could do for her since this little snafu was all his damned fault in the first place.

When Elain did nothing to break their gazes or back away from him or utter a single syllable of refusal, he began threading his fingers through her tangles, starting at the bottom and gradually detangling the strands, as he worked his way up to her scalp. He fumbled often, but Elain made no snarky comments about his ineptitude as she silently continued on the opposite side of her head, having abandoned the comb for her own fingers.

Az had never attempted something such as this, but he had often watched Cassian and Morrigan brush out their own hair when they had all lived together, so he had a basic understanding of how to proceed, even if he lacked the proper tools and had to make do with his fingers, his callouses frequently snagging on strands of hair as he worked them with as much precision as he could muster.

When he neared her scalp, finishing up making her right side look fairly presentable, he could feel Elain shudder a bit as his rough fingertips grazed her the sensitive skin. Not knowing whether it was in pleasure or out of distaste for his familiarity, he made quick work of it before slipping behind her, one of his legs tucked under the other as his calf grazed up against her backside.

The hair back here wasn’t quite as messed up as the sections framing her face, but he dutifully repeated the process, his hands sometimes brushing up against her exposed back, as the low-cut gown laid it bare beneath her curls.

The tender skin back here was unimaginably smooth, so delicate and unmarred, unlike his own. She was his foil in so many ways. Where he was cold and calculated, she was affectionate and amiable. Where he was scarred and damaged, she was whole and growing healthier every day. His past marked so much of him in visible ways—the jagged scars and despised tattoos—but Elain still had so much future for herself, with a clean, unmarred slate.

Having completed the untangling of her hair, he let himself out of this hypnotic trance that he had fallen under, with his fingers entwined in her locks and put some distance between the two of them, lifting himself off the bed and offering to escort her home.

It was growing late, and now that she was decent again, he handed her back the jacket she had sloughed off for better mobility. It would still be chilly in the skies, and she would need it.

Once she was properly bundled up, Az lifted Elain into his arms and the two flew in relative silence through Velaris.

As they began to near the townhouse, the familiar neighborhood unfolding beneath them, Elain’s head shifted in the crook of Azriel’s neck, and he glanced down to find her staring up at him, apprehension in her eyes. Was it possible that she was as loathe to have the night end as he was?

But the only words which came out of her mouth were, “Thank you. For tonight.”

“Even after I scared the shit out of you and ruined your hair?” He lost the fight against the easy, swaggering words which hid his true intentions, his true question from her.

“That’s true. You do tend to spoil everything,” she pouted back, a playful smile on her lips, and Azriel’s heart sank like a stone in his chest.

He bit back the ice pooling in his veins at the familiar curse, viciously murmured in the blackness by his half-brothers, which had haunted him all the way through to adulthood. Of course she didn’t know … So he just had to continue acting normal, and acting as if his suspicions hadn’t been confirmed—that he would never be enough for his friends—even though he’d known it for centuries.

Azriel wasn’t sure how this infinitesimally tiny seed of hope had begun to bloom in his chest until it was already decaying, but ever since he had met Elain, drawn to her presence—her own brokenness akin to his own—it had been living inside him until this moment.

“What’s wrong?” she frowned up at him, the townhouse and the termination of their flight now looming heavily before them.

“It’s nothing.” He scrambled to paste together a careful smile, cursing himself internally for hesitating and letting her assume something was amiss.

“You’re not going back into the field immediately, are you?” Still that frown of concern.

“Not for awhile yet. You know this.”

“Yes, but you’ve been acting so strangely ever since we left the townhouse. I thought perhaps something had changed …”

He shook his head, not wanting to have to utter some pretty lie which would always be sitting on the tip of his tongue, the blessing and curse of being practiced in espionage and deception.

“So when will I see you again?”

They had now landed in front of the gated yard, and Az strode up the walkway, carrying her the rest of the way, as she made no effort to be relieved of his arms.

“Now that my schedule’s freed up, I see no reason why we can’t get together a few days a week to train. So day after tomorrow? I may need to go visit Cassian in Illyria a bit, but luckily those trips never take too long.

“Sounds great!” she said with a noticeable cheer in her voice which hadn’t been there a minute ago, as she shifted in his arms, and he knew it was time to set her down and let the evening come to and end.

“Well, goodnight, Az!” Elain leaned up on her toes to graze her lips across his cheek, leaving him stunned in the doorway as she slipped inside.

Chapter Text

Azriel clearly hadn’t picked up on any of the signs that Elain felt some sort of unexplored interest in him, which was totally fine. She had thought she had been less-than-subtle with the way she had clung to him so high above the city, even though initially, it had been from the split second terror brought on by the thought that she might fall hundreds of feet and splatter along the sidewalks.

But she had trusted him, and he had kept her safe without fail and also helped her avoid being ambushed by her sister.

The way he had volunteered to finger-comb her hair though had felt so damn good. Elain already got pleasure from the sensation of having a brush run across her scalp, but those calloused fingers sorting through her tangles and tickling her head as they moved effortlessly through her curls had given her an electric sort of ecstasy, causing her to freeze up lest she might turn the tide and make the moment uncomfortable by letting out a soft moan at the sensation.

And then he had held her tight all the way back home, instead of simply stepping through the shadows, which would have been quicker. But when she had given him her final test, a peck on the cheek—something chaste, yet suggestive, which was not unfamiliar to him—he hadn’t moved.

It was fine, really. Truly. Elain had known that her misguided feelings were made even more so by the male who would never be ready to receive them even if she let them develop.

Still, the night played through her head on repeat as she analyzed every miniscule interaction for a sign of something more than platonic, but she could find none. Maybe if they had never hugged, if he had never held her in his arms, if he had ever flinched away from touching her skin, she might feel differently, but this was just a typical evening in the lives of Elain and Azriel, best friends—and doomed to remain so for eternity.

So she vowed to try to put this blossoming emotion, this affection which was so newborn that it hadn’t even been allowed the chance to grow and evolve in a box and focus on their friendship.

But it didn’t mean she wouldn’t smugly grin as she glanced around her room, at the three vibrant flower pots now adorning her balcony and the jacket thrown over the back of the plush chair in the corner.

It was obvious that she held some place in his heart, even if it would never be the exact one she thought she was beginning to desire.

Winter turned to spring. Spring to summer. And summer to autumn.

The vivid transformations of the leaves reminding her that it had been over a full year now since her life had been uprooted, but now, instead of moping in that mountain, high atop the city, Elain was thriving.

This past year hadn’t been easy—especially when Nesta had been dragged away to Windhaven with Cassian. To be honest, Elain had only seen Nesta a handful of times between Solstice and her summer intervention, but it still felt somehow final to have Nesta living hundreds of miles away from her.

And it still weighed on her that she had decided not to attend the intervention. Feyre had agreed with her that it might be best if she wasn’t available for Nesta to ply and appeal to her sensibilities. For if Nesta truly wanted to sway anyone to turn on the others and fight for her right to drink herself to death in that hovel, Elain would be her first target.

Since she agreed with Cassian’s decision, she waited upstairs in her room as the confrontation occurred, only emerging to watch as Cassian and Nesta shuffled off the lot to go collect whichever meager possessions Nesta still owned. Her sister hadn’t even asked if she could say goodbye to Elain.

She was hoping to go visit eventually, but Cassian had reported that Nesta had remained the hollowed-out shell she had transformed into after the war, so no plans had yet been made. Additionally, Elain could sense that Feyre was trying to shield her from the reality of staying in an Illyrian camp.

Elain had only briefly visited one on the way to Graysen’s estate last year, and the brooding warriors had been less than pleasant, but if she went to go stay with Cassian and Nesta, she need not encounter too many of the other brutes if she did not wish to.

She was out, tending to the estate gardens, mulling over the idea of asking Feyre and Rhys—her older brother protective but very open to listening to her suggestions, if they did not bother Feyre—if they would send her there for Solstice, when she felt a sharp tug in her gut. The sensation was both alien and intensely familiar as she recognized it announcing Lucien’s arrival.

He was near. But did that just mean Velaris? Or was he inside the mansion speaking with her sister?

Elain had not seen him since last Solstice, and from the lack of any awareness of him through their soul-bridge, she suspected he was rarely even in the Night Court.

She swiftly threw aside thoughts of him, reminding herself that he had not interfered with her life, so there was no reason for him to change now, unless …

The bond was tautening. She could almost feel the footsteps reverberating through her as Lucien descended the stairs of the back patio and made a beeline to where Elain was kneeling next to a patch of flowers, frozen beneath his gaze.

“Elain.” His greeting was rather formal as he dipped his head in deference to her.

“Lu—Lucien,” she stammered back at him, eyes now cast downward at the soil she had been fertilizing.

“Listen, Elain. Can we talk?”

One heartbeat passed. Another. And then a third in silence before he chose to barrel onward.

“I was just passing through. I only have a minute, honest. I promise I won’t disturb you for longer than necessary.”

“What do you want?” It was difficult to keep her voice measured and even as she felt the wind leaving her sails.

“To talk to you. For you to treat me like I’m not some monster who’s threatening to ruin everything and everyone you love. Cauldron, Elain. I just want to get to know you.”

He had stepped closer now, his shadow hovering over her, letting her know he was frustratedly running his hand through his unbound locks.

“Why do you want to get to know me? I’m nobody.”

“You’re not nobody to me. You’re my mate. We’re mates. And it’s eaten at me for a year and a half how you won’t even acknowledge me. You may not want to accept the bond and be with me, but couldn’t you even pretend to want to be my friend? If nothing else?”

“Your friend?” she gulped out as she tilted her head up to look at him.

“Just my friend. Mother above, I don’t know how much we even have in common—Feyre won’t tell me anything more about you—but I’d like us to at least be on amicable terms.”

Elain could feel the desperation pouring off of him in waves, the force of it along the bond causing her stomach to turn.

“I don’t know how to be your friend. I’ve never been particularly good at making—”

“What do you call Rhysand, the Illyrians, Morrigan? Surely you’re growing closer to them. So just try with me. That’s all I ask.”

The truth was that she did have true friends now—more than Elain had ever possessed in the rest of her years combined—but they weren’t just friends. They were all family too. Their relationships had progressed so organically as they spent evenings, days training, and holidays together.

The pressure she would feel to force a relationship one-on-one …

“What do you want me to do?”

“Agree that when I’m in the Night Court, you won’t run hiding to your room or the gardens or off somewhere to ‘train’ or whatever other flimsy excuses you’ve given in the past. Promise me that you won’t glare at me the entire time or completely disassociate just so I won’t attempt to speak of you. That’s it.”

“That’s it?” It seemed simple enough, and she didn’t hate Lucien, per se. She just hated the corner he had trapped her in when he had proclaimed for the entire world that she was his mate. She hated how that had left her which even fewer options in a new world which had seemed so limited to her at the time.

“That’s all I ask. If nothing comes of it, so be it, but it would drive me mad for eternity if I never made the effort to try to get to know my mate, as impossible as it may be for us to fall in love. Just … Be my friend, Elain. I promise you won’t regret it.”

“Okay.” She nodded, getting to her feet. “I accept.” Perhaps it would be nice to have the male as a friend. “I would shake on it,” she jested, “but …” Elain held up her dirt-caked hands, wriggling her fingers.

“Doesn’t make a difference to me,” Lucien assured her as he took one in his massive, tanned fingers and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it before turning to stride back to the mansion. “I’ll drop by for dinner one of these nights!” he called over his shoulder just before being swallowed up by the estate.

And somehow Elain got the impression that she might be in too deep already, having agreed to give him this inch, but she decided to stick to her promise for at least a few weeks before working up the courage to ask Lucien to break the bond.

“So, what have you been doing in the human lands all this time?” Azriel grilled the red headed male over supper four days later.

Elain almost choked on her sip of wine as the spymaster attempted to skewer Lucien with his eyes.

“Shouldn’t you already know this? Being a spymaster and all …”

Azriel silently fumed, but somehow Elain got the impression that Azriel had absolutely no idea about Lucien’s day-to-day life, as if the snoop had intentionally decided not to spy on her mate.

Was it all for her sake?

“Of course, but I wasn’t asking only for my own benefit.” Her best friend tilted a head in her direction, and Elain gave him a sharp kick in the shins.

Stop it. I’m supposed to be getting to know him and not giving him such a hard time. That was the deal. If I keep up my end of the bargain, he won’t protest if I decide to break our bond.

You promised him not to be contrary, but I made no such sacrifice to my own wellbeing. Besides, this does count as getting to know him. And if he deflects all of my efforts to suss out his recent past, then he does look fairly shady, no?

You’re impossible.

“I don’t see why she couldn’t just ask me herself. Are you her protector?” Lucien cocked his head, looking Azriel up and down from across the table.

“Elain can speak for herself,” Elain chided them both, stopping this pissing contest before it got off the ground. “He’s family.” The words burned a hole in her gut.

Family. Nothing more but nothing less. For a year she had held onto this secret yearning for Azriel which had grown brighter every day, despite her attempts to dampen it, but he never even seemed to notice.

But that didn’t stop him from being intimate with her. He let her fall asleep on his shoulder. He held her tightly as she flew in his arms. He would hold her hand when leading her places. He returned her embraces. And on a few rare occasions, he had offered her a light graze of his lips on her cheek, as she so often gifted to him.

But he never displayed a physical reaction to any of it though, or tried to push their boundaries further.

His eyes still lit up, and his shadows still fled whenever Mor walked into the room. That was what truly killed Elain. That with everything they had been through, Mor still shone more brilliantly than the sun in his eyes, and Elain would always be shrouded in the shadows. And he didn’t need any more of those in his life.

“They all are, and they’ve kindly invited you for supper, Lucien.” She threw him a reproachful glare before remembering to soften it and asking softly, “So what have you been up to? It’s been awhile since we last caught up.”

A banal formality, out of habit, which she hoped he’d ignore simply so he wouldn’t bring up the fact that she had never voluntarily spoken to him or asked after his wellbeing.

“Well the Band of Exiles and I have been working hard on uniting the human lands. It hasn’t been so difficult on Prythian—given their proximity to the Fae and the fact that there just aren’t many of them to contend with. But we’ve had no such success with the Mortal Queens. We send them missives which are never responded to. Our spies have a nasty habit of disappearing when they cross the ocean. And every day which ticks by is just another day closer to the one in which Vassa’s captor remembers that she has gone amiss and summons her back to him. So naturally, we’re working as quickly as possible.”

“Has she found any way to break the curse?” Feyre asked from the head of the table.

“Not yet. She has gone to Day to speak with Helion, and even Thesan has taken a look at her, in case her curse might be causing her some sort of bodily harm, but neither of the High Lords are any the wiser to what spell she might be under. Her captor is likely older than this world, his incantations none which have ever graced our ears before. Rather unfortunate, but we won’t stop until we find an answer.”

“What about the other girls he has enchanted?” Rhys asked, a shadow passing over his face.

“We’ve certainly kept them in mind, but it’s no use breaking into his stronghold to free them or break their cursed bonds with him if we don’t know how to disable the curse itself. It would only land Vassa back in her prison, so it’s a risk we cannot take until we are certain of its cure or it becomes absolutely necessary.”

“Interesting,” Rhys murmured, his hands clasping a fork and knife frozen above his plate for a moment before he continued eating.

“And do you like it there? In the mortal lands?” Elain breathed, voice barely more than a whisper as she prepared to hear about her old home, her old life.

“It is different from anything I have experienced before. The war ravaged that small strip of the human lands below the wall.”

Elain gulped. This was all because the King of Hybern had thought to spite Elain and her sisters by destroying their human home and laying waste to their soldiers upon the same land.

“But when it comes down to it, it is not so different than the Courts. There is strife to be dealt with and some discrimination, but I find myself an emissary all the same. The company is good though—with the exception of Graysen when he deigns to show his miserable face. No offense—”

Lucien’s eyes had widened in panic as he realized whom he had just admitted that to—Graysen’s ex-fiance—but Elain had moved past Graysen enough to be able to take it in stride.

“None taken. That’s behind me now,” she replied, fidgeting with folding her napkin in her lap.

Even though she had known that Graysen was horrid, it had taken her longer than she liked to admit for her heart to let him go. She had experimented many times with taking off the ring, and then feeling like a piece of human garbage without it on and wearing it for a few more days before repeating the cycle.

It had only been when Azriel had complimented her hands one day in the garden, when the ring had been stashed in her pocket for safekeeping that Elain had vowed to let bygones be bygones and had gone to the Sidra in secret to hurl the ring away from her, irretrievably, into its turbulent depths.

She doubted the shadowsinger knew the exact effect he had had on her, but nevertheless, something about his words—that her hands were becoming wonderfully calloused, proof of her hard work and dedication and the fact that she was creating a whole new world out of nothing—caused her to realize that, for once, her finger didn’t feel naked. For once, just Elain had been enough and had shined through enough for someone to recognize her.

Lucien took a sip of his wine but seemed unsure of how to respond to that. Perhaps that was wise of him because she would have felt an extreme discomfort if he expressed any form of hope or joy at the prospect, and it would have been odd for him to want her to continue to mourn him and her human life.

Azriel saved them all from the embarrassment surrounding the awkward silence by pitching in, “Seconded.”

“Az!” She playfully slapped him on the arm, but she couldn’t help herself from laughing a bit, and the others joined in.

“To be fair, the two times I ever saw him, he just glared and spat vitriol,” Feyre offered. “I would’ve been willing to look past it if you two had been truly happy together, but that never was the case—at least not once you had been changed.”

“As your older brother and defender of your honor, I feel I would be inclined to punch him if I were to ever come in contact with him again,” Rhys teased. “I fear for his safety though, because I hit much harder than Nesta, and poor Graysen nearly lost his head the last time those two got into it.”

“Oh hush. You’re always so dramatic,” she laughed.

“I regret to inform you that this comment ranks low on the patented ‘Rhysand Drama Scale’,” Mor warned her. “He has kicked us out of his house because he wanted alone time with his mate. One time, when Feyre was in the Spring Court, I found him sitting in a darkened room staring at the wall, and he wouldn’t even acknowledge me other than to tell me he was brooding. And never forget the time he sacrificed himself to save the world without telling anyone.”

Mor threw Rhys a pointed look—that last action still not quite fully forgiven—to which he just rolled his eyes in response.

“You wound me, cousin. I am the most level-headed of us all.”

“Even Azriel?!” Feyre almost spat out her wine. “Do you remember that one time you—”

“I don’t even want to know how much of a drama queen you are when you two are in private.” Az looked like he was about to cover his own ears.

“Don’t you know already, spymaster?” Lucien quipped.

“Cauldron. You know, after almost six centuries I’ve learned how to tune those particular shadows out if I’m uninterested in violating your personal spaces. Mother knows it was an excruciating experience knowing every damn secret others were trying to hide when we were teenagers. No thank you.” He shoveled more vegetables into his mouth, practically daring anyone else to further engage him on the topic of his spying.

And Elain could tell that, try to hide it though he might, he was cutting glances her way. Though the others might now be distracted with catching up with her mate, Elain was still hyper aware of Azriel’s subtle movements. The deliberately slow pace with which he was chewing. The extended gulps of his whiskey. The eyes periodically darting in her direction, as if to make sure she wasn’t fretting over the fact that he had access to so much personal information about her.

She did not fear this side of Azriel, though. She was well aware of the extent of the shadows’ powers, and she knew they were easy enough to direct once you knew how to wield them. And Azriel’s own morbid curiosity never extended towards invading privacy. Plus, she knew she held some sway over the shadows herself.

It had almost become her power in a way. They seemed to have chosen her of their own free will after falling into Azriel’s gravitational field without any say in the matter. He had been a black hole, alone in that cell for his entire life while she was just a familiar face. She had possessed a familiar loneliness when they had found her, breaking protocol to explore, to speak with her, to ask her questions.

You don’t need to worry about me, you know. She sent a soothing shadow over to his ear.

I don’t know what you’re talking about. His voice in her ear was tight and clipped.

You’re such a bad liar sometimes. And I know you fear that I’ll be uncomfortable with the knowledge that you could spy on me whenever you like. Even you have tells, shadowsinger.

Let her leave him with that little tidbit to mull over.

Like?

No. No way. If I tell you, then I lose all my advantages. You’re hard enough to read as-is.

And if the shadows tell me?

They won’t. They love watching you squirm just as much as I do.

You know, you’re a rather devious female, Elain Archeron. One wouldn’t guess it just by looking at you.

I try. And that’s the whole point, she smirked. What fun is it if others know how much attention you’re paying them?

You would make an excellent spy.

Does that mean you’ll take me on missions?

You’ve only satisfied one stipulation of your training. If you’re serious, you still need to learn how to defend yourself. I’m not sure why you’ve put it off so long if this is at the forefront of your mind.

Because though she had gotten extremely adept at scrying, even as far as scouting out landmarks known to Az on the continent across the sea, something had held her back from learning to wield a blade.

She had always prided herself on bringing life into the world and not death. And somehow, she had not been able to reconcile those morals with having to learn the art of wielding a weapon. And Azriel had stuck by her side, keeping his promise not to disappear on her so she had been in this bubble of contentment where she got her fix of him from training her powers, having him help her in the garden, and sometimes having suppers together.

Damn you. She wished she could stick out her tongue at him or roll her eyes or do something outside of the scrutiny of the four others at the table. But that would mean admitting to the fact that they were constantly having these silent conversations, and Elain still coveted the knowledge that these moments were hers alone. It made her feel special to him in a way, even if it wasn’t quite the way she so deeply desired.

“Elain?”

Shit. She had gotten so lost in her thoughts about Azriel that she had completely lost track of the conversation going on between the rest of the table. A rookie mistake, and one she only seemed to make when she was wallowing about the futility of her juvenile crush which she just couldn’t quell.

“Yes?” Her cheeks lit up as she turned her attention to Lucien.

“I asked if you would like to visit the human lands sometime. I know … I know that might be a loaded question, but I think you would like Jurian and Vassa if you got to know them, and it might be nice to have another with experience living in both worlds to provide some perspective at our meetings.”

“Oh. That might be nice. I’m not sure how comfortable I would be with that. I haven’t seen it since …”

“I promise to personally castrate Graysen if he steps on the premises during your visit. In fact, we could even plan to send him away so you would feel safe to wander around the town if you like. And you wouldn’t be the only Fae living there. Quite a few from the southern courts have decided to mingle and settle there. Just as Summer has renovated the camps used in Adriata into longer term housing for humans who wish to explore the ‘magic that Prythian has to offer’ or however they like to word that.”

“She doesn’t even know how to defend herself, and from what I’ve gathered, many humans are still rather hostile towards the Fae.” Azriel’s voice was gravelly and laced with malice.

“I can escort her anywhere she needs to go if she feels threatened or unwelcome. I believe you forget that I’m a High Lord’s son, shadowsinger.”

“Or we could all go!” Feyre interjected. “It could be a little vacation because as much as I love Velaris, I do wish to get out more. We’ve just been so busy lately, and I’ve been teaching classes practically every day.”

Lucien paled. Clearly, as much as he appreciated the company of his friend, he had been hoping to perhaps have some alone time to get to know Elain. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that thought, but before she could even speak up, Rhys cut in, “I’m sure Elain doesn’t always feel the need to have a chaperone, darling.”

“But wasn’t the ‘High Lord’s son’ just stating that he’d be doing exactly that?” Az retorted.

“You can all stop arguing about me like I’m not here.” Elain’s voice was quiet even to herself. “Right now I would feel uncomfortable there, and Rhys is right. I don’t want to be escorted everywhere like some blushing maiden. So maybe one day, but I want to feel stronger and more confident in myself before I go back to that place.”

She turned until she was facing Azriel, staring him directly in those cool, amber eyes. “I want to train. Teach me how to fight.”

Chapter Text

“Teach me how to fight.”

Azriel couldn’t believe the words which had somehow just blessed his ears. Almost a year of avoiding the subject, of casually brushing off her need to learn this necessary skill, and suddenly Lucien had flipped this switch in Elain, had made her want to learn how to defend herself.

Was the allure of visiting the human lands and being able to feel safe in her own skin truly that appealing to her?

He was frustrated that the simple knowledge that not even Velaris was as safe as everyone made it out to be or the espionage opportunities he had hinted at this entire past year had not been enough to sway her, but this other male had.

But … Elain had not turned to Lucien as her instructor, even if his honeyed offering had been the catalyst for this change of heart.

No, Azriel was still the one she trusted implicitly to be her coach, her guide. And the thought of beating out another male for the role—a male who was her Cauldron-appointed mate—had his chest swelling and his wings twitching, even though he knew he would knock something over if they flared in this small of a space.

“I’d be glad to,” Azriel offered back. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

“So soon?” Elain seemed to finally be realizing exactly what she had just willingly asked for.

“What better time is there than the present?” Azriel smirked as he gave her a cocky onceover. All a part of this game he was playing with her and also a distraction from the gravity of what her mate was offering her across the table.

He might have come to her with the pretense that he was only looking to be friends, but his thinly-veiled words tonight had proved otherwise to Azriel. Lucien wanted to spend time alone, getting to know Elain, without her family or the Inner Circle present. And the prick was willing to take her back to a place which had shown her so much suffering in the past in order to do so.

Perhaps he thought the two of them could heal over those wounds together and explore a romantic relationship if it came to that, but the fact that he was willing to tear those open in order to be her salvation was eating away at Azriel.

He and the others had worked so fiercely to help Elain bring herself to this place, where she wasn’t crying herself to sleep every night or constantly staring off into the distance with that wistful look on her face—the one Azriel knew meant she was wishing she was somewhere far away from here.

He still caught her at it sometimes, when she thought nobody was watching her, but he had attributed it lately to a wanderlust related to feeling trapped in Velaris, not one where she constantly prayed to the Mother that Amren would magically reveal a spell from the book which would make her human again.

“Oh—Okay. What should I ummm ...”

“You can borrow a set of my leathers!” Feyre squealed. “We’re not the exact same size—” Azriel’s High Lady frowned down at her less ample chest, “but they’ll fit you well enough until you can have some custom made. Oh, this is going to be so much fun—”

“Hold on, Feyre. This is just going to be between myself and Elain,” Azriel cut her off before she could go any further.

“But—”

“No buts.” He held a calm, yet firm, hand up to her. “I don’t like to train with an audience, which you know. Besides, your physical prowess is much higher than Elain’s. You’ve been training for years now. She deserves to be able to work at her own pace without the added pressure of needing to catch up to your level.”

“Fine,” his High Lady huffed.

“You know I’m right. Just how would you have felt if I trained you how to fly with a gaggle of young Illyrian whelps who already had a grasp of the basics?”

“Terrible,” Feyre muttered before turning back to her empty plate.

“Well now that that’s settled,” interjected Rhys with a gleam in his eye that looked suspiciously like he was trying not to break out into laughter at the whole exchange, “I’m ready for some dessert.

The rest of the evening went smoothly. Feyre and Lucien seemed to have fallen back into an old pattern of banter which Elain watched reservedly from her seat over by the fire.

Lucien had taken a seat on the far edge of her couch, but had been content to let Mor provide a barrier between the two of them.

After her declaration about finally taking Az up on his offer to train, things had grown a bit more distanced between herself and Lucien, but he wasn’t pushing her to speak with him and discuss why she’d want to spend so much time with the other male. Or pressing her to come visit the Band of Exiles either.

Perhaps they could exist in this contented equilibrium for awhile, where she held him at arms length but didn’t shut him out completely. It had been tempting for sure to go back and visit the land she’d been raised in, but Azriel was right in guessing that she would not feel entirely safe there.

She did not, under any circumstances, want to be followed around like some doll Lucien had to protect. And if she ran into Graysen … Well, then maybe she would be the one to whip him into shape the next time. Her broken heart had long since frozen into an icy rage at the man for what he had done to her.

He had taken everything from her—her maidenhead, her confidence, her sense of self—and thrown it all away. She had finally grown to fill those parts of her soul again, but she would demand retribution if the prick ever deigned to address her again.

Elain didn’t remember falling asleep on the couch, but when she was jostled by the tentative motions of strong arms lifting her into a familiar position and the catlike footsteps moving beneath her, she lifted an eyelid.

Towering above her, eyes on the staircase he was ascending was Azriel. His own eyelids were drooping, and if she had to guess, it was very early in the morning, but here he was, prying her off of Mor’s shoulder and making sure she made it to her bedroom safely before turning in himself.

She closed her own eyes and just inhaled the scent of him, reveling in the heady musk which always rolled off of him in waves. There was something addictive about it to her, and she wondered how he wasn’t always flocked with females craving and just needing to breathe in more of him.

When they reached her bedroom, Elain’s breath hitched against her will as he settled her on the mattress, unwilling to be separated from this magnificent male.

He pulled the covers up over her, tucking her in with such care before leaning down and whispering, “I know you’re awake, El. I’ll come pick you up tomorrow morning,” before planting a chaste kiss on her forehead and whisking himself away into the shadows before she even had time to respond.

Saying that Elain slept poorly would have been a severe understatement. She cursed herself for having to be jolted into consciousness only to feel him place that burning kiss onto her head. That point of contact and the scent of him lingering on her dress which she hadn’t bothered to change out of in favor of her nightgown were thoroughly wrecking her.

Even when she did manage to drift off for an hour or two, it was a fitful sleep, with dreams which made no sense at all. Some contained him. Some swam with images of Lucien. In all of them, Elain was isolated, alone, off in her own little corner where it appeared that nobody could see or hear her.

When she awoke, coated in sweat, just as the sun was rising, she decided to try to shake off this feeling of loneliness—that after all she had been through, she may spend eternity moping without an equal, a partner—and took a quick bath before going in search of something stronger than tea to snap herself out of her stupor.

Elain absolutely abhorred the bitter taste of coffee, and since none of the others seemed to be partial to the substance either, she had only had sips of it on occasion. But today, she made herself a large mug of the life-giving beverage and waited for it to cool enough that she could chug it—and wash it down with a tart afterwards.

“Perhaps not the best way to begin a workout,” drawled a voice from the doorway. Elain lifted her eyes, mouth still in the act of taking a heaping bite out of the tart as she somehow felt like she had been caught red-handed. But for doing what? Agonizing over him so much last night that she had barely slept?

She held his gaze as her jaw clamped down on the pastry, chewing slowly all the while before she swallowed and asked, “And what would you suggest?”

“It depends. Most people prefer eggs or sausage—some form of protein—before being physically active. And that coffee is just going to turn in your stomach.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” She frowned as she took in this side of him—the taskmaster, ready to whip her into shape. Elain would be lying if she said that the thought of it didn’t give her butterflies.

“It’s fine. Today will be fairly simple anyways. I need to introduce you to some general strengthening exercises and familiarize you with your blade before it gets too intense. Do you have that on you already?”

Azriel was appraising her from head to toe, as she forced herself not to shy away from his eyes roving over the leathers.

Feyre was close enough to her in size, but the leathers were designed for someone with a more muscular and less curvy frame, and, unfortunately, the top was definitely designed for a less ample bosom, the result being that Elain didn’t feel quite supported enough. She had done a few preliminary tests of stretching today though, to ensure that she wouldn’t be afraid of the top failing to hold her in altogether.

“Not yet. I didn’t expect anyone else to be up already. I’ll go get it.”

“No.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Sit and eat.” He shoved some bacon her way. “Nuala can fetch it for you while you load up on something a bit more suitable.

She nodded and gratefully began nibbling on a piece, the fatty meat still registering as a delicacy in her mind. They had gone so many years without being able to afford it that she sometimes still forgot that the heavenly richness of it was something she could easily procure now, and she didn’t have to be stingy about it.

When she was finally washing it down with some juice, a wisp of shadow unfolded in Azriel’s hand, her rose-gold-hilted blade appearing within the grasp of his calloused fingers.

“Do you know how to strap this on?” he asked, his voice low and calm.

Elain was embarrassed to admit that she hadn’t actually ever attempted to wield the blade. It had sat on her dresser in the townhouse, and when they had moved, it had found its way into the back of her armoire, untouched.

She hoped Nuala hadn’t whispered into the shadowsinger’s ear informing him of its hiding spot.

“Umm … I don’t think so?” Her voice rose in pitch until the wave of it crested on the very last syllable.

“Lesson one, then,” he murmured. “How to strap a sheath to your belt.” He signaled for her to rise before kneeling before her, his head somehow still peeking above the tabletop.

Azriel deftly pointed out to her which clasps on her leathers corresponded to the loops on the sheath, asking her to repeat it all back to him. When the sheath was safely attached, he undid it, his hands a series of blurs before passing it to Elain. “Now you try.”

“Oh.” While Elain had been doing her best to pay attention, she’d be lying if she said that some of his instructions hadn’t gone completely over her head the second he knelt to the ground and she found that his hands were at her waist, the touch so close to becoming intimate.

She took the sheath from him, doing her best to match the loops with the clasps. It looked like something which might easily slide onto a belt, but these Illyrian leathers were made specifically for combat use and thus had their own utilities built in. This shouldn’t have been so difficult, and she was wishing her sleep-deprived brain hadn’t been so distracted because she wanted to impress Azriel when …

Elain felt rough hands caressing her own. Azriel took her fumbling fingers in his own and guided them towards the proper fixtures. One step at a time, he eased her hands through the motions, showing her muscles exactly where each clasp latched onto the small slip of leather.

“There. Eventually that will feel like second nature. I won’t make you try again today, but tomorrow I want you wearing that blade at the start of our training.”

“How long will it take?” She was wincing at his choice of words. Second nature. As if she could ever just accept the fact that she might take a life.

“Hmm?”

“For wearing a dagger not to feel like this enormous weight at my side? For me to become desensitized to its presence and wake up every morning and just … strap it on?”

“I hope, for one thing, that you never become desensitized to the responsibility of carrying a weapon. Far too many Fae and humans alike forget that it should always weigh on you, the feeling that you have the potential to dominate another, to hold the life of someone weaker in your hands. But I do not worry about that with you, Elain.”

She breathed a short sigh of relief, but she was still tense at the thought of the fact that she was about to embark on this journey from which there was no return, though she had already used a blade to end another—that abominable King of Hybern—before.

“Some take longer than others. I know how it feels to be slow to adjust.” He ran a hand through his hair. “By the time I was learning to fly and learning to fight, the other boys were all well-practiced in swordplay. Cauldron, I could hardly even walk on my legs, so withered from disuse and the fact that I could never fully stretch them, that even that was a challenge. But day by day, you adjust. And you make this training into what you need it to be. You want to feel safe in your own skin, no?”

“More than anything.”

“Then you take back your own power by learning how to turn the tables on anyone who would wrongfully attack you. That’s all this is. I certainly don’t expect you to rush out onto any killing fields wildly brandishing your knife. You work hard for your own peace of mind and don’t worry about anything more taxing than that unless this is something you actually come to enjoy.”

She took a step back, knocking into the chair she had recently vacated.

“Easy. I don’t expect that of you. You volunteered for this, and you can quit anytime you feel uncomfortable, but you trust me, right?”

“Of course.” The words were as effortless as breathing.

“Then, the training ring awaits us.” He offered her his hand which she gratefully accepted before he swept her up into his arms and shadow-stepped them up to the estate roof.

“We aren’t going straight there?” she asked, already shivering a bit at the chill of the late-autumn winds whipping at her skin.

“You’re still looking a bit sluggish. I thought a brisk flight might help wake you up.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong about that. By the time he settled them down in the training ring atop the House of Wind, Elain was anything but. He had tried to distract her from the worst of the cold by asking her small, probing questions designed to make her blood boil a little, such as: “What is your favorite color?” Which he already knew was lilac. Or “Do you sing when you’re in the shower?” which caused her cheeks to flush.

But the prick left his shields down so that Elain got the full force of the chill—which she still was not accustomed to—and it was an effort not to dance around, shaking her freezing limbs out, by the time they got to the roof, where those infuriating shields finally went up so she wouldn’t freeze to death during the rest of their training.

“I could have gotten frostbite!” she yelled, shoving his chest once she had regained control of her extremities.

“You were perfectly safe,” he drawled before squatting in front of her. “You forget that I relieved myself of the same protections.”

“But you were bred for enduring this kind of torture.” She pouted.

“Not so. It’s just a little brisk out. I probably saw less snow than you did as a child.” It wasn’t even quite late enough in the season, and there was no precipitation in sight—just some overcast clouds casting shadows on them. “I just learned how to tolerate the temperatures better. Now, we’ll start by working on your core.”

Azriel gestured for Elain to lie on the training mat he had just summoned from his Siphons. “Here. Lie down like this.” He guided her until her back was flat on the mat before gently bending her legs. “I’ll hold your feet until you’re comfortable with the exercise, but beginners tend to slip and slide around.”

Elain awkwardly lay there waiting for further instruction. It was nice that Az was taking this training so seriously and willing to work from her position of nonexistent physical prowess, but she hadn’t realized exactly how alone together they would seem up on this mountaintop or how physically vulnerable she would feel with having him guide her.

She could feel her heart ratcheting out of her chest as he instructed her on how to contract her core muscles to lift her torso off the ground, breathing in and out on each repetition of the exercise.

After ten rounds of this, she was already exhausted, but he just kept counting her off, encouraging her to keep pushing herself through the pain.

Eventually she collapsed back against the mat, unable to lift herself another time, only to find an impeccable, golden brown face hovering above her own only moments later, a hand extended out toward her.

“Not bad. You almost finished thirty reps. And now I’ve got a baseline to work off of.”

“So you would have just kept counting …”

“... For as long as it took you to wear yourself out. I’m not trying to torture you here, but I don’t think either of us had any idea where you stood, and so a lot of these first few days will be about finding your limits. Then we can push them so you’ll grow stronger.”

She accepted the proffered hand and was easily lifted back to her feet.

“Why this exercise though? It seems so useless in a fight.”

“Having a strong core is crucial to being able to maintain your stance and to hold your balance in the thrill of combat. You never just sit there flexing these muscles, but they come into play an awful lot. Just think about how fertilizer helps kickstart your seeds’ growth into flowers. Nobody ever even thinks about that fundamental aspect of how they blossomed after the fact, but it’s essential for you to have a reliable budding rate.”

That made sense she guessed, even though she still considered herself completely lost as to how this would actually translate to wielding her dagger.

“So how many of these can you do?” she pried, not failing to notice that his muscles were extremely apparent, even through the leathers.

“Oh, these? Quite a few, I’d imagine, but these are more for beginners than anything. Eventually we’ll phase you over to some of the more advanced exercises, though those usually require a bit more muscle all around to complete.”

“So you’re saying that you’re completely out of my league?” It was the boldest statement she had allowed herself in months.

“In this, of course. I’ve had centuries of experience, and this is your first day. Plus, we won’t even get into more intense forms of combat, just enough to keep you safe.” The way he continued to prattle on left little room to proceed in the flirtation, and by the confused look on his face, she could tell he thought his statement was completely obvious.

Elain sighed. Of course Azriel would never pick up on anything. For being the spymaster with shadows flitting through his ears, he could be incredibly dense.

They ran through many more stretches and small sets of exercises meant to build up some sort of muscular endurance before Elain was finally about to ask for a break just as Azriel clapped and proclaimed, “And now it’s time to run!”

Azriel looked genuinely excited about the prospect of jogging, but Elain couldn’t say she shared in the same enthusiasm. “How far are we running?” She scrunched her face up at the thought of her lungs burning in the frigid winter air.

“We’ll start with a mile today, just around the track.” Now that he pointed it out, the outer ring of the training circle up on this cliff was vaguely marked off in a way which indicated that they may use it to run laps. These Illyrians truly took no shortcuts when it came to their obsessive training rituals, and Elain was beginning to wonder what she had gotten herself into.

Azriel guided her to some sort of starting line etched into the dusky red stone and informed her, “Four laps all the way around and then we can move on.” When Elain just nodded but made no move to begin, the Illyrian warrior shot off the starting line with a freezing rush of air, leaving Elain in his wake. “Come on, slow poke!” he shouted over his shoulder, as his wings tucked in tightly behind him.

Elain mustered all her strength before setting off into a light jog. Azriel’s initial burst of speed had worn off, but with his long legs, he was still greatly outpacing her as he set out upon the track.

It didn’t take long before Elain’s muscles began to flag—about one lap to be exact. A life full of gardening and baking had not prepared her for this kind of physical exertion. She kept up a crawling jog, not wanting to give in when what she wanted was so close to being in her reach, but she couldn’t help being frustrated.

After what seemed like ages, and after her well-endowed Illyrian friend had lapped her a handful of times, she crossed the finish line, only to practically collapse with relief that her hell was over.

Azriel helped her as she stumbled, providing support as he instructed her to walk it off until her heart ceased its incessant pounding—as if that were possible with the warmth of his hands seeping through the sleeves of her leathers.

Eventually, though, it did calm a bit, and Az lead her over to a bench where the two of them indulged in a drink of water during those precious few minutes of relaxation—if it could be called that given the circumstances—before he instructed her that he wanted to see how she would fare in combat.

Just for him to gauge her innate skills, he assured her.

“So will I be using my blade today?”

“You can certainly admire it for its beauty, but no.” Two shimmering, cobalt blades appeared in thin air. “Here. This should feel like your own knife. You can even pull it out to compare the two.” Az handed her one of the weapons to inspect.

The dagger still hung like a leaden weight at her side. It seemed odd that he had forced her to equip it this morning when the likelihood of it even being unsheathed was narrowing.

Upon drawing her dagger in her other hand, the two did feel almost identical in weight and balance, though the cobalt blade she could tell was soft and blunted around the edges. It might leave a few bruises if she ever hit her target, but nothing else.

Elain rolled her eyes. Leave it to Azriel to have remembered the exact specifications of the blade he had gifted her with such accuracy that he could replicate them perfectly.

“So what do I do?”

“Pretend I’m an attacker and try to stab me with it.”

“I don’t know if I could …” Just the thought of stabbing Azriel sent her into a panic. He was her most important friend, and it was difficult for her to even imagine trying to inflict a mortal wound upon him.

“El, you have to be able to attack me in order for me to show you how to fight. I want to get an idea of any habits you might already have and slowly teach you how to correct them. That’s all.”

“But I could hurt you.”

“I just gave you the bluntest blade I could imagine. All it’s capable of doing is leaving a bruise, and I have plenty of those. See?” He whacked himself in the chest with his own practice blade. So typically male. “Now do me one worse.”

Azriel advanced on her, but all Elain could do was cower as she looked around for anywhere to escape to before darting away from him.

“Good. Well you have that part down. Rule number one, if anyone comes at you with a blade, try to avoid conflict. Knife fights can be messy, and they’re dangerous for both you and your opponent. Even someone unskilled can land a hit.”

He continued toward her, and Elain kept backing up, up, up—until her back collided with the side of the mountain. Shit.

“Rule number two. Be aware of your surroundings. It’s incredibly hard to dodge when you have nowhere to go.” Az lazily thrust out with his practice dagger and stuck her in the ribs. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but it definitely proved a point. She had been frozen in panic about what to do and had let herself become trapped. Even if she tried to deflect the blade somehow, odds were that she wouldn’t have been successful.

And now he was towering over her, one hand planted against the wall as the other remained on the blade which was still pinning her to the red stone behind her.

“Now do you get why I’ve been pushing for you to learn this for a year?”

Elain nodded even as she became dizzy at the air they were sharing. Mother above, she was such an idiot for still reacting this viscerally to his presence so close to her own, but every eddying thought had already left her head as those candied hazel eyes assessed her every movement, her every bodily reaction as he held her there.

“This would be the perfect time to stab me, you know,” he smirked. “I’m completely distracted with drilling all this knowledge into your brain, and I’m not even guarding myself, yet still you stand there motionless.”

Indeed, Elain’s wrist had gone limp, the blade threatening to fall from her fingers at the shock of the interaction, but she didn’t care. Not even remotely as Azriel made no move to break from her or chide her further.

If he was going for intimidation to scare her into wanting to attack him, he was sorely mistaken, because every single instinct in Elain’s limited thought processes right now urged her to reach up and kiss him.

But she couldn’t ruin this friendship with him when it was obvious the kiss would startle him and cause him to flee. And perhaps obliterate this amazing gift she had been given.

“Do you need me to go fetch Cassian? Because he wanted to be here to see this. He came here all the way from Windhaven just because he was curious. I made him promise to stay away from the training ring until after we were done, but he’s just downstairs. And I know how … stabbable he can be sometimes.” There was a gleam in his eyes as Azriel kept trying to goad Elain on to play with him.

The sadistic bastard wanted her to stab him. He was eagerly anticipating her attempts. So Elain gingerly lifted the practice blade and poked him gently in the ribs. The point of her practice sword had barely grazed his ribs before he backed off, his aura retreating from her as suddenly as it had assaulted her when he had prowled toward her as the blunt blade itself disappeared altogether.

“I’ll give you some more time to get used to the concept of fighting with me, so you’re off the hook for today, but if we’re going to get anywhere, you can’t be afraid to take me on. I promise I’ve had worse than a few measly bruises, and practicing trying to fend me off is probably the most useful overall training exercise we can do—outside of generally conditioning your body for endurance to aide you in fighting.”

“Isn’t there anything we can do that doesn’t involve me pretending to skewer you?”

“Of course. I can teach you all the places to hit a male who has you grappled to throw him off balance. I can teach you how to pluck the eyes out of someone’s sockets.” He laughed at Elain’s extremely exaggerated horror which must have been written all over her face. “I can teach you all about leverage. In fact … Tomorrow I’ll teach you how to fight with your fists. I’m not sure why I didn’t think of it earlier.”

“Punching you?”

“You’ll be punching these.” He held up two thick pads, cushions for his hands to protect him from any blows landed.

Okay. Elain could do this. Baby steps. And this seemed a better alternative for now than running at him with something weapon-like which still turned her insides to ash as she warred with that peace-loving side of herself.

“But that’s enough for today. You did really well.”

“You can’t mean that.”

“I do.” He pulled her into a sweaty hug. Cauldron, even the salty tang of his sweat mixed with his usual musk was tantalizing to her every sensibility. “You need to stop comparing yourself to those of us who have been doing this for ages and just learn to accept when I give you a compliment.”

“Now let’s get you home so I don’t disrupt the rest of your plans for the day,” he continued when she simply pouted at his command. “And then I’ll go pick you up some muscle relaxing ointment from Madja, because you’re going to need it.”

Elain tried desperately to forget this fact as she let him scoop her into his arms and fly her back down to the estate.

Chapter Text

Elain spent the afternoon shuffling around the garden, not able to spend too long squatting before any one plant before her legs, which felt like jelly, threatened to collapse beneath her.

She frowned as she considered the fact that if she kept up this training, she would likely have to hire an extra hand to assist her with her beloved plants just so she didn’t accidentally abandon them to their doom as she gave in to the wicked spymaster’s demands every morning.

Az had dropped off a salve in the middle of the afternoon, but Rhys had needed his services in Summer today. Apparently there had been spats between the humans and Fae in their budding villages along the countryside surrounding Adriata, and Cresseida had been adamant that they needed to call in their Treaty. So Az had been sent to assess the situation. With the skillset only he possessed to stay silent and hidden in the shadows.

He had suggested that she try to train her magical powers without him, going along with their original plan without him, but Elain found herself so sore that focusing enough to actually scry someplace far away—she had been aiming quite selfishly for the same villages Azriel would now be investigating—proved difficult.

The visions she could summon with ease now, though she often opted to leave that facet of her power untouched when Azriel wasn’t requesting something specific of her. The events she personally showed a curiosity in were those which would directly affect her own life, and Elain wasn’t keen to test fate by constantly peeking at her own future.

As she struggled to rise from the dirt, she found herself musing over the proceedings of this morning.

Today had just been so strange. Azriel kept jumping between different physical activities for her, and she supposed he would know best how to train her, but the melee of exercise after exercise was weighing on her. And Elain knew that she would be crawling painfully into bed tonight. And the next night. And every night for the foreseeable future for agreeing to this.

But she would have to rely on the utter physical exhaustion to put herself to sleep, because there was no way her mind wasn’t going to be spinning like a top at his demeanor as he pinned her to that wall.

Sure, he was just trying to rile her up, to provoke her into attacking him while backed into a corner, but he had captured her so effortlessly, and the casual proximity of their bodies, their faces had been intoxicating to her sensibilities. If he hadn’t brought up Cassian—If he hadn’t threatened to break up the alone time she was enjoying a bit too thoroughly …

Well she might have waited with bated breath for him to make another move, trying to tell him silently with only her eyes that she wanted whatever scraps he would give her. It was desperate, and it was pathetic, and—

A firm hand gripped her under the shoulders as her legs gave out beneath her, halfway through her ascent.

“Easy, there.” That voice. That smell. That gravity which her body could not ignore …

As Elain regained her balance, she whirled with crimson cheeks to face her mate who had somehow showed up at the exact right second.

Lucien’s hands jerked back, conscious of the possibly unwanted violation of her personal space once he seemed certain she wasn’t likely to take another tumble. “Feyre sent me out to let you know that supper will be ready in half an hour. I’ll see you inside.”

His words were clipped, that of a male with enough pride to be grated by the fact that they still weren’t on the best of terms.

“Lucien, wait,” Elain breathed. Shit. There was no going back now. As he turned back to face her, taking a few hesitant steps in her direction, she mustered up a flimsy, “Thank you.”

“Of course. Anytime.”

Surely, he didn’t mean that. Elain couldn’t think of a single reason why he would be predisposed to be sympathetic to her, even if they were mates ...

“Elain, we barely know each other, but I would have attempted to catch you mate or no. For one thing, your sister is one of my only friends, and I would never wish that fate upon anyone, benign though it might be.” If Elain thought she had been blushing before, it was nothing compared to the burning she felt after he practically read her thoughts.

Suddenly a question bubbled up in her gut—a dangerous question which she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to, but there was some sort of sledgehammer inside of her which constantly tried to break down her walls against her consent whenever Lucien was around. These past few years, she had been in a constant battle to refortify them so she wouldn’t slip up, but now with an agreement to let him in just a bit …

“Do you think you ever would have fallen for me if I weren’t your mate?” Her eyes dove downwards, counting the petals on the nearest flowers. One. Two. Three. Her face grew warmer and warmer with every passing second in silence, threatening to melt completely in shame before Lucien finally spared her.

“Perhaps, but I’m unsure if we would have ever met. I don’t truly know you well enough to know if I could have developed feelings for you, but … I like to think that your sweetness would have been endearing to me.” It was more candid than she had been expecting.

“I’ve been nothing but horrid to you, Lucien.” It was the bald, ugly truth—one they would have to overcome if this peace treaty between them was to be realized.

“You’ve been cold. For an understandable reason. But even before I met you, I had heard stories from Feyre. I know that deep down, you have a kind soul. I sometimes feel like I need that softness to take the edge off of myself. Which is perhaps what the Cauldron saw that day. Or it just likes to stir the pot.”

Elain couldn’t help the small chuckle which escaped her lips. “That it did, indeed.”

Elain finally dared to really look into Lucien’s face for the first time this evening, and found a shocked, surprisingly handsome male staring back at her. Well, she would have been doing him a disservice if she didn’t admit that she had already seen how he could be seen as incredibly attractive.

With the sun kissing his tanned skin, darker than even her own though with his mop of red hair she would have thought they’d have similar complexions, and the glint in his metal eye—the one which didn’t constantly have that tinge of loneliness in it—it was impossible to deny.

“So it’s true. She can laugh. After all this time, I had thought the feat impossible …”

“Oh, cut it out,” she playfully shoved his arm, the familiar movement just … happening before she could even process that her hand was moving. It was something which she might have done when joking with her brother or the two Illyrians, but even with them, they had had to egg her on for ages before physically bantering became an option.

She froze, unsure of what to do next, as Lucien seemed to sense her discomfort, whether through the bond or just hearing about “shy, little Elain” and did his best to deflect for her.

“So do you need any um … help? Here? With these flowers?” It was rather endearing how this silver-tongued fox had just completely lost his way with words with this tension lying thick between them.

“If … If you don’t mind. I can barely feel my legs, but you see those weeds?” She pointed out a handful of tiny green sprouts which had sprung in the last few days since she’d been able to tend this patch. Even now, she was having to cycle her plants with no extra assistance in the garden. There were just so many of them …

Lucien nodded, and Elain continued, “Don’t push yourself on my behalf, but it would help me greatly if you could pull them.”

“‘It would help me greatly.’ I didn’t realize exactly how formal it was to be between us.” The words would have made her cringe if not for the snarkiness in his tone, which let her know … He was joking.

Lucien seemed to crack a lot of jokes and deflect with snarky comments quite a lot for a male who looked like he was minutes away from breaking every damned time Elain had searched his eyes.

Was she the cause of this? Or was there something lurking beneath his skin which she had never bothered to ask about. Now, in this tentative truce in the garden, when he was volunteering to get down in the dirt to assist her.

“Just. Please help me weed the garden.” He had already begun to move towards the spot she’d pointed out. She fought rolling her eyes. She had no idea exactly what that eye of Lucien’s could see, but considering it was magical, Elain wouldn’t put it past him to be able to literally have eyes on the back of his head.

She was already worried that he would notice the frequencies of the shadows flitting around her ears—if that eye could discern their magic more easily—and also possibly notice her subtle changes in mood whenever Azriel spoke to her.

Elain owed Lucien nothing, but the thought that he might pick up on her heart’s true intentions somehow sickened her to her stomach. It was a silly reaction brought on by the bond, but one she experienced nonetheless.

Now, here, with the male kneeling before her, as she stood uselessly around behind her, she felt guilty for all she had put him through. He was somehow willing to do anything for her, despite the year and a half of torture she must have put him through whenever they were in the same room.

“Go. Sit.” Lucien nodded towards the pergola, which housed a table and some cushioned seats, about fifteen feet away.

“But—”

“I can handle a few weeds. And if I have any questions, I know where to find you.”

Elain gratefully took her leave of that uncomfortable bubble she had just been in, gaining a bit of fresh air to breathe, some space to gift her a new perspective.

Becoming friends with Lucien was already much more effortless than she had anticipated, and it terrified her. Without those walls of iron guarding her entire being, her entire sense of self, she had already found a bit of common ground with him.

And their banter was still a bit awkward, but … There was already this piece of her very soul which sang to her that it might not always be this way, which reminded her how it had taken her months to be able to joke with Cassian, and only Azriel had unraveled her tightly-wound heart so effortlessly. Which was absolutely terrifying.

Speak of the devil … She was pulled from her musings by a cocky Illyrian warrior trying—and failing—to sneak up behind her.

Her shadow had alerted her to his presence the moment he descended the porch steps and began creeping toward her, but Elain chose to remain motionless on the bench throughout the duration, until she could sense he was about to pounce, and she whirled. “Nice try, Cass.”

“Mother’s tits!” Cassian practically jumped out of his skin as she turned his attack back on him. “You can’t do that to someone, Ellie. I might’ve had a heart attack.”

Elain only cocked her head and narrowed her eyes at him. Typical Cassian, running his mouth after one of his little pranks fell flat.

“What? I could’ve …” he grumbled when she offered him no recourse. “How’d you know I was there anyways?”

“I think sometimes you forget that I’m Fae now, Cassian. I could hear you plodding footsteps from a mile away.”

Cassian grinned and offered a hand to help her out of her seat.

“So, I see you’ve got poor Lucy over there slaving away.”

“He’s not slaving, Cass. He just offered to help me, like any friend would.” She put as much emphasis on the word as she could muster.

“Of course I am. The lady needed assistance, and I was around so …” Lucien stood from his stoop, burning the last of the weeds he had plucked away until they were ashes floating in the wind. Huh. Well, that ability was certainly useful for getting rid of unwanted gardening waste.

He wiped the dirt off his hands as best he could and made to approach Elain and the Illyrian warrior. “Well, I’m glad you were around to provide such assistance, lest any of the rest of us be made to tend her flowers.” Cassian wrinkled his nose at Elain, as she rolled her eyes.

“You’re insufferable.” She nodded towards the back of the estate, beginning to glow with Faelight from inside as the sun had mostly set and the moon and stars were beginning to peek out at them. “Shall we?”

Cassian offered her his arm. Elain wasn’t sure if he was trying to get on Lucien’s nerves even more or genuinely wanting to escort her back inside. Likely the former though. Her mate had flinched almost imperceptibly at the sight of it, and she could feel that twinge of jealousy down the bond.

Even if the whole world seemed to know Cassian was hopelessly in love with Nesta, who had shown no interest in him since she had shielded his body from the king’s onslaught, it seemed that Lucien was unable to turn off his territorial, male instincts.

Well, that was fine, but he was going to have to learn to control those eventually, for friendship was as far as their agreement went, and Elain doubted she could maintain that if she felt these slight pangs of hurt every time she touched another male.

He was going to have a cow if she ever sat next to Azriel and the shadowsinger let her tuck her head into the crook of his neck as she was so likely to do if she began to nod off, and Elain would not let him ruin these precious moments for her.

Because though Azriel obviously still harbored a moderate amount of dislike for her mate, she knew he would likely back down if Lucien tried to stake his claim on her, simply because he would think that he, as her friend, couldn’t stand in their way.

After they had been seated at the dining room table, Lucien taking up Az’s vacated seat by her side, Nuala and Cerridwen brought out the spread, and Elain finally used the opportunity she had with Cassian to ask about her sister.

Cassian had been scarce since their move to Windhaven over the summer. According to Az, he had been monitoring both the tense situation there and trying to help Nesta adapt to her new life. Az was always vague when it came to questions of Nesta, claiming that since it wasn’t need-to-know information, he and Cassian rarely discussed it, but Elain had a feeling Azriel intentionally avoided the topic.

She breathed out a long sigh once she couldn’t contain her questions anymore. “So how is she?”

“Nesta is Nesta.” Cassian shrugged, eyes intent on watching his hands tear off another bite from his roll of bread.

“But is she doing well?”

Rhys and Feyre exchanged nervous glances. What did they know that they had omitted from telling her?

“She wakes up in the morning. She goes to training. She comes home and presumably sleeps every evening.” His hazel eyes had frozen over.

“Does she have any friends there?” That evoked a bitter laugh.

“Nesta? Well I suppose she sometimes gives answers which aren’t monosyllabic to the gaggle of females in her training squad, but that’s as close as it gets.” He drained his glass of wine in one gulp before grabbing at the communal bottle and pouring himself another, high enough that it threatened to spill over.

“Are you … Are you okay, Cass?” She now felt guilty for forcing this mood over the entire table.

“Why wouldn’t I be? We live together, but I never see her. When she isn’t in the ring, she holes herself up in that bedroom of hers and drinks and drinks until Cauldron knows when. I was actually relieved for the excuse to make the trip here just so I could drink without feeling guilty. When you tell someone to cut back for their own health and safety, it apparently doesn’t go over so well when they can smell the whisky on your breath. Life is just perfect.” He was practically growling by the time he cut himself off with another large swig from his glass.

Elain had clearly toed some line that the all the others seemed to be in a silent agreement not to cross. It would make her feel guilty if any of them actually talked to her about this truce they had made with Cassian.

Nesta was clearly such a sore point for him, and while Elain had known that, Cassian had never let on to her exactly how miserable living with her sister was making him. Perhaps it was to spare her own feelings, but she still should have known, so she didn’t accidentally ask him at the dinner table.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say …” Elain sheepishly moved her fork around on her plate, not meeting his eyes anymore, cheeks fully crimson.

Why didn’t you tell me about Cassian and Nesta? Elain sent the message off to Azriel, hoping he wasn’t so far away that she would need to wait until she could grab her Siphon later to ask this of him.

What about them? The reply was almost instantaneous. Good.

Cassian seems likely to drink himself to death at the dinner table, and it’s all because I made the mistake of asking how Nesta was doing … and then him as well. Judging by everyone else’s faces, they knew he would react poorly, but nobody ever told me anything about what was going on in Windhaven.

I guess we didn’t want you to worry you. We figured that at some point, Nesta would have to snap out of it and stop treating him and everyone around her like garbage, but it clearly hasn’t happened yet. By the tone of his voice, Elain could tell that he was likely rubbing at his temples, fretting over both the situation itself and her reaction to learning of this only now.

Well I’m worried, and terribly embarrassed because I didn’t know he would chug his drink and growl at me.

He growled at you? Az sounded incredibly alarmed at the revelation.

It wasn’t his fault. I provoked him, but I would have completely steered clear of this nasty business and asked anyone else instead later, but …

We kept it from you. Shit. I’m sorry.

Could I go visit her? Do you think that would help?

Doubtful. She was barely speaking to you before she left, and now she’s evolved to behaving like a caged animal. The whole point of taking her to Windhaven was to separate her from Velaris and whatever might have been haunting her here. She has an alcohol addiction and a sex addiction, Elain. Both of the two are destructive on their own, but together …

She wouldn’t …

Despite how he may make it out to seem, Cass is able to keep a fairly close eye on her to make sure she isn’t about to actually kill herself, but that’s really all I can say …

Is she still sleeping with random males all the time?

The frequency has declined, but that’s only because she doesn’t want to bring them home to Cassian’s. She’s afraid of causing him to snap, but that’s about it. He’s heard tales of her rutting in supply sheds, in restrooms, out in the forest—but as long as she keeps attempting to hide it from him, he won’t reprimand her for it.

That’s awful.

Whatever she went through that day broke her, but unlike everyone else, Nesta is not responding to being surrounded by her family. Nobody knows how to help her, so hopefully she learns how to help herself. It would not be wise to judge her, I don’t think. Her addiction is troubling, but we cannot approach her by condemning her sexual endeavors, just the reason she chooses to drown herself in them.

You’re right. I’d love to just be able to talk to her. I miss Nesta. She’s my sister.

Give it time. If she shows signs of improving, I promise to discuss the possibility of a trip to Windhaven with you. Or if she asks for you, of course.

It hurt her feelings to realize that not once since they had been separated had Nesta requested that she be allowed to see Elain. It still hit deep that her fierce, protective older sister had just forgotten about her so effortlessly.

Thanks, Az.

Elain turned her attention back to Cassian, who had gone silent, content to let Feyre continue to pepper Lucien with questions—it was clear that her sister had missed the dear friend who had lost to her all these months—but not before noticing Lucien’s gaze fixed on her.

It was a bit too wide-eyed, a bit too sprinkled with unmasked curiosity for her not to squirm in her seat. Lucien had to know that she had gone silent because she herself had been in a conversation with another who was hundreds of miles away, and the knowledge was unsettling to Elain.

How would he respond? Or would he just hide the knowledge away for later use if it became necessary?

Sensing her gaze on him, Cassian looked over at her, and Elain fought the urge to reveal her little secret she shared with Az by sending him a more heartfelt apology, but she settled with flashing him an apologetic smile and making a note to seek him out later if she could get him away from the others.

His own suffering didn’t excuse the fact that he had told at least most of the others about his struggles without confiding in Elain. Though they weren’t the closest of friends, he still made every effort to act lighthearted and jovial when she was around, and that mask he had been wearing had been enough to fool her into the faux pas.

Elain finished her dinner in relative silence, only breaking it to mumble thanks to Lucien who refilled her glass at one point when he noticed she was running low on wine. She had grown more accustomed to having a glass or two every night, still not drinking quite as much as the rest of her family, but savoring the taste of it until she was mildly lightheaded.

After dinner, she excused Nuala and Cerridwen, volunteering to clean up the kitchen herself. She had filled up the sink with sudsy water and was packing up the leftovers to place in the icebox, when, finally, a beleaguered Illyrian warrior tramped through the door.

She rushed to his side, taking his dish from his hand and leaving it forgotten on the counter beside her before she braced him in a bear hug.

“Nobody told me. I’m so sorry! I never would have asked otherwise.”

As Cassian pulled away from her, she looked up into his face, for the first time noting the haggard eyes, a dull hazel deeply pitted within purpling bruises, his hair in knots as if it hadn’t been combed recently, and the stubble overtaking his face. She was used to him being fairly clean-shaven, except when time got the best of him. He must have been suffering much more than the other let on if he had been neglecting to primp himself.

Elain suspected that even Az, the Illyrian least obsessed with his appearance, spent more time cleaning up than most men she had met in the human lands.

“I’m fine, Ellie. But thanks.”

“You sure don’t look it.” Elain’s hand immediately flew to her mouth. That had been bold—too bold—even if Cassian was a prick sometimes.

He let out a soft chuckle, but Elain noticed that the hint of a smile never even approached his eyes.

“Why are you here, Cass?”

“Because I needed a damned break. The babysitting, the insipid loathing, those other bastards who I have to go toe-to-toe with. I just wanted a night or two of peace, without constantly feeling—you know what, it doesn’t matter.” His wine glass thudded against the stone counter with and echoing clang, emptied once again.

Feeling what?

“Feeling miserably because you love her?”

“Something like that.” His now-vacant hand ran through his hair, going head-to-head with the snarls, as his other rested against the countertop. “But don’t you dare tell her I said that. She’ll skin me alive.”

“I know how it feels. To love her and not feel that love in return. I used to mean so much to Nesta, but it seems like she’s completely forgotten I exist.” Elain felt a warm tear slide down her cheek.

“Count yourself lucky, because it’s not all sunshine and rainbows for someone she has fixed in her sights right now, princess. Some of us have to be in the line of fire constantly.”

“But maybe if I came and visited?” If Az wasn’t going to ask, Elain certainly had no qualms with feeling out the situation with Cassian.

“She would eat you alive. I guess I could give you my room so you didn’t have to sleep with her, but honestly, I think you would find yourself disappointed. Like I said—she wakes, she trains, she fucks, she drinks. You would find yourself shunned and bored when not in the company of yours truly.”

“Hmm. I’ve been training too! I could go with her!”

“Your first day was today, and Az is only giving your some basic fitness exercises and teaching you how to wield a dagger. Nesta’s been training with Illyrian blades. But speaking of which … How would you like to train with your actual favorite Illyrian tomorrow?”

Elain went pale. She had signed on for Azriel and Azriel only, but she wasn’t sure how to get out of this without offending Cassian.

“Your boy might be in Summer for a bit longer than originally anticipated, and I’d hate for you to lose out on your momentum. Besides, I always love a challenge.” He flashed her a wicked grin—or a grin that would have held his usual wicked snark if his eyes had upturned even slightly. But they remained hollowed, as dulled as bark on a tree.

Elain had truly latched onto the fact that Cassian had called him hers, as if Elain would ever be capable of owning Az body and soul. Even if it was an off-hand comment, he had to know that it was cruel to ever give her a shred of hope.

“I … Umm … I guess we could …”

“It’ll be strictly professional.” As if he knew that somehow yesterday’s session had been more than Elain had bargained for in the emotional department. “We can just do the conditioning and leave the knife practice to Az whenever he returns. Plus it gives me a decent excuse to linger here. I miss my dear brother, but his absence is quite opportune for me.”

“Fine, but you’re doing those dishes.” She pointed at the mountain in the sink and shoved his own forgotten plate back into his arms.

“How did we get from you apologizing for bringing out my uglier side to me doing your chores?” Cassian groaned, but headed towards the sink regardless.

“It’s called an exchange of services. I’ll vouch for you if Rhys tries to send you back, and you’ll assist me when I ask. Which is right now.” She wasn’t certain if he could tell that she meant it all in jest, but it was too late to take back the words.

“Don’t you have a mate to boss around like this?”

“And your point is?”

“I’m not sure why I expected sound reasoning from an Archeron sister. You three will drive me into the ground.” A tiny flicker of light had returned to his eyes though, and throughout their silent minutes in the kitchen, Cassian abstained from touching his glass again—a victory in Elain’s opinion.

When he wasn’t looking, she tossed the glass in along with the others, making a splash, but garnering no comment from him.

“Come on. Let’s go join the others,” Elain pleaded after the kitchen had been returned to its sparkling state. “It will be more relaxing than worrying over our problems.”

Cassian extended her his arm and led her back to the sitting room where the two of them fell into easy conversation, and Elain could briefly forget that Az was missing from the equation—and possibly in someone unknown danger. And if she looked hard enough, she could see glimmers of relief on Cassian’s face as well. Somehow, they would escape their demons together, as a family.

Chapter Text

The week flew by like a flash, even without her best friend.

Elain had anticipated her training sessions with Cassian with trepidation, but had quickly found that she enjoyed his teaching style. He was a stickler for making sure she completed all her exercises with precision, but otherwise she felt like she could relax around him.

There was none of the heated charge between them that she felt with Azriel, and as such, Elain could breathe easier with the general than the shadowsinger—not that she wasn’t highly anticipating his return, though. She felt like he would be pleased with her progress. Her aching body caused her to fall asleep much earlier than usual every evening, but the tin of salve he’d provided her to rub on her ailing muscles did offer a bit of relief.

Her stamina had improved though, even if only minutely, and she was looking forward to showing off for Az upon their first session after being reunited.

Elain and Lucien had found a steady rhythm to their tentative friendship as well. He came over for family dinners most nights, never one to place too much stress on them being alone together, but she found that she enjoyed listening as Feyre peppered him with insignificant questions.

She found herself yearning to learn the answers, and even though she never could think of anything of her own to inquire of him, it was nice just being able to relax a fraction around him. It was something she never would have dreamed possible last year, but ever so slowly, she was warming to his presence.

It wasn’t so much of a shock when he found her in the garden a handful of times throughout the week but a relief. He took instruction well and always quickly adapted to her needs, even volunteering for some of the more taxing tasks to spare her screaming muscles. She could get used to this.

They worked in relative silence most of the time, but it was in those silent moments that she learned the most about him. She observed the way he seemed to be able to predict her needs, likely through the bond, but he was somehow surprisingly in tune with when she’d need the shears or when she’d need him to pass her some fertilizer.

She also observed him as he worked all by his lonesome. He was meticulous, his metal eye whirring frantically as he paid infinite attention to details, even on the smallest of plants. No stray weed went unnoticed. No fallen debris was left to rot. No plant was left unattended in his wake.

It was a sullen silence, one pregnant with lingering questions and centuries of pain, but Lucien stomached it just to grow closer to her, and without expecting anything other than her willingness to try to accept him as a friend in return. Elain couldn’t help but admire him for it.

She was beginning to ease into their arrangement, finally. Though she could feel the weight of the silences, they no longer held her down so grudgingly. If anything, having a quiet companion to remind her she wasn’t alone had felt a bit nice. It reminded her of one of the reasons she felt so drawn to Azriel and the twins.

Though conversation was necessary on occasion to uphold their bonds, there were still days when she found herself not realizing that she and the shadowsinger had spent much of the day in solitude together as Elain meditated with her powers, scrying the world around her to workout those muscles and Azriel sat next to her with an enormous pile of paperwork.

Those were her secret indulgences, especially since the shadowsinger tended to extend their time together the second he noticed her stomach grumbling, which was often enough. Hours spent honing her magic drained her body of its resources fairly quickly. And Elain was always in the mood for a private dinner with the spymaster, even though it momentarily intensified her always-jumbled feelings towards him. She still wouldn’t trade those moments for all the world.

Not that she was remotely that close with Lucien, but every now and then, she found her traitorous tongue on the verge of delving deeper into learning more about him.

As was the case at the moment.

The two had been outside since lunchtime, and with the promise of dinner and the knowledge that the garden was looking well-kempt and spotless, Elain had slumped into one of the iron patio chairs, within shouting distance of the kitchens, just waiting to be called inside and debating sneaking inside to steal a dinner roll prematurely.

But something deep in her gut had halted her on her way towards the tantalizing scent wafting out at her through the open windows, the twilight chill perfect for airing out a sometimes stuffy kitchen.

She had a sneaking suspicion that it had to do with the male who pulled up next to her only a few minutes later, clothes as caked in dirt and grime as Elain’s own and hair falling haphazardly out of the leather strap he had secured it with earlier in the day.

“You know, braids work better,” Elain offered, stifling a giggle at how rough and ragged the normally polished male next to her appeared.

“I prefer it this way. It may fall out a bit more easily, but I’m a vain male.” Lucien’s voice was thick with humor.

“Have you always kept it that long?” Elain wondered aloud.

“For centuries now, yes. But when I was much younger I kept it a bit shorter.” 

All the bitter wit she typically associated with him seemed to vanish in an instant, prompting Elain to ask, “What happened?” For surely something must have if the discussion of something so trivial as hair had rotted his jovial mood.

“I lost myself. When Jesminda died—when they killed her—it’s like my entire world stopped spinning, and suddenly such tasks as grooming myself no longer mattered. When I finally began to come back to myself, little by little, I cleaned up again, with the help of Tamlin, but when it came to my hair, I realized that the change was refreshing.”

“It does suit you,” Elain offered, immediately wishing she could take it back. “I mean … I just can’t imagine you any other way, if that makes sense.”

A hint of a smile which never found its way to his eyes threatened to tug on the corner of his lips. “In a way, it does. Even though we haven’t been very present in each other’s lives since we met, I’ve always had this image of you in my head too. The one of the shy female shivering in her nightgown whom I embarrassed in front of Hybern.”

“You really remember me like that?” Elain’s nose scrunched up as her thoughts soured at the memory and the idea that that was the image which lived in his mind.

“The more time I spend with you, the less prominent it is. It just hard … That was the moment the bond snapped into place, and it’s forever imprinted in my mind, if that makes sense. Logically I know that’s such a strange way to remember you, but little by little, it’s fading as I can replace it with more vivid memories shared with you. That first year was difficult to say the least though.”

“Do you truly feel it that strongly?” Elain wondered.

“The bond doesn’t have an iron grasp on me, like some males who seem to fall slave to its whims, but I highly suspect that what you feel is only a fraction of the tug which plagues me most of the time I’m near you.”

“Do you find it difficult to be near me?”

“When you were actively pushing me away, I could feel it like a brand, like it was seering me from the inside out, but this past week has been … nice. The bond is soothed by your presence, as I suspect yours might be too.”

It shouldn’t have surprised her that he felt that comfort that penetrated deep through her bones and down into her soul, causing her body to merely relax now that she had stopped fighting the effects of being in his presence.

She felt her cheeks heating as he cocked his head at her, as if expecting her to confirm his suspicions.

“I do. It’s still a bit peculiar though. This concept of mates and the fact that it plays with my emotions still frightens me a bit.”

“It is rather strange, I’ll give you that. I think the instincts themselves are rather primal, and it doesn’t have to mean anything really. There are ways … ways to rid oneself of these side effects if you truly wanted to,” he conceded. “Do you want to?” he added after a brief pause.

Here it was, the moment she would have been praying for only a year ago, and her heart picked up pace in her chest at the thought of the oblivious male who truly held it, but her lips betrayed her. “I—I don’t know—I—”

“Forget I asked you that. I shouldn’t have thought you might make a decision when put on the spot like this. It’s … not something I would deny you though. I would do whatever you asked of me.”

“Do you want to be rid of the bond?” A carefully, prying question. Elain had suspected at one point that something had sparked between Lucien and his human queen, yet still he was here working to befriend her, with no mention of Vassa outside of answering her sister’s questions.

“There have been days when it has plagued me to the point where I thought I might go mad, but there are many more days where I wondered what it would be like to have it not be a burden upon the two of us, like these past few days have proven. If we can be amicable, I have no need to break it unnecessarily.”

Here was this male, pouring out his heart to her, even though they barely knew each other, and Elain couldn’t help but drown in pity for him, that she had inadvertently put him through this torture, regardless of the fact that the bond itself resulted from no fault of her own.

“I think it’s best to wait. Like you said, we have no need to break it unnecessarily.” She wanted to curse her traitorous tongue, for giving him perhaps this glimmer of hope, even though the path between them was still entirely shrouded in shadows. 

It was the truth though. Until she had settled into her life more, she didn’t want to take any drastic actions, ones which would test the hands of fate, as she worked to shape her own destiny.

“Of course,” he murmured.

Lucien opened his mouth as if he might say something more, but Nuala stuck her head out of the kitchen window calling them for dinner, and the fragile moment shattered like glass between them as Lucien jumped up out of his chair to offer Elain his arm, and the two of them made their way inside.

Halfway through dinner, a door slammed in the distance, the sound of padding footsteps thudding against the oakwood floors of the estate, ever approaching the dining room.

There was only one person it could be, but if he was dramatically making this much of a fuss about his entrance, Elain could only guess that Azriel was beyond pissed.

And indeed, as he skulked into the kitchen, his form haloed by shadows, the flurry restless and anticipatory, Elain could see the purple blooming beneath his eyes. So she reached out to him, tugging a shadow loose from his orbit and asking, What the hell happened in Summer?

Nonsense is what. I was there too long for no apparent reason and with no backup.

Huh?

“I don’t see why Amren couldn’t have taken this assignment. She just loves those bastards, yet I was forced to endure them for a full week. For nothing of interest,” Azriel growled as he perfunctorily made his way to his usual seat next to Elain, only to find it occupied by Lucien.

His already darkened hazel eyes—the color a burnt whisky today—became shrouded in ice as he backtracked, clearly off put by the unexpected male in his place. 

Azriel was a male of routine. Though his life was chaotic, Elain had noticed that he preferred the small habits in his day-to-day routine to be stable, perhaps to counteract the unknown brought on by his occupation.

He barely missed a beat though, as he strode past Lucien taking up a seat on the other side of her mate—the stutter in his step barely perceptible to anyone who wasn’t as in tune with his behaviors—his movements—as Elain. But the shock had clearly thrown him.

“Ah, so now you trust my judgment, spymaster?” Amren crooned from the end of the table. “I was so looking forward to continuing this game of cat and mouse we’ve played for centuries.”

Azriel didn’t dignify her with a response.

“I was busy. I have my own matters to attend to, and Rhysand here seemed to believe that I shouldn’t be the only ambassador between ourselves and Tarquin.”

“There was nothing to see. By the time I had gotten there, the feuds seemed to have died down, but they kept dragging my visit on, urging me to stay in their camps and monitor the situation with them.”

“I think someone perhaps just didn’t appreciate the attention,” Rhys laughed from the other end of the table. “And it’s a decent strategy to keep our relations open, especially when they so openly invite one of our own into their nest.”

“Like I said, we already have Amren. And you knew how horrid it would be for me, didn’t you, you bastard?” Az grumbled as he loaded up his plate.

“I’ve had to endure the same in the interest of what’s best for our court, I’ll have you remember.” Rhys had propped his elbows on the table and was resting his chin on his folded hands as he studied his brother, clearly not taking his griping too seriously.

What attention is he speaking about? Elain asked Az, unable to live in suspense any longer. Those two were talking circles around her, unsaid past experiences going over her head.

Cresseida. She’s absolutely horrid. Has always had a thing for males with wings, but I’m fairly certain she was the one coming up with the millions of excuses to extend my stay. And placing my tent next to hers constantly.

Elain paled. Of course she should have assumed that Azriel would be a hotly contested male whom females would fight over—just look at how thoroughly and irrevocably she had fallen for him—but to have it confirmed, to put a name and a face to someone who wasn’t Mor soured something within her.

She took a moment to compose herself, knowing that green was an ugly color on her and, she had to remind herself, that Azriel still had no idea why Elain would react in a jealous fashion. And he seemed not to appreciate a female fawning over him, as she would have suspected.

I’m sorry you had to deal with her. It must’ve been awful. If it makes you feel any better, Velaris was duller in your absence. You didn’t miss much.

I missed getting to train you, and I’m sorry you had to endure Cassian while I was gone. I didn’t realize when I teased you on our only day together how soon it would become a reality.

Oh, he wasn’t terrible. Perhaps even better than you. Elain suspected his brow had risen at that, but she didn’t dare risk looking around Lucien to discern it for herself. I’m practically a master now. I’m pretty sure I could take you.

We’ll have to see about that now, won’t we? She could hear the cocky smirk in his voice, reveling in the fact that so quickly he seemed to have forgotten all about his Summer Court woes, until …

“Cresseida is an acquired taste, but I’ve found that the only true defense against her is finding a partner of your own.” Rhys grinned at his mate. “So unless …”

“I’m just not returning there ever again, you bastard. Do your own dirty work next time.” Az stabbed at his potatoes, but neither of the Illyrian males kept up the thread of conversation, preferring to let Mor jump in and pester Az with other questions regarding how the humans were faring.

“I doubt it will ever be perfect, but for two peoples with such complicated histories, they get along alright with the Fae residents in the countryside. Little scuffles and skirmishes are bound to happen. After we quelled the original outburst though, I got dragged into babysitting them as if they would immediately explode again the second nobody was watching over them. Sometimes, you just have to let people figure out their own power balances.” Az shrugged.

Rhys nodded. “Apologies, brother. But it’s good you deduced that for yourself this one time. The next time Cresseida gets it into her head that the whole Summer Court might be deteriorating into ruins, we have an excuse not to front them the manpower.”

Az grunted in affirmation, while Feyre fought to suppress a chuckle.

The party dispersed not long after dinner had been cleaned up. Their High Lord and Lady, the glue who held the family together claimed exhaustion, though Elain had good reason to believe that the two just wanted some alone time.

At least her quarters weren’t adjacent to theirs anymore. Prior to the move, there had been many a night where Rhys had forgotten to put a shield around their room and Elain was subjected to listening to their activities. Having a larger home had its advantages, though Elain still wished to one day find a place of her own.

Perhaps she could start a consulting company or work part-time at the bakery down the street to save some coin. She had a feeling that Feyre would front her the money to buy an abode—she had been funding Nesta’s shitty apartment until Nesta left for Illyria—but Elain wanted to earn something on her own, even if it would be less lush than she had grown accustomed to in the past few years.

The only thing she required was a shower. Rhys and Feyre had designed the new estate with Elain’s needs in mind, her personal bathroom and most of the other on the property having the wonderful new contraption which rained water down upon her instead of forcing her to bathe in it—the experience still too similar to the Cauldron for her liking.

She had grown used to conquering her fears in the townhouse, but she had leapt with joy, and if she were being honest, shed a few tears of joy the first time she had showered and didn’t have to battle those demons just to cleanse herself.

Elain was already daydreaming about how wonderful the scalding spray would feel on her muscles when she felt more than saw the shadow hovering over her. She had been the last to leave the sitting room, the thoughts of her impending shower not quite fully-fledged enough to pull her away from the radius of warmth emanating from the fireplace.

She turned her head, to find a worn out but smiling Illyrian warrior having propped his hands on the back of her chair.

“I thought you’d gone home,” she murmured as he made his way over to the seat adjacent to hers.

“I’m about to, but I wanted to check in with you. You were so quiet during dinner, and I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

His amber gaze pierced her, and Elain could only hope that he couldn’t guess at what lie in her core. She had been thrown by his admission that Cresseida had come onto him and also by the way having female attention made him so upset. The whole thought had made Elain want to curl in on herself.

Azriel would never accept her own confession, not that she was anywhere bold enough to offer it to him, and tonight had made Elain realize that she needed to fight her baser feelings and try to move on from him.

Her own happiness wasn’t worth the risk of losing him.

“I’m fine,” she squeaked. “You just seemed so upset that it threw me off. I wasn’t expecting you home then, and the scene …”

“I guess I did enter quite dramatically.” He huffed a soft chuckle which loosened something which had been spooling in Elain’s core. He took one her hands in his, such a familiar gesture at this point. “It was a long week full of sleeping terribly in a tent which wasn’t quite big enough for the wings while always feeling like I needed to keep one eye open just in case Cresseida decided to become bold enough to sneak in.”

Az was now tracing lazy circles on her palm, something which had become some sort of stress-relieving habit over the past year. The act always seemed to soothe the shadowsinger, and who was Elain to reject this bit of intimate contact or deny him this release?

“Why didn’t you just leave?”

“This alliance is still so tremulous between our courts. I wasn’t the only emissary there, but I was the only one she focused her attentions on, so to leave might have been seen as a slight. And I’d prefer not to wake up to a blood ruby the next day.” 

Az tried to force a laugh, but Elain could still feel the tension in his fingertips as they continued to wind across the ticklish skin of her palm. There was real worry behind his declaration, and she knew that he would never knowingly take an action which would break these accords which were still in their infancy and meant so much to her sister and her mate.

“I’m sure that even if it took her a week to get it through her thick skull that you aren’t interested, she won’t pursue you anymore.” As if anyone could just decide to get over Azriel …

“I can only dream.” He finally glanced up from where his eyes had been locked on their fingers. “How did you survive without your favorite Illyrian?” he asked with a genuine tilt to the corner of his mouth.

“Better than ever. I’ve been training with Cassian, baking with the twins, gardening with Lucien.” Az stiffened at that last bit, but Elain continued on, “Why, I hardly realized he was missing.”

“Do you want him to make your training longer and harder tomorrow morning? Just to make sure you spend enough time with him to realize how incredibly wrong you are.”

“Perhaps I missed him a bit.” Elain pretended to consider her previous response as she truly fought to keep her own face from lighting up like the fire before her at his choice of words.

Azriel let out a yawn and rose from his seat, stretching like a cat. “I’ll give you the evening to reconsider.” He offered a hand to help her rise from her own chair and lead the way to the front door, Elain trailing only a few steps behind him. “Don’t stay up too late thinking about how much you missed me.” Azriel winked as he disappeared into the frigid Velaris night.

Unfortunately for Elain, his heated words followed her all the way upstairs, into her overly-long shower, and into bed as she tossed and turned all night, her body lighting up as she remembered how fondly he had bantered with her and how handsome he had been after one week of his grueling absence, bags under his eyes and all.

Chapter Text

Elain passed the next day’s training session with flying colors. Cassian had been a great instructor, and having forgotten to tease Elain about his threat to make her workout more intense last night, Az decided she was ready to upgrade to using him as a punching bag.

“Your core is already tighter. Let’s see how you are on your feet.” 

After some instructions on form, in which he showed her the movements and then helped her perfect her stance, he wrapped her hands and protected his own with giant pads as he held them up for her.

Elain already missed his tight abs pressing up against her back as he re-positioned her arms, yet she was eager to be his willing pupil and show him just how quickly she could learn.

Punching him wasn’t nearly as difficult as she had feared. The pads in front of her really were cushy enough that she believed he couldn’t feel the blows, and it felt good to let a bit of her repressed frustration out.

Frustration at the fact that she’d spent all night thinking of him. Frustration at the fact that now that she was letting her mate into her life, she had been so busy that she hadn’t thought about Azriel nonstop the whole time he was gone. Frustration that she had even gotten to a point in her life where she was allowing her thoughts to rampage so freely.

With Graysen, they had known each other for one evening before he sent a missive to her father asking for permission to court her. Elain had had no time to fall head over heels without any promise of reciprocation.

One-two. One-two. One-two. Her muscles were screaming at her, but the release felt so good that Elain barely bothered to notice until Azriel was pulling away from her.

“That’s it for today,” he murmured. “Let’s go get some water.”

“How did I do?” Elain asked as they meandered over to the benches lining the edge of the training ring? Her blood was still coursing through her veins, the release of the workout invigorating every ounce of her being.

“Better than expected.” When she stuck out her tongue at him, he amended, “Not that I didn’t expect you to perform well, it’s just that you were so timid before I left, and today—today you showed a confidence that caught me off guard.”

“I had a wonderful teacher in your absence,” Elain crooned, hopefully hitting a nerve by bringing Cassian into this bubble of theirs. It was often so difficult to remember that the world didn’t merely consist of the two of them whenever they spent quality time together like this.

Azriel’s face went stone-hard for an instant before he smoothed it over effortlessly. Interesting.

“That’s not the only thing. There was a fire lit inside you today. How did you harness that?”

“Oh … Um …” Elain couldn’t exactly admit to him the reason she had been so able to get into the zone was her pathetic failure of a love life and all the males even remotely involved in it. “I guess I was excited to show you how much I’ve improved?” she tried, but her voice came out higher pitched than usual.

Azriel didn’t seem to believe the lie, but he let her off the hook. “If you say so.” He shook his head. “Whatever it was, I want you to bring that to all our training sessions. I want you to learn how to channel that energy whenever you fight. Do you think you can do that?”

Elain hoped she wouldn’t be saddled with all this emotional baggage for the rest of her endless immortal existence, but she nodded back to him. This could suffice for now, but she was sure she could find other small woes to be frustrated about in the future—if she ever escaped Azriel’s orbit and was able to thwart the butterflies in her gut.

“Good. Now let’s go work on your other skillset.”

The next afternoon, Lucien cornered Elain in the garden. “You weren’t here yesterday.”

“I don’t garden everyday.” Elain rolled her eyes at him. She was growing used to him enough to know that this wasn’t an affront but merely curiosity. The fox liked to be in the know, and similarly to Feyre, he seemed to have an affinity for sticking his nose into others’ business—not in the way Azriel did, with shadows and subterfuge, but with gossip.

“Or at dinner.”

“My whereabouts are none of your business. I had other plans. Those might do you good sometimes as well,” she snapped, perhaps a bit too harshly. But he had been around and available to her every day since their friendship truce had gone into effect. Every. Single. Day.

He fell silent at that, turning to water the vegetable patch without another word.

A few minutes later, the pregnant silence was finally interrupted. “Would you prefer if I left Velaris?”

“That’s not what I meant, but I want boundaries. I don’t want to be your sole reason for sticking around the estate. Go help Feyre with the kids at the studio sometimes. See a symphony. I don’t know, but it’s not fair to me if you expect me to be available for you at all times.”

“Is this how you’ve won all your friends?” Lucien bit back.

“None of my other friends have been a mate I’ve purposefully distanced myself from in the past. And they give me plenty of space when I need it,” she huffed right back in his face.

“I just … care about you the most out of anyone here—Not like that,” He immediately corrected herself as Elain froze in place. “Just, even though I’ve known Feyre longer, I’m more comfortable in your presence. It’s difficult to resist that gravity sometimes.”

“Well you’d better get used to it.”

“Can I at least stay today? It seems there’s plenty to do around here.”

“Fine, but tomorrow, I expect you to find a hobby or something.”

“What else do you do in your spare time?”

“I do this.” She gestured at the veritable paradise of the garden sprawling around them. “I bake. I train. I’ve even started reading the novel collection Nesta left here lately.”

“What about horseback riding?” Lucien asked with a gleam in his russet eye.

“I’m afraid I’ve had little chance to do so in my life. Horses existed mainly to pull carriages in my village. Other than that, I’m afraid I found them rather smelly.” She wrinkled her nose at the memories of the scent of the stable housed in the heart of her old village, back in the human world.

“Then let me re-introduce you. It’s something that I used to enjoy … before. We even have horses at the Band’s headquarters, but I’m sure I can find some nearby.” He pondered the thought, clearly wondering where he could scrounge up some horses in Velaris.

Elain hadn’t seen a single one of the beasts since she moved here. The city streets were tightly packed enough that it never truly took too long to arrive anywhere, and with the power to winnow and so many wing-possessing Illyrians, she wondered if horses weren’t a rarity in the Night Court overall.

“The freedom you feel with the wind whipping through your hair as you race across the countryside is like nothing I’ve ever experienced elsewhere.”

Like flying, Elain’s favorite mode of transportation, though she doubted Lucien would ever feel the same about having a winged Illyrian cradle him in their arms. “I’d like that,” she breathed.

“Then let me do you the honors.” He bowed and backed out of the garden.

“Where are you going?” Elain wondered aloud.

“I have some research to do,” Lucien said over his shoulder. “And a very wise female I know once suggested I find other ways to occupy myself. I’ll be in touch.”

Elain watched him vanish around the corner of the house before she felt him truly leave her presence, likely winnowing away after his dramatic exit. 

She fought the urge to laugh at that. Lucien’s flare for the dramatics was becoming more and more apparent—his sass beginning to seep through his pores as if he had been desperately damming it up inside himself.

She was appreciative that he was giving her some breathing room. Somehow, with Az out of town, she hadn’t minded the constant companionship, but now that Lucien seemed to be keeping tabs on her, she didn’t want him to accidentally feel how she pined after the shadowsinger or notice how often she made herself readily available to the other male.

Even if Lucien was able to put jealousy aside, they weren’t quite close enough for her to feel comfortable confiding those secrets in him. He may not harm her intentionally, but he could still grow territorial all of a sudden out of instinct or accidentally blab her secrets to her sister. Best to be safe rather than sorry.

Whilst Elain saw Azriel every morning the next few weeks and most evenings as well, Lucien had indeed succeeded in making himself scarce. He stopped by the house periodically, but never for longer than an afternoon tea or supper, and once, when Elain actually invited him to sit with her in the garden, he boasted other plans before cryptically leaving her sitting alone in the autumnal chill.

It was growing closer and closer to Solstice, winter winds beginning to creep through the city and even the threat of snow approaching, and Elain had begun fretting about her presents this year.

While it was a blessing to know her family much better than she did last Solstice, it also meant she needed to step up her gift-giving game. Last year, there had been no expectations, but this year … She knew that her gifts would mean more, and she truly wanted them to.

Azriel’s had probably had the most thought last year, and she wanted to be able to top it. She needed something that screamed, I know you! See that and recognize me! Though she was still blanking on what to get him. It couldn’t be too familiar or boldly display her affections for him too deeply, but she so desperately wanted him to feel that spark of connection between them ignited.

She would also need to figure out what in the seven hells to gift to Lucien. Their comfort together was mainly in presence. Every once in awhile he would open up about bits of his past, but Elain felt that she still didn’t truly know the real him. At least not intellectually—her soul recognized him beyond repair.

Horses were the first interest of his own which he had ever shared with her, and even then, the two had yet to actually ride any of them.

She could almost laugh at the image of the redhead wandering through the wilds of the Night Court searching for some of the beasts. She supposed she could’ve asked her sister if she knew where they could be procured, but this was Lucien’s task, Lucien’s fraught-filled journey to undertake.

And it provided her with much-needed space. She wasn’t sure exactly why she had snapped at him in the gardens that day. Now her time not spent with Az felt a little duller in comparison to what it had once been, and he hadn’t deserved her ire simply because he had poked into her personal life.

It’s not that there was anything she needed to hide, anyways. Not when the friendship she had gotten so defensive over was strictly very platonic.

Now, here she was in the sitting room of the estate, with Feyre, keeping a meticulous list while her sister waltzed around the room, pointing out every inch of surface she wanted to decorate.

A new home meant many more decorations to be purchased, and Rhys had told Feyre that the entire house was hers to do with as she pleased.

“This corner feels so empty,” Feyre mused. “What could we put here?”

“Well perhaps some large vases of greenery? Or white flowers? To go with your color scheme.”

“It doesn’t feel grand enough. This is my first time doing these preparations myself, and I want to make them perfect. Not to mention, I’ll never hear the end of it from Cassian and Azriel if I royally screw up.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t be too hard on you. We could just store the presents here on the day of. The room will look complete enough,” Elain suggested, frustrated that they were still stuck in this corner of the grand room when they still had most of the rest of the downstairs to tackle.

“What if instead of potted plants, we put a tree here.”

“A tree? Inside, Feyre?” Elain asked skeptically.

“Think about it. We could chop down one of those tall ones, that will reach to the ceiling—a pine tree, like the garlands we already use. It’d be the perfect centerpiece.”

“Won’t that look a little one-note?” Elain mused.

“Not if we decorate it! Just think about it! We could string some of the tinsel we already use around it and—I don’t know—maybe just hang small baubles from it?”

It sounded like one of the most far-fetched ideas Elain had ever heard. She wasn’t used to celebrating holidays, as they had been banned in the Mortal Lands before the War, but she had never heard of anyone going so far as to chop down a tree merely for a focal point for their sitting room decor.

“If you insist, Feyre, but can we please move on to another room? I’m starving, and at this rate, we’ll never sit down to eat lunch.”

Feyre chuckled. “Of course. Of course. Sorry—I’m just really excited to do this for myself this year. And I know that Rhys will love anything I put together, regardless. It doesn’t stop me from wanting it to be perfect, though.”

Elain nodded, understanding the sentiment. She was always so afraid of failure—that one day Azriel would assign her a scrying task she couldn’t complete, that he would somehow give up on her physical training because she was a lost cause, that she might lose one of her friendships because these centuries-old Fae whom she’d begun to bond with would realize how fully uninteresting a previously-human female of only twenty four truly was.

So she let her sister whisk her away into the foyer, idly listening to drabble about running garlands up the bannisters of the massive staircase while chewing on the end of her pen and doing her damnedest to put aside those thoughts of uselessness which were now flooding her brain.

“Az, you didn’t!” Elain exclaimed gleefully as she tore the wrappings off her present. Inside the box were two juxtaposed sets of clothing—one a fluffy purple sweater with leggings which Elain wanted to sink into immediately, the other a set of her own Illyrian leathers, with matching purple accents.

“I thought it was time you had your own set, my little warrior.” Az was beaming, thoroughly pleased with himself that she actually appreciated his gift this year. “But I knew you’d want something more casual as well, and I just thought that would look good on you.” His hand had reached back to scratch his neck as he explained the gifts.

Elain was thrilled. She had been using a spare set of Feyre’s leathers these past couple of months, and she couldn’t wait to have her own which would fit her more appropriately. And the sweater with leggings—how had he known?

She had been coveting Feyre’s collection of them lately, finding that now that she was growing more accustomed to Night Court fashion, she longed not to be in skirts and dresses every day, but she hadn’t taken the initiative to actually go shopping for them of her own accord—or to borrow them from Feyre’s closet. 

And he had said he thought they would look good on her.

“They’re perfect.” Elain offered Azriel a returning grin of her own which she hoped mirrored the one which was currently melting her own innards so he knew how much this meant to her—and how he would certainly be receiving the “Most Improved Solstice Gift” award from her.

He, in turn, laughed as he unpacked a jar of balm for his wings. “Since I always see you sunning those things, either in the garden or up on top of the House of Wind, I thought you could use some protectant for them,” she explained.

“I wouldn’t want them to burn,” he chuckled out as he inspected it. Elain had witnessed him get a sunburn on them in person once—just once—and it was enough for her to wish never to see that pain inflicted on him again.

His Illyrian blood had healed it by the next day, but the usually cool and quiet Azriel had turned into a hotheaded prick, hissing anytime his wings accidentally shifted and being quick to frustration with every little inconvenience as he pored over the reports on his desk. So he must have been in severe discomfort.

“It’s perfect, El. Thanks. You always know just what to get me.” He nudged her shoulder, as they sat side-by-side on the couch before the two got lost in the hustle and bustle of exchanging more gifts with the rest of their family—everyone except Nesta making an appearance.

According to Cassian, she had merely refused to pack, and refused to give him an explanation as to why she wasn’t coming. But Feyre had told him not to push, so he had flown back to Velaris solo to stay for the week.

Even so, Cassian had been glowing after their annual snowball fight—despite the fact that Azriel had garnered his two hundredth victory—and had even ruffled her hair as he’d come in for dinner tonight. 

Sometimes, she could pretend that things were normal again, despite the fact that her sister was notably absent and her Illyrian friend had a permanent set of bags under his eyes.

At least Nesta hadn’t succeeded in taking Cassian down with her yet.

Elain was shaken from her musings by an involuntary tug in her gut and a shadow hovering over her.

Lucien. A male who she’d scantly seen these past few weeks, though he’d still made sure to let her know he hadn’t forgotten about her. He had given her attention at the dinners he attended and also stopped by her garden a few times to do some of the more manual tasks, always her handyman.

“For you.” He held out a medium-sized parcel for Elain. Interestingly, it was similar in size and shape to the one Azriel had handed her.

Elain took it, offering her mate a shy smile before ripping off the paper to reveal a loose-fitting green tunic with a set of tan breeches and boots. What was with all these males picking out clothes for her?

“They’re for when we go riding.”

“And when will that be?”

“I was hoping sometime this week. It’s unseasonably warm for this time of year. Or if you’d prefer an even warmer climate, I could arrange for us to visit one of the seasonal courts. I’m not on terrible terms with Tarquin, and Tamlin lets me use his lands, even though we aren’t quite back on speaking terms.”

Elain immediately felt Azriel tense where their bodies connected, knowing that this wasn’t going to be pretty.

“There’s no way you’re taking her to Spring,” Azriel scoffed, his blood chilling to ice in his veins. Riding horses was no enjoyable pastime, but he’d done his best to keep his mouth shut about Lucien’s absolutely awful gift idea until the bastard had brought up taking Elain into the territory of a madman.

“I didn’t realize that you spoke for Elain.” Lucien tilted his head infuriatingly.

“I—I don’t, but the beast is unhinged, Lucien. You know it as well as I. He’s started piecing his court back together, but it’s chaos. Led by a madman who is still in love with Elain’s sister who spited him and tore apart his court from the inside.” 

He was seething. He truly tried to leave Elain to deal with the matter of Lucien by herself, not wanting to get in the way of her bond with her mate, even if it burned him from the inside out.

But he couldn’t overlook this. Her safety was his greatest concern.

“Stop it, you two,” Elain cut in just as Lucien opened his mouth to retort. “Lucien, I’d love to go riding with you, but perhaps we can stick to the Night Court for now. It will be my first time anyways, and I’d rather be close to home. Once I’m more comfortable, I may take you up on your offer to travel.”

“Of course, Elain.” Lucien bowed to her. “I’ll make the arrangements. I’ve brought some horses up from the Band’s estates and have left them with the owner of a small farm outside of town. I’ll make sure they’re refreshed and ready to ride in a few days time, if you’re agreeable to that.

“Thank you, Lucien,” Elain murmured, now looking a bit uncomfortable since most of the room had turned her way. The other male took his leave, ambling back to his seat next to Feyre by the fireplace.

Horses are truly horrid creatures. You know that right? Azriel crooned.

Elain playfully slapped him on the arm. It’s the thought that counts, Az. And I’m excited to try riding one. I think it’ll be rather freeing, flying across the world with the wind in my hair.

You do that every day though. And I think you’ll find that literally flying with me is much more comfortable than one of those beasts. The sores you’ll get on your legs …

Will be part of the experience. And it’s sure to be different than riding you— She clapped a hand over her mouth, face lighting up in an instant, even though the words hadn’t been said aloud. Riding with you. Riding with you, she corrected, but Azriel was already attempting to muffle his laughter beside her, lifting his glass to his lips to obscure most of his face.

Luckily for her, he could tell that the others were too wrapped up in Mor and Cassian’s gift exchange to glance their way.

I had no idea that—

What’s so great about flying anyways? Elain grumbled, but Az could tell she was flustered.

Everything.

Chapter Text

Azriel might have been right that flying was incredible, but riding on horseback was a close second.

Despite the pain now rubbing against the inside of her thighs, which would surely smart later tonight, Elain was reveling in her newfound freedom.

Lucien had encouraged her to take it easy, noting that it might take her awhile to grow used to the beast beneath her, but Elain felt like she and her horse, Petunia, had bonded almost instantly. 

Holding the reins between her fingers felt like second nature somehow, and had quickly graduated from trotting to cantering to galloping around the small farm on the outskirts of Velaris.

She was at one with her horse, though admittedly, she was using her future sight to probe the horse’s intentions making sure to stick one step ahead of it, lest it grow tired of her presence and try to buck her commands.

Now the two of them were riding through the countryside, the wind whipping through her hair, and despite the breakneck pace she had pushed herself towards as they sped across a meadow, Elain fought the urge to throw her arms out and close her eyes.

But she wasn’t feeling foolhardy today, so she decided to wait for perhaps another time, when she had more experience and trust in her horse to pull that maneuver, but the breaking of the chains she sometimes felt in the confinement of the city was still palpable.

Would she still prefer for a certain Illyrian to escort her everywhere she went, high in the sky, free as a bird? Of course, but this was a pastime and means of travel she could arrange by herself. Anytime she wanted.

Elain felt a twinge of something joyous, perhaps pride, tickling her in the gut, along the soulbridge between herself and Lucien.

Much later, when they finally slowed to a trot, approaching the boundaries of the enchanted city once more, Lucien finally broke the silence. “So you enjoyed yourself?”

“More than enjoyed myself. I feel … I feel like I didn’t know how much I was missing out on until now. Sometimes, even though the war is over, it can be hard to just … breathe. But I didn’t feel anything like that today.

“I bought these horses,” Lucien informed her. “We can come back and ride anytime you like, you know. You don’t even have to wait for me to do so. I made sure the owner knew that you were allowed unrestricted access to them.”

“Thank you, Lucien.”

“Think of this as your true Solstice present. The clothes look lovely on you”—Elain fought a blush as she looked down on the emerald tunic, bundled under her overcoat which did was a refreshing color she should probably wear more often—“But this is the experience I truly wished for you to have. For you to know this love of mine and share in it.”

“It truly is wonderful,” she murmured.

“I thought you’d feel that way.” They were arriving back at the stables now, and Lucien had dismounted, offering his hands to Elain to ease her off her horse. They handed the reins over to Amani and took off down cobblestone streets, back towards the river estate. “We’re more alike than I realized.”

“Is that supposed to make me like you more?” Elain teased, inching closer to Lucien as she shivered, the thrill and exhilaration having receded and left her freezing.

“It’s merely an observation. I wish I had gotten to know you sooner. Not that we met under the best of circumstances, but I enjoy your company. You’re a good listener, yet you’re comfortable with the silences. Lately I find myself without much to say, as I try to navigate through my new life. Being with you is like a breath of fresh air.”

Yes, a breath of fresh air was exactly what Lucien exacted from her as well. “Likewise.”

“So don’t run out on me. I’m sorry for smothering you when I came to Velaris, but it was only because I was drawn to your company. It was perhaps a mix of our natures meshing well together and this thing”—He gestured between them, in a way which confirmed for Elain that all those snapshots, the tiny moments of physical connection were felt by him as well—”But I don’t want to scare you off from my friendship.”

“I’d say you’re doing an incredible job of preventing that today.” And for once, Elain felt herself grinning in front of him, something primal and incomprehensible in her gut purring at the reaction, begging her to sidle closer to the male beside her.

Which was utterly confusing and downright terrifying.

“Relax,” Lucien murmured, placing a comforting hand along her arm. “You can’t help the physical reactions; I know that better than anyone. And that’s all it is, your body reacting to the bond.”

She nodded, and when he offered her his arm, she clung to his warmth, her body not wanting to let go as they approached the mansion.

Elain had been spending ever more time with Lucien as of late, and when Azriel picked her up for their training session at the House of Wind, his senses couldn’t ignore the fact that his scent clung to her own.

He repeated the mantra over and over again that he should be glad that his best friend was mending her relationship with her mate, even if he found himself with an aching loneliness that he hadn’t realized she had been filling when the two were together.

Azriel had come across them in the garden more than a few times, as he had gone out with the intent of sunning his wings, and like a smart male, he had turned right around, not even fully materializing from the shadows before he had redirected them elsewhere. To the House. To his apartment. To anywhere but there.

And then those hours he had planned out in his head, relaxing and laughing with a friend who needed his company less and less with every passing week outside of their obligated training sessions, were spent in isolation, drowning himself in paperwork or prematurely scouting for Rhys’s interests or drinking. The drinking happened more often than he cared to admit.

“What’s on your mind?” His attention snapped fully back onto the female in his arms who he was getting all to himself for the next few hours. He would just have to savor them for the next time he found himself in one of those moods.

“Nothing.” He wouldn’t let this cast a shadow over her mood as well.

“You know you can trust me, if something is bothering you.” Somehow when it was just the two of them, her unrestrained smile was enough to make him feel as if he were the only other person in existence. She truly had a way with others that so many of them overlooked.

“I trust you more than most. You know that, El.”

“It’s one thing to say that, but I feel like you don’t share as much with me anymore.”

It was still difficult to open up, even with her. Those memories he’d shared with her in the infancy of their friendship were gut-wrenching to relive, and they weren’t the worst of the horrors Az had endured or was likely to endure in the rest of his miserable life.

If only she knew how much he wished he could voice them but might never be able to find the correct words to do so. At least not without completely losing himself in the process. 

What she considered “not sharing much with her anymore” was likely just due to the fact that they had less opportunity to speak with Lucien occupying so much of her attention—hence less deep conversations.

“We don’t see each other for social visits as much anymore, Elain. It’s not my fault that training doesn’t always bring about the deepest of conversations. It doesn’t relinquish the fact that you’re still my favorite secret keeper. You know more about me than most.”

He touched down and set Elain upon the agency of her own two feet before leading the way to the airy sitting room which overlooked the twinkling city. The two of them had taken their leave from the others after supper, Elain having supplied the excuse that she was feeling lightheaded and thought some time scrying might set her mind right again. And blessedly, she had turned to Azriel expectantly, wanting to spend these hours with him, even if they would be laced with silences as she concentrated on her task.

“Anything in particular I should search out?” Elain pressed, as she took a seat on the chaise closest to the balcony. “Anything out there in the world on your mind that I can help ease?”

Actually, there was, but … To have her look into this part of his life would be inviting her to peel back another layer of his defenses, lower that shield he always placed between them just a fraction of an inch more.

What is it? Her voice was a soft whisper as the shadow caressed his ear. She was appealing to him in a way more intimate than their spoken conversations. And now that he got a better look, Elain’s expression was laced with concern.

It’s no use hiding the truth from you, is it?

Not when I can read you like a book. Not true, he desperately hoped. Anyone who cracked open his spine would be met with remorse as they pored over his story, likely not even making it to the working ending—always updating itself.

“It’s … my family,” he breathed. “I know I need to check in on them soon, but I know … I know my stepfather was caught up in a scuffle along the borders of Illyria last week. I just need to know what to expect. If they’re doing all right. I just …”

“How would I find them?” Elain saved him from his own rambling by placing a hand upon his own.

“They live in Rosehall. It’s probably easier if I show you.” He floated a map over from his workstation until it was flat on the table in front of them. “It’s here.” He pointed to the northern outskirts of the Illyrian Steppes.

“And who am I searching for?”

“My mother, Illiana. My stepfather, Edon. My little sister, Iris.”

“I didn’t know you had any siblings. I mean other than …”

He shrugged. “Well, now you do. She’s still a whelp. Last time I visited, she still hadn’t fully grown into her wings.”

“Do you visit them often?”

“Probably not as often as I should. It’s been months now, but they don’t need me anyways.”

“I’m sure that’s not what they think, Azriel.” The hand which was still resting atop his began to rub soothing circles. “But if that’s what you need, I will try to take a glimpse at them. I don’t relish intruding on others’ personal lives for longer than necessary.”

“Me neither,” Azriel mumbled, but Elain was already gone, in that haze she acquired whenever she had fully given herself over to her powers. It was rather terrifying sometimes to not know how to wake her from these trances, but Azriel had to remind himself that she only did this by choice. When a vision came to her out of the blue, it usually pasted itself over her reality, allowing her to be in two worlds at once.

This was Elain’s way of focusing and honing in on a subject. It also generally produced clearer results than when she was distracted with the real world around her. Though, Azriel wouldn’t admit the fear to anyone else that one day she may not ever return from one of these intense visions, that he would never get her back.

He drowned himself in busywork, knowing that no matter how little time Elain might feel like she was stuck in a vision, that didn’t quite equate to the time she would be gone.

When he finally heard the sound of her breathing picking up, a sign that she was coming out of her stupor, he returned to her side.

As her eyes flew open, he selfishly demanded, “What did you see?” before she had readjusted and cursed himself for it. There was usually a bit of disorientation as her realities shifted.

It took her a few moments to compose herself before answering him. “Your stepfather … He was wounded but is in recovery now. It’s nothing life threatening. And your mother is tending to him. She looks exhausted but none the worse for wear. Iris—she’s adorable by the way—is fairly oblivious to it all. She’s still at that age where she’s easily placated, and they keep her entertained.”

“Do you think … Do you think that they need me?”

“I’m sure a visit from you might take a bit of the load off of your mother’s plate, but they’re perfectly fine, Az. They’re surviving.” Her hand flew to his knee, even as he tried to calm his fidgeting. His legs had not really sat still the entire time she was immersed in that other world.

“I don’t belong anywhere.” There it was. One of his greatest fears, brought out again by the knowledge that his own family was out there, completely fine without him. He knew he had dug this pit of unending loneliness all by himself, with distancing himself from his blood relatives and always keeping a firm wall between himself and his found family, but that didn’t lessen the sting of rejection and the wave of pain that always washed over him when he was reminded of these matters.

“What are you talking about?” Elain’s voice was raw, worried perhaps.

“I have nowhere and nobody to truly call home. My family is fine without me, and so are my friends. Everyone thrives with or without my presence, but I—I don’t.”

“I need you.”

“Not really, you don’t. You have your family, the twins, Mor, Cassian, Rhys, Lucien. If I disappeared, you would soon forget about me. That’s how it always is with me, even for those I love. I’m a shadow, a ghost of a person always hovering in the periphery but easy to erase, to let fade away.”

“Az, you’re my best friend. Of course I wouldn’t let you go so easily. I made that mistake once, but it wrecked me inside as well to think you were content with merely fading from my life,” she chided.

How did he explain this to her? How did he make her see?

“I’m unlovable, Elain. I came to that conclusion a long time ago. I let myself have my vices, but deep down I’ve made some sort of peace with it. Every once in awhile, it just comes up back bite me.”

“Is that where you go when you’re so silent? Deep into your head imagining that everyone in the room hates you?”

“I know you all have some sort of attachment to me. I just also know how easily it could be severed without much consequence. I don’t want to lose that.”

“Then don’t. You’re the one suggesting fading away, not us—not me. Don’t leave. I know you’ll find the happiness you deserve one day. You’re not unlovable,” she whispered.

Elain was now staring at her own trembling fingers, the two of them a fitting match in this moment where emotions seemed to be running high.

If only she could understand, but she was too young. She hadn’t lived with him for centuries, hadn’t witnessed exactly how much of an outsider he was, even among those closest to him.

“I am, but—”

“You should go visit your family,” Elain interrupted him before he could further explain this to her.

“I—What?”

“Like I said, they don’t need you, but I’m sure they’d love it if you visited, even just for an afternoon. You need to stop selling yourself short, and spending time with your mother will remind you that somebody out there loves you. Even though I’m sure I can ask anyone here, and they’d say it too. But that doesn’t seem to be enough for you.”

“I’ll try to find time to go soon.”

“We can go tomorrow. It’s a bit too late in the evening to call on someone out of the blue, but it’s supposed to be lovely tomorrow.”

“We?”

“Well somebody needs to make sure you actually follow through with it, and I have to admit that I’m curious to meet them. After all, you did make me become acquainted with them in my own way today.”

Azriel shook his head, not quite believing what he was hearing. “I’m sure you have much better things to do than accompany me on family visits, and—”

“As a matter of fact, I’m quite free tomorrow, and even if I weren’t, I—” Elain froze in her tracks.

“You what?”

“I would always make time to help a friend in need.” Her gaze slid to the floor, and Az couldn’t help but feel like she wasn’t telling him the entire truth. Had Elain seen something when scrying his family which necessitated her worry about either himself or his family?

Surely, she would have told him if the situation back in Rosehall was dire. Or perhaps she was just extremely curious and embarrassed to admit that she wanted glimpses into his private life. That had to be it, and he supposed he should be better at letting her in, the better to have it reciprocated.

“Then I look forward to it,” Az breathed before their conversation tumbled back to safer topics, of scrying far less personal items and seeing far less sensitive futures.

Chapter Text

“You’re wearing those?” Azriel stood on the front steps of the estate the next morning gaping at Elain.

“What? Is this too much? Or not enough?” Elain frowned down at the Illyrian leathers Az had gifted her for Solstice.

“They’re perfect, but …”

“You didn’t think I would try to dress for the occasion of going to Illyria? I was just trying to fit in.” There was a look of pleading on her face.

“You will. Honestly.” He gestured to his own set of leathers which he had donned in anticipation of this trip. “You just surprised me. That’s all.”

In fact, he was more stunned that she had worn them for anything other than training because most days, Elain seemed to shuck the leathers in favor of something she considered more comfortable the instant they had finished.

“In that case, I guess we’d better get on that.” She extended her hand in anticipation of his shadow-walking them away to Rosehall, but Azriel took pause.

“Would you like to try it?” he asked. “The shadows know the way, and all you’ll have to do is issue the command. We haven’t … You haven’t tried it since …”

Shit. He was so idiotic for reminding her of that day she no doubt wanted to forget entirely.

“Well I don’t have my Siphon on me, so I doubt I’d be of much use. Why don’t you just do it for today?”

He would have bothered to offer her another, but Elain was perfectly capable of walking upstairs and grabbing the stone out of whichever drawer she had thrust it into. Something in the shadows overcoming her brow and the shrinking of her posture made him realize that she likely wouldn’t take one if offered it anyways.

“Fine, but you should really practice sometime. You may find that you don’t even need the stone anymore.” Azriel didn’t give her a chance to respond before whisking them away to the snow-covered stoop of his mother’s estate.

He rapped on the door incessantly, after throwing up a shield around them so Elain wouldn’t have to shiver while they waited for the sound of footsteps to crescendo until the front door was swinging open and he was being pulled into his shocked mother’s arms.

“What a pleasant surprise! Please come in, and oh dear! I’m afraid I haven’t met your friend!”

“Mother, this is Elain. Elain, my mother Illiana.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Elain smiled brightly as she handed his mother a bouquet of daffodils. He had been surprised to find her clutching the bundle of them this morning, but Elain had chided him, stating that it was always polite to bring a gift when calling upon someone for the first time, especially the parent of such a close friend.

“Lovely to meet you too, dear. And thank you! I’ll have to scrounge up a vase to place these in. Come in. Come in.” She signaled for them to enter the sitting room, bringing them out of the cramped entryway and into the space where Azriel found his little sister, sitting on the ground, playing quietly with her toys.

She jumped up at the sight of him, though, sprinting to cover the distance between them, much steadier on her feet this time than the last time Azriel had seen her. But it seemed that she remembered him, even without being prepared ahead of time for his arrival. “Azzy!” She jumped up into his arms.

“Why, hello there,” Elain cooed from beside him. Flashing Iris a shy smile, which was met with the toddler crooking her head in interest.

“Where’d your wings go?” Iris asked Elain, full of curiosity and wonder. Of course, Azriel realized, she had probably never even left this village, and it was on the outskirts of the country, so they so rarely received even visitors who were not Illyrian.

“Well, I was born without them,” Elain answered softly. “Not all Fae can be so lucky as to taste the sky.” All Fae. No mention of her human life, perhaps out of simplicity for the child or because she was far enough ingrained in her new Fae heritage that it wasn’t pressing on her mind anymore.

“That doesn’t sound very fun,” Iris frowned.

“Well I can go flying any time I like when I’m with your brother. And I’ve got my own, different, strengths.”

“Are you stronger than him”—A chubby finger jabbed at Azriel’s face, narrowly missing his eye—“or my Daddy?” This whelp was all inquisitiveness and whimsy.

“Not even close, but I’m very good with flowers, and I can make delicious cookies, and sometimes I can tell you what will happen tomorrow or the next day.”

“Ohhh! Will Daddy come play with me tomorrow? I miss him.”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that, but if you’d like I can play with you now.” Elain shot a glance over a Azriel.

“Can she? Please, Azzy?” Iris looked up at him with pleading puppy dog eyes as Elain grinned from beside him

“Of course, little one. I’m happy to share my friend with you.” Thank the Cauldron, because Azriel truly still had no idea how to quite get along with children. 

He didn’t understand the imaginary games she played or really the concept of whatever a normal childhood was supposed to be. But he tended to get on the floor and play with Iris regardless, merely nodding his head and letting her lead him.

“Yay!” his little sister squealed before squirming to be let down and grabbing Elain’s hand to bring her over to her play area in the middle of the sitting room.

When the two females were fully ingrained in their building of what looked like a small fort, Azriel signaled to his mother that they go into the kitchen, far away from the prying ears of a toddler who was none the wiser as to what was going on.

“How is he?” Azriel kept his voice low, hoping not to accidentally attract too much attention in this echochamber of a house.

“Oh, he’s doing all right, all things considered. He’s sitting up by himself now, and he’s starting to fight me on his doses of pain medication so he should be up within a few days. It’s nothing we can’t handle.”

“And how are you?” His mother had exhaustion radiating out of her every pore, though Azriel doubted she would ever admit it.

“I’ve been better, but as soon as Edon doesn’t need so much attention and I don’t also have to throw my remaining energy into keeping Iris happily distracted, I’m sure I’ll get some more sleep.”

“Is there anything I can do to help? I know I’m not used to your routine, but I could stay for a few days and help with Iris. She does seem to be a handful.”

“I would love for her to get to know you more, but I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. I know how important you are to the High Lord, and you surely want to spend more time alone with your—”

“Friend, mom. Elain is just a friend. One of my best in fact, but nothing more.”

“She just seems so sweet, and—”

“I’m in love with someone else.” She frowned at the mention of Mor, never having been particularly fond of the female, but Azriel was used to it. He shrugged it off as he had for centuries. “And Elain has a mate.”

“But she’s here with you.”

“Because she’s a genuinely caring person and wanted to accompany me to help in whichever way she could. Just because someone does that for a friend doesn’t mean there’s anything else going on between them.”

“Damn shame though. She’s lovely, and the way she just instantly made friends with Iris was so endearing, and—”

“I’m done having this conversation, Mother. Would you like to go out and join the rest of the family?”

Azriel took off before she could answer that, secure in the knowledge that his mother likely would have enough tact not to continue with the conversation in earshot of Elain, but he was sorely mistaken.

“Azriel Kieran,” she hissed at him, loud enough that Az saw Elain’s neck whip around at the mention of his name as he entered the sitting room.

Oh shit. He was in such a rutting mess right now.

Elain noticed Azriel’s face display the faintest hint of a blush before he schooled his visage. She had been deep in a game of hide and seek with a toddler, who kept hiding in their pillow fort, pretending to be none the wiser as she idly scanned the room when she heard the name hissed.

Azriel Kieran.

“Is that your …”

“Middle name, yes. Though I don’t know why it was so aggressively put to use right there.” His face was closed off as he emotionlessly made his way to a chair, seemingly ignoring his mother and also trying to escape this conversation with her.

And what does the “L” stand for?

For as much as Azriel probably hoped she had forgotten about it, Elain stared at that journal, etched with his initials every damned day on her nightstand and had been infinitely curious about it.

If I answer this, you’re going to pretend like nothing happened and never mention this again? To anyone?

My lips are sealed.

Laskaris. It’s my father’s name. So it’s been difficult to shed, considering he’s a lord and all. That’s why I don’t tell anyone or use it, for that matter. He brought a hand to his temples.

I like Kieran though. It suits you.

He merely shook his head. I’m going to kill Mor for engraving it on that journal. She never lets up with the tacky monogrammed gifts. If only I had met her later in life, when I had stopped using any name other than my first.

It doesn’t make me think any differently of you, you know.

I know, but … Please. Let’s just drop it. I feel like a certain toddler is still waiting to be found.

“Oh!” Elain gasped before rushing to the pillow fort and lifting up the sheet to reveal a giggling Iris.

“I’m the best at hiding. It took you forever to find me!”

“You’re right! I’ll never be a match for you, oh sneaky one!” Elain laughed right back at her. This kid was a hoot, and somehow nothing like what she would have expected for Azriel’s sibling. She supposed it was because Iris got the childhood Az hadn’t—being raised by two loving parents and not locked up in a cell.

“Momma, can Elain stay forever?”

“Now, dear. I’m not sure about forever, but certainly you two are welcome to stay as long as you like.” She directed the last statement to Az, with a curious glimmer in her eyes.

I wouldn’t mind staying the night, if that would make them happy. I’m having fun here.

Of course you would give in to their plying. You’re too kind to everyone you meet.

They’re your family. I’m just trying to be polite, but I guess it’s up to you.

“Just for the night. Then we really do need to get back to Velaris.”

“Oh, how wonderful! I’ll get the guest room ready!” His mother scuttled off down the hallway.

Guest room. Not rooms.

Elain’s cheeks had grown flushed, her heart throbbing furiously. She was going to spend the night with Azriel, as platonic as it was destined to be.

“Don’t worry. I can sleep on the couch.”

“What?” She supposed it was only to be expected, but her hopes had soared in that fraction of a second before he’d sent them crashing back down to earth.

“The guest room. It’s for you.”

“No, no. I’d be more comfortable on the couch if anything. I don’t have wings. Don’t be silly. Besides that’s your room. I couldn’t possibly impose.”

“Just because it’s got a small chest with my things in it doesn’t make it mine. It’s just a space I stay in occasionally. Really. I insist.”

Why was he being so frustratingly polite about this? Sure, she’d prefer if they could both stay together, but in the case that he was adamant they spend the night apart, she should be the one put out.

Elain merely nodded frustratedly before, before heading into the kitchen. You spend some time with your sister. I’m going to make us all some tea. Your mother could use somebody helping her take a load off if even for a few minutes.

She let out a frustrated sigh before seating herself on the counter and mulling over their conversation. He was being far too polite to her. She knew this was his family’s home, but he didn’t need to insist on her comfort and only her comfort when they both could benefit from the situation. If only he could let down some of those walls.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. She should have fought just a bit more fiercely or tried to come up with a good argument for him, but the stupid male just left her so flustered all the time.

Quickly, she recovered her faculties, filling the kettle which was nestled on the stove and lighting a flame beneath it whilst searching the cabinets for mugs and tea. It took her awhile in the unfamiliar space, but eventually she found what she was looking for, and then emerged into the sitting room with two scalding mugs, a third waiting for her back in the kitchen.

“Oh, Elain. You didn’t need to do that, honey.” Az’s mother sounded a bit embarrassed at being served in her own home.

“Nonsense. I’m perfectly happy to help out however I can. You’ve had a strenuous week, and it’s the least we can do for your hospitality. I’d certainly also love to help prepare dinner. I know I surely don’t have as much experience as you, but I know my way around a kitchen.”

“She’s just being modest. Elain’s an excellent cook. And an even better baker.”

“Well, I’d love that then, dear. Maybe you could teach me a thing or two.”

Cooking with Illiana had been eye opening for Elain. Everyone had their own techniques and ways they added a special little flare to their dishes, and Azriel’s mother was no different. 

She had already asked if she could pore over her collection of recipes before they left for ideas, and she had the succinct impression that she must be leaving a good impression because Illiana had been grinning all evening. Elain was glad that their visit seemed to have been invigorating.

Even though the evening was winding down, she was walking with more of a pep in her step, and even some of that habitual exhaustion seemed to have fled her face in the presence of relaxing company.

Elain had even offered to help tend to Edon, but Azriel’s mother constantly shooed off the notion, stating that as long as they kept Iris happy whilst she was busy, they were already helping her more than they knew.

Finally, after long hours of conversation, an adorable Iris whose wings were twitching on Elain’s chest as she dozed, and some yawns all around, Azriel’s mother decided to retire, taking the child from Elain’s arms and bidding them goodnight.

“Come on. Let me show you to your room, and I can grab some night clothes while I’m there.” He escorted her up the stairs and down a hallway, past a couple of other doors before turning into a comfortably appointed room—with an enormous bed.

Not pausing as they made their way through the entry, he approached an armoire and pulled out two sets of cotton pants and sweaters. “They’ll probably be a bit large, but unfortunately I didn’t think we’d be staying the night, so they’re all I have …”

“No, they look perfectly comfortable. And I’m not picky,” Elain assured him, secretly thrilled with this turn of events.

“I’ll go change in the bathroom and freshen up. You can use the room,” she mumbled before darting out the door and leaving him alone, as she pondered how she might convince him that sleeping on the couch wasn’t necessary.

She already wasn’t going to be getting enough sleep as it was with Azriel’s ridiculously comfortable clothes hugging her skin. What harm could sharing a room with him do?

After brushing her teeth and washing her face—Elain had seen that there was only a tub here earlier in the day and resigned herself to waiting until they returned home to shower—she tied her hair up and made her way back into the bedroom, a befuddled-looking Az just sitting on the edge of the bed, the mattress groaning beneath his bulk.

“We could just share it, you know. I fall asleep on you back in the estate on the couch all the time. It’s hardly different.” Hardly different, her ass. But this was a fib worth telling if it swayed his decision.

He frowned. “You sure you’d be fine with that? You’re usually so … reserved about these sorts of things.”

“We’re just two friends who will both be more comfortable if we both sleep in a bed. I find that these things don’t matter as much to me anymore.” Part truth. Part lie. She found her walls breaking down with the male she’d been secretly pining over for the better part of her Fae life, but still couldn’t fathom having this kind of bravado around anyone else.

“We have corrupted you yet,” he chuckled, frozen in place in his seat.

“You Night Court folk are dangerous in that way. But I’ve grown less used to human customs and more … free, I guess you could say. That’s the only way I can think of to describe it.” She just hoped he bought it.

“Be that as it may, I think it’s best if I take the couch anyways. We’ll both be more comfortable that way.”

Elain frowned, but clearly, she was fighting a losing battle. It’s not like Azriel was known for his flexibility in general either. She would be getting this overly enormous bed to herself while the stubborn male got cramped onto the couch.

“All right. Goodnight, Az.” Her friend was already halfway to the door now.

When he reached it, he paused in the doorframe, giving her a onceover before murmuring, “Goodnight, El,” and shutting it behind him.

Elain waited until she was certain he would have made it down the hallway and out of earshot before letting out an exaggerated sigh and flopping onto the mattress. The bed creaked and groaned in protest, but Elain didn’t care.

She eventually crawled over to the pillows, weary with the weight of her disappointment and couldn’t help letting out a tiny, choked sob.

It was so unfair that she had to have fallen for the one male destined never to love her back. It was so unfair that she had tried so hard to lure him in, yet he still spurned her advances enough that she was still terrified that he’d break her heart if she told him how she felt. It was so unfair that the person who saw her the most was completely blind to this one facet of her, the one which yearned to be his and only his.

Elain fought the tears off as she let her exhaustion slowly fade her into oblivion.

There was an incessant tugging at his consciousness, dragging Azriel from what had already been an admittedly fitful sleep. With his wings tucked in close to his body, he was constantly rolling onto them as he struggled to find a cozy position on the too-small sofa.

He awoke to find his shadows swirling around him in a fit of unrest, one of them hissing in his ear, She needs you.

Azriel had no idea what they meant by that, but the “she” could only be Elain. And he wasn’t about to stick around, asking nonsense questions when he could slip into her room at the end of the hall and figure out for himself.

He went on foot, out of respect for her privacy and placed three measured knocks softly on the door before hearing no response. Whatever it was, she was unable to answer, so he deftly twisted the knob and barreled his way inside.

In the pitch black, he heard nothing, so he summoned two Siphon-lights, the cobalt orbs casting an eerie blue glow around the room but illuminating it enough that he could finally tell what the issue was.

Elain, slicked with sweat, was thrashing on her mattress, and then he heard it—the whimpering noise which had him rushing to her side debating how best to wake her.

At first, he merely tried leaning over her, holding her arms firmly to her sides so she wouldn’t harm either of them and murmuring her name, but that only made her body fight harder as it struggled to wrench itself free of his grip.

Whatever she was fighting in her nightmare, must have been absolutely dreadful. But then, all of a sudden she stopped fighting, curling herself into a ball, the whimpering having picked up, almost turning into a sob. He reached up, placing a hand on her head to find it cold and clammy to the touch.

So he did the only thing that he could think of, which was to pick her up and cradle her, hoping his own warmth might seep into her skin and comfort her. No fighting him this time, as if she had already given up.

He then sent his shadows the order to attempt to wake her as they had him, hoping that the darkness would resonate with her own and break whatever had such an ironclad grip on her consciousness.

It took a few moments before he felt her breathing hitch a few times and then begin to slow, her heartbeat evening out. And then another few before her eyelids fluttered open.

“Wha—”

“You were having a nightmare,” Az breathed into her hair. “That’s all that was. None of it is real.”

Though he longed to know what plagued her, her reliving the terror would only act in her detriment right now. All he could do was comfort her until she fell back asleep.

“It was real though,” she murmured between hitched sobs which had begun wracking her body now that she was lucid and remembering whatever must have fueled the nightmare in the first place.

“How often do you have these?” he asked, unsure if he wanted to know the answer.

“Occasionally. Less now. This was a new one.”

Less now. So what had brought this on tonight? 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” she choked out.

If she wasn’t going to volunteer any information though, he couldn’t deduce what was causing these for her or help her in any way.

“It’s over now, though. Get some sleep.”

Azriel made to set her back down on the mattress only to hear her sobs pick up.

“What do you need, Elain?”

“Don’t leave me.” A broken plea. Something which he could give her.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered back as he settled himself on the other side of the bed, giving her what he hoped was enough space.

He left the lights on so that her panicked roving eyes could confirm that he was indeed a permanent fixture now and waited—noting the moments when her cries faded, when her eyes closed, when her breathing evened out into peaceful rest, before he allowed himself the pleasure of getting comfortable and falling back asleep.

Chapter Text

Azriel woke the next morning finding a few things quite alarming.

First and foremost, that he was in bed with Elain. He now remembered making his way into her bedroom to wake her from her nightmare.

Secondly, that he and Elain had somehow shifted closer to each other during the night, and he now had one arm draped over her as she dozed next to him.

Thirdly, if she were to wake, the length she would feel against her backside would be all too noticeable through the thin cotton of his pants.

Shit. He slowly retracted the offending arm and gradually edged out of the bed.

Azriel had woken up like this in many a bed throughout the course of his life. But always with random females he had sought out—never with someone he cared about—friends though they might be. And certainly never with a friend he was sure would be positively scandalized if she knew their positioning as he came to consciousness.

He had been shocked last night when she had come up with the idea of sharing the bed. It wasn’t due to any inhibitions of his own that he had hesitated, but more due to the protection of her innocence.

She had been loosening up lately, drinking more and wearing more revealing Night Court fashions in the past few months, but that didn’t mean that Azriel could assume anything about her level of comfort where interacting with males was concerned. She had just been being overly polite.

He had called her bluff though, letting her have the bed anyways, while he slept on the couch. Until she needed him in the middle of the night and he was powerless to say no. But that didn’t mean she would be perfectly fine with waking up next to him like this. She had just needed someone to help her not feel so alone in that moment of vulnerability.

So he made it easy for her, slipping out of the bedroom to take an ice cold bath before making his way to the kitchen before the sun had even risen, hiding that accidental slip of familiarity his body had shown and saving her the embarrassment of waking up beside a male who meant nothing to her.

Elain woke to the muted sounds of voices down the hallway, one in particular high-pitched and lilting as if she were in the midst of song.

Her suspicions that the deep, hushed voice did indeed belong to Azriel were confirmed as she flipped over to find the other side of the bed vacant, the sheets cool. He had woken up much earlier than her, without bothering to rouse her as well.

She frowned, wondering if he hadn’t perhaps moved to the couch after all, once she had fallen back asleep, but she sincerely hoped that sharing a bed with her wasn’t that detestable.

He had probably only felt like he was doing a duty to his friend. Cauldron, she was so foolish to have thought that even for a fraction of a second, what had transpired last night was anything other than that.

It just confirmed what she already knew, though—what she had failed to somehow convince herself of in the past year. Nothing was going to change, and pining after him was a dead end. If she continued down this path, she would only end up exactly like him—foolishly in love with someone who would likely never love them back for centuries.

She had pointed this out to Azriel, and he said that he knew his childhood crush on Mor was likely doomed, but Elain had seen no change in him, even with their growing intimacy.

It was not enough. She was not enough to change him. Not when he was so set in those ways.

He could continue to let this blind devotion ruin his love life, but Elain needed to make sure she didn’t fall into the same trap. She couldn’t imagine feeling this foolish every morning for the next hundred years, let alone the rest of her life.

She steeled her nerves before heading downstairs to a breakfast spread which Azriel’s mother was fussing about, making it obvious that the shadowsinger had been the one to scrape it together. He must have left her side quite a long time ago in order to workout and prepare a pot of tea as well as heat up a bunch of bacon, sausage, and scrambled eggs for the table.

The male on her mind himself was seated by the window overlooking the frozen Illyrian landscape, having already changed back into his leathers and looking for all the world like he had just walked out of the ring.

His hair was now damp—from sweat or melted frost, Elain was unsure—and his cheeks ruddy, as if he had indeed left his shields down as he took a jog around the village she still had not seen much of outside of these four walls.

Azriel’s eyes shot up from his meal as Elain stepped in the room, and she could have sworn she saw a hint of guilt flash across those tawny eyes before they schooled themselves. She had no way to know what was on his mind then, the shadows refusing to give her the slightest hint as she frustratedly plied them for information.

It could have been a fluke, but perhaps he truly was regretting their night spent in such close proximity, the fact cementing in his mind that he and Elain should never mix like that, could never share that chemistry.

Did you sleep all right? It was foolish, but this was the only way she had to slyly investigate this morning mystery.

Right as rain. What about yourself? After— He was acting … chipper, almost. There was definitely something he wasn’t telling her.

Well enough. In fact, those few hours after Az had woken her and held her had been the best night’s sleep she’d had in a long while, yet Elain wasn’t about to admit that to Azriel.

Elain felt a tug on the sleeve of her shirt, still lazily donning the set of sleeping clothes Azriel had lent her, and looked down to see Iris grinning up at her and dragging her to the dining table.

“Come eat. Azzy made so much food! It’s so yummy!”

“Thank you, little one.” The giant Illyrian gave his tiny sister a forced smile, still hesitant around young children it seemed. “But we’ll have to be quick. Both Elain and I have to return to Velaris this morning because we have work to do.”

Elain let herself be led by the hand to the table and took up the seat next to Azriel.

The two ate in relative silence whenever they weren’t being peppered with questions, the awkwardness of last night seeming to truly have hit home.

When she finished, she excused herself to change back into her own leathers and found an impatient Illyrian warrior waiting for her near the foyer, clearly anxious to take his leave. Perhaps it wasn’t just the night spent with Elain weighing on his mind but also being stuck in this house—in this region—for too long.

“Please come back, Elain!” Iris pleaded, as Azriel began to give his mother his farewells.

Can I?

Yes, I’ll let you know next time I’m making a trip, Az replied instantly.

So he did still want her around to some degree and was willing to keep sharing his family with her.

“Of course I will.” Elain bent down and scooped the squirming toddler up. “And maybe next time I can bring you a lovely bouquet of irises. They’re your namesake after all, and they’ll be in bloom soon.”

“Yay!” Iris squealed, as Elain gave her a peck on the cheek and set her down, so she could embrace Azriel’s mother and thank her for the hospitality.

Finally, the two made it out the door, with many regrets about how short their visit had been, and were able to shadowstep back to the riverfront estate in Velaris.

“Do you really have to work today or can we train?” Elain questioned of the shadowsinger the instant they had vanished from Illyria.

“Work, unfortunately. I put off Rhys’s latest request yesterday to take that trip, so I owe him one today.” He frowned down at Elain. You’ll be alright?

She did notwant him to linger on the memory of seeing her so weak and broken last night. Especially not when she could never admit to him what she had seen in her nightmare.

Of course. Come find me when you’re free, but I did neglect my garden yesterday. And I should catch up with the twins. Why do you ask?

You just seemed … quiet this morning. I thought something was on your mind.

Azriel didn’t even know the half of it, but there was no way she could tell him how much last night had meant to her without confessing her deepest secret. Or how disappointing it was to wake up alone this morning. Or how she had promised herself that she’d stop indulging in these moments because she didn’t want to form an obsession as deep and complicated as his entanglement with Mor.

I’m always quiet before I’ve had my morning tea. I may wake early, but that doesn’t mean I have a lot of energy straight away, she deflected.

Fair point.

You can rely on them, you know, she added perhaps a bit foolishly. All it took was one look at your mother for me to realize how much she adores you. She may have built a family centuries after having you, but she deserves to be happy. And it doesn’t make her need to see her son any less.

I know. I still feel like I don’t belong there. That I will never quite belong anywhere. That somehow everyone will eventually realize that I can never be enough for them. That I’ll bring them down to my level.

There’s nothing wrong with you, Az. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, but maybe one day you’ll listen to me. She averted her gaze, a strand of hair slipping loose from her braid as she hung her head so he couldn’t just read the forlorn expression which she must have been radiating.

You’re too kind to me, Elain, but I’ve come to terms with it over the centuries.

She glanced up to find his hand hovering for the tiniest fraction of a second near her face, as if he was about to tuck the rogue strand behind her ear before thinking better of it.

Well, I hope you change your mind, was all she managed to feebly get out before slipping out of his orbit and into the safety of her home, where she could try to safely decouple herself from these feelings of longing and loneliness which her pining had drowned her in.

Lucien found her, frustratedly tearing up roots later in the afternoon.

“What did those plants ever do to you?” he asked in jest, as he approached with catlike steps, swiftly and silently.

Elain sank to the ground before she finally huffed, “Nothing. They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Duly noted that I never want to get on your bad side ever again,” he laughed, offering a hand to help her up as she laughed at his dry humor.

“You didn’t deserve it, you know,” she added, a seriousness overcoming their conversation.

“I put you in a difficult situation, though it wasn’t my intention, but that’s neither here nor there anymore. Can I help take your mind off of whatever is troubling you? Perhaps a short ride before dinner?”

“Say no more.” Elain gave Lucien a grin brighter than the sun which was blinding her as it bounced off of that metal eye of his and took his arm as he led her towards the outskirts of Velaris and the promise of temporary freedom from her mental burdens.

“Az!” Mor exclaimed from the largest sitting room of the House of Wind. “Stop working and come have some fun!”

Cassian had flown in from Windhaven an hour ago, and he and Mor had been thick as thieves, breaking into the liquor cabinets almost immediately whilst Azriel continued poring over maps and reaching out to his spies for status reports.

He hadn’t been joking when he’d told Elain he had a busy day ahead of him. Rhys had sent him as a messenger to Kallias, and then he’d had to spend the rest of the afternoon and what was looking to be most of his evening backfilling all he had missed out on during yesterday’s visit to Rosehall.

“You two will have plenty of fun without me!” he grumbled back, letting his veil of shadows thicken a fraction to block out the ruckus that only his brother and his beloved could make.

“Cassian’s here one night earlier than he’s due to report, and you can’t make the most of it?” Her voice was gradually crescendoing, and Azriel knew that he was doomed. She was going to walk straight into this room and drag him out of it, one way or another.

He sighed, glancing up from his duties just in time to see her golden head peek through the doorway, his shadows fleeing as her brilliance filled the room. “We miss you. And whatever Rhys has put you up to can wait for a few hours. Cass already told me you were whisked away last time he was in town.”

“And by a few hours, you mean until tomorrow, don’t you?” He was already shuffling and organizing his stack of papers, on the edge of his seat, unable to resist her aura.

Mor’s resulting grin shone more brilliantly than Starfall as she retreated with a casual, “Indeed, I do,” over her shoulder. A beckoning. Tugging on that thread inside him which would permanently hold him prisoner.

Azriel was out of his seat in another minute, following her down that hallway, until he emerged into the antechamber of the enormous lounging space and was greeted by his brother clapping him on the back and pulling him into a hug.

This wasn’t particularly unusual for a sober Cassian, but Azriel could tell he was already well into the bottle of wine clasped in his other hand.

“What brings you in town tonight?” Az asked, having been fully unaware of the visit until Cassian had touched down on the rooftop.

“Oh, you know. A little bit of this. A little of that …”

“Dodging a certain Archeron?” Azriel raised an eyebrow.

“Quite a bit of that. She’s not happy I accidentally drank one of her precious bottles of wine. Most I’ve heard out of her mouth in ages.”

Azriel could tell that, though Cassian was making light of the situation, it was eating away at him inside. Nine months he’d been stuck in that cabin with Nesta, and nothing seemed to have changed.

Certainly, Nesta was entitled to take some time to heal for whatever was ailing her after the war, but even he had to admit that it seemed to be taking much longer than it had for the other two sisters. Perhaps that was in part because of how much of a toll her prickliness was taking on his entire family.

“Well, let’s hope Rhys doesn’t chew you out for stealing his best vintage.”

“I stole it, to be precise. Walked right into the estate this afternoon as soon as I heard this one was on his way and made off like a bandit. Cauldron knows that we all deserve it,” Mor corrected.

Azriel poured himself a glass, taking a large swig and relishing the slight burn as it trickled down his throat. Perhaps he needed a bit of a release to take the edge off the tightness he felt in his chest after visiting his family.

“Well, who am I to refuse to partake after such a daring deed has taken place in order to obtain it?” Azriel chugged the rest of his glass before reaching for the bottle, cursing his Illyrian blood for making this so difficult. Burn though it might, it was going to be awhile and take many glasses before he truly felt any effects of the alcohol.

“Bottoms up.” Cassian grinned as he toasted his two friends.

Many hours later, and one impromptu winnowing to a bakery downtown for the pastries Mor was craving, Azriel found himself teetering on the edge of his own sanity, as he glanced at Cassian, passed out on one of the couches.

His brother had also broken into the whiskey upon their return to the House and had not lasted much longer afterwards. And Azriel had a suspicion that with how much Cassian was snoring, he wouldn’t be waking anytime before midday tomorrow.

He and Mor had vacated the sitting room, leaving him to his slumbers and were now seated shoulder-to-shoulder on the floor by the bar, passing a bottle of wine back and forth in silence, every point of contact between them branding him. Until …

“Az, are you happy?”

“What do you mean?” He passed the bottle back to Mor who took a monstrous swig before continuing.

“Do you ever just look back at all these centuries and wonder what you could have done differently? Have these tiny moments you wish you could change which might, I don’t know, fix some of the wrongs in your life?”

What the hell was she insinuating? Was this really happening to him right here? Right now? In this state of intoxication?

“Mor—I—”

She held up a hand, and he let her continue. “You’re so quiet, and I know that’s just part of who you are, always watching and observing, never trying to take center stage, but don’t you want something like that in your life? Somebody who could give that to you? Help you find contentment?”

So many times over his life had he promised himself he would have this sort of conversation with Mor, yet every single time, for centuries and centuries, he had chickened out.

“Of course I do, but I don’t deserve it.”

“Azriel, you more than anyone else I know deserves to find love and happiness. You may not recognize that about yourself, but it’s true. I know you better than almost anyone.”

Those words hit so close to what Elain had told him only this morning, but …

“I don’t deserve you.” His voice was barely a whisper, and Azriel could hear as Mor audibly gulped.

“Az, I think … I think I’ve been grossly unfair to you. For a long time now …”

Holy shit. Only in Azriel’s wildest, most impossible-seeming dreams did Mor ever confront him about this—begin a confession in this way.

“I almost told you this when we were kids, but I got cold feet. And ever since then, I haven’t been able to find the right words to say. But I think … I think you should know this anyways.”

Azriel’s drunken mind was somehow whirling at a million miles a minute, yet even so, her words were floating at the edge of his consciousness, as he tried to process them.

“I … like females, Az. I always have, and I don’t think that’s ever going to change.”

“But …” Everything within him screeched to a halt. All those nights where he’d seen her go home with a random male from the bar. Or with someone they knew. Or that time with Cassian. “You sleep with males.”

“I can … find pleasure in that, yes. But I’ve never been able to love a male. Not in the way that counts.”

“But …”

“I’ve been selfish for a very long time, shielding this piece of myself from the world, but you needed to know. I couldn’t keep doing this to you.”

Azriel could feel his face heating. “Doing what to me?”

“I’ve always known how you feel about me, Az. I think I’ve known it since we were teenagers, even before I slept with Cassian, but I could never work up the courage to tell you. But now …”

“Now what?” His fists were clenching at his side, the wine bottle shattering in his iron grip, as he fought the urge to explode, but he couldn’t even feel the shreds of glass digging into his skin.

She had kept something like this from him for centuries. He had always assumed that he had even the slightest fraction of a chance with her, but she had known it was never meant to be and had hidden that information from him for so long.

“Please, just calm down.” Her voice had raised in pitch. “I just … I want you to be happy, and I think you could be. Just not with me.”

Azriel stood up, unable to remain still, shedding any minuscule semblance that he was still in control of the icy rage which was flooding through his veins.

“It was always you. It was always you,” he growled, as he prowled down the hallway, with no aim, no idea what he was searching for.

“It wasn’t. You just used me—”

“Liar!” he accused her, still running in the opposite direction, unable to breathe as her statement began to sink in. “You were always such a liar, Morrigan.”

Without thinking, in a frenzy, he spat those putrid words at her, a curse which Jurian had crooned at her years ago. And she froze. He heard her footsteps halt behind his as he kept storming through the House.

Yet, somehow he didn’t care. He merely kept walking, his feet carrying him on autopilot until he reached a dead end. How fitting.

He was never going anywhere. He was never going to amount to anything. He would never have any inkling of anything good in his life.

He tugged on a shadow, letting it take him to the only place he could ever truly be alone before everything went utterly blank.

Chapter Text

Training today? 

Elain reached for a nonexistent shadow in vain. Azriel had been missing for days now, and nobody seemed any the wiser as to his location. She had originally suspected that Rhys had sent him on a last minute assignment, but the other male had only thinly veiled his shock when she asked him if Az was all right.

I’m sure he can’t have gotten into too much trouble, had been Rhys’s carefully constructed response, cluing Elain into the fact that her brother had absolutely no idea where the shadowsinger had absconded to.

Utter silence filled the space between them as Elain grabbed her leathers, regardless. If her instructor wasn’t available, it didn’t mean she couldn’t have someone else fly her up there and try to complete as many exercises as she could on her own.

It had been days since her last training session, and she could feel a restlessness at the lack of physical activity. And a huge helping of anxiety at the sudden disappearance of her best friend without any notice. And without ever really resolving this elephant which had appeared between them ever since their night together.

Plain and simple, he was avoiding her, and she was not going to sit around and mope when she could be running—or punching. Punching something sounded nice right about now.

After gearing up, she made her way down to the dining room to grab something light before she left and also to find somebody to do the dirty work of flying her there. She really did not feel like climbing all ten thousand steps this morning, even if it might burn off some steam. She’d likely just wear herself out by the time she made it to the summit and then be stranded alone in that mountainous cavern of a building.

“Well you’re armed to the teeth,” Rhys drawled from the doorway, and Elain swiveled to find him leaning against the door frame.

“It’s one knife.” She shrugged as she shoved the rest of her pastry into her mouth. “And I wear it every time I go to train.”

“So you’ve found him, have you?”

“Does anyone actually know where he went?”

“As far as I’m concerned, Azriel just vanished. In fact, I haven’t seen him or Mor since last Tuesday. But I know she was planning on paying a visit to Viviane.”

“What about Cassian?” Elain knew he had been visiting on the day after Azriel’s disappearance, yet his stay had been so brief that she hadn’t caught a whiff of the Illyrian general.

“If he knows anything, he’s not exactly being forthcoming with the information. And besides, he’s back in Windhaven, so it’s unlikely.”

Mor and Azriel. Azriel and Mor. They were the only two missing, both dissipating into thin air at about the same time. Perhaps he had gotten what he had so desperately longed for after all these centuries. 

They were probably up in that mountain cabin having some sort of alone time which of course they wouldn’t let anyone else know about. And it would explain why he wasn’t responding to any of her messages. In such a state of bliss, he couldn’t be expected to take one shred of attention away from the exquisite beauty he’d finally snagged after all those centuries.

That seemed like the only plausible explanation to Elain—other than him ending up dead in some ditch—but though her stomach churned at the former option, she much preferred it to losing him entirely.

“What’s wrong? You look like you’re about to stick me with the sharp end of that thing.”

Unbeknownst to Elain, her hand had unconsciously migrated down to her belt, fingers twitching near the hilt of the blade.

“Nothing. Can you just take me up to the House?” she muttered. “I’m going to go mad if I stay cooped up here.”

“Your wish is my command. Could you use a partner?”

“I’m sure you have much more important things to do.” Everyone had more important or more secretive things to do than spend time with Elain. She was still an afterthought to most of her friends—someone else ranking as the most important person in their lives.

“That’s not very fair. We all love you, Elain,” Rhys chided, as Elain flushed. “And before you chew me out, you were practically shouting that at anyone who wanted to listen in. Try to rein it in when you know you’re in the presence of one of us.”

A Daemati. Feyre and Rhys had explained the strange mind-reading powers to her after she’d been changed, but they rarely ever spoke about them otherwise.

“How often do you hear my thoughts?” she wondered aloud.

“Fairly infrequently. Only on the occasions when you truly lose control of your emotions. However the Cauldron made you, you seem to have some strong innate mental shields. They’d be simple enough for me to slip past if I wanted to, but they don’t allow your errant thoughts to wander freely most of the time.”

Well, shit. She knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t intentionally invade her privacy without cause, but …

“And before you ask, I don’t know anything of interest. So any dirty, little secrets you might have are quite safe from my prying ears. For now.”

Elain blew out a sigh of relief, and just to change the subject, she decided to take him up on his offer. “I guess I could learn a little something from sparring with the most powerful of the Illyrians.” The quip rolled off her tongue with little fanfare, but it was fun to try to match Rhys is his little games of words.

“You flatter me, but don’t let Cassian ever hear you say that, or he’s going to go out of his way to make a show out of kicking my ass next time we face off.”

And with a snort, he held out an arm to Elain, who took it, barely having a second to register what was happening before he lifted her and winnowed them into the sky.

Rhys made a concerted effort to seek her out the next morning, her muscles still screaming from the day before, but he seemed to realize that she was a bit lost without her usual Illyrian companion.

“Need a partner again?” he asked as he pulled her out of her haze of cleaning up the dishes from breakfast.

“Only if you promise not to play dirty.”

“Maybe you should predict where I’m going to winnow next. I’m surprised Az hasn’t pulled the same move on you before with his shadows.”

Azriel had mentioned that he might at some point just to prepare Elain for combatting opponents with such skill sets, but he had also feared she might be too in tune with his shadows for it to matter. She could probably sense his movements without foresight before he made them.

“Do you think that would work? Trying to use my seer powers to predict movement?”

“It’s worth a shot. Since you’re the only seer I’m familiar with, you’d have to figure out how to do that yourself. Without losing sight of the enemy in front of you. Let’s give it a shot.”

“Mind if I join you?” pitched in a voice from the hallway.

Elain smiled as Lucien strolled into the kitchen.

“Excellent. An easier opponent for you to practice on,” Rhys drawled.

Lucien shot the High Lord a warning glare, and Rhys decided to play along—as if Lucien could ever hope to rival him for power if the two were to face off.

“I just meant that with that mating bond between you two, she may have an easier time connecting to you and feeling out your intentions.”

“Sure you did,” Lucien muttered dryly.

“If you don’t mind. I’m afraid I’m still rather unskilled at this, but—”

“Nonsense, Elain. All your practice these past few months hasn’t been for nothing. I think you could hold your own in a true fight much better than you’re giving yourself credit for.”

What would she do without Rhys constantly flattering her? She was glad his silver tongue wasn’t reserved wholly for his mate, because Elain really appreciated that small self confidence boosts her brother was always doling out to her.

“Well, I’d love to see it,” Lucien grinned.

“You’re on.”

Elain collapsed into the wrought iron chair on the back deck with an exaggerated sigh.

Even after spending an extra long time bathing to unwind after getting pummeled by Lucien, she could still feel a throbbing throughout her ravaged body. She was seriously lamenting the fact that she had run out of the soothing ointment Azriel had given her and wondered if it wouldn’t be too dramatic to call on Madja when Nuala brought out a tea platter, laden with two sets of cups.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I asked her to put a little pain tonic in the tea. You really gave me a run for my money today, Archeron.” Lucien chuckled as he exited the house in the wraiths shadow.

“You read my mind,” Elain replied, gesturing that he join her in the adjacent seat. “Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

Elain had learned that Lucien relied on speed and cunning to win his battles. His weapon skills weren’t quite on par with the Illyrians, but he presented a different sort of challenge.

“Here and there. A bit from being raised as the son of a High Lord in Autumn. A bit from my time spent in Spring. Even a bit from spending time with the humans. I figured out that I was meant to use my speed early on, and it’s helped me make up for the lack of muscles.”

She let out a snort at that.

Lack of muscles? Lucien still had bulging biceps and incredibly defined abs—not that Elain had noticed them even the slightest bit when he had gotten warm and taken his tunic off this morning.

Cauldron, what did these Fae males eat? Even though he was slighter than the Illyrians, there was no discounting his physical prowess.

“Whatever you say.” Elain shook her head, but found herself wondering aloud, “Was it difficult moving around so much in the past?”

Lucien took a sip of his tea, sighing, “Sometimes, I think I’ll finally get used to it, but a part of me has resigned myself to the fact that I may never have a true home.”

“That’s rather dismal.” She frowned.

“The Band of Exiles might be the closest thing I have right now, though the Night Court is growing on me as of late.”

Elain blushed, unsure how to respond to that—she was the only one besides Feyre he ever really interacted with here—but Lucien sensed her hesitancy and spared her from her embarrassment. “I thought that what I had in Spring might have been it for me, but now I’m not so sure how much of a friendship I had with Tamlin. I was never his equal, and when times got rough …”

She placed a steadying hand on his arm as he struggled to find the words. “What happened?”

“I think that I should have had the foresight to leave a long time ago. But I was an exile from Autumn, and it would have been risky for any other High Lord to take me in. Tamlin had already faced down my brothers and won. Let’s just say that things got heated sometimes.”

“Did he hit you?”

“Only when he was really pissed off about something. That temper of his …”

She had expected as much given Feyre’s grim accounts of her times with Tamlin, but she still knew that the horror of hearing it confirmed would be written all over your face.

“I’m so sorry,” Elain murmured. “I’m glad Feyre got you out when she did, I …”

“Would’ve missed me?”

“Now that I know you, yes. I definitely would have missed having you around.” There was just something comforting about his aura. Something calming, like all was right in the universe when she silently sat with Lucien.

She could confidently say that the two of them were friends now, months spent breaking those barriers she had erected within herself and also coaxing small truths from each other solidifying their companionship.

And she now fully believed that statement he had made months ago. That he would do anything for her. A swelling wave crested in her chest as she imagined the fact that she would respond in kind if he were ever in trouble.

Even just hearing from his lips, the disjointed and incomplete tale of Tamlin’s abuse was stirring this fury of emotions within her. If the High Lord’s life hadn’t already been destroyed so thoroughly by her sister, she would have half a mind to go and wreak havoc on his lands as well.

He wiped away a tear which was sidling down her cheek with his thumb. “We don’t have to imagine how that would have turned out. Believe me. I have trouble putting it out of my mind sometimes, but I got out. And I’ve started over.”

She nodded, unable to combat the agony in her chest at the thought of losing him. She knew it was a bodily reaction to their bond, but it was heightened by her blossoming relationship with him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Elain. Especially if you’ll keep me by your side.”

Elain got a split second to register the words before Lucien leaned towards her, eyes slipping closed, and lifted her chin gently with his hand, placing the most featherlight of kisses upon her lips.

Oh my.

The kiss was like nothing else Elain had ever experienced before. The gentleness. The care. The attention to details. With the quick, calculated motion, it was as if Lucien was trying to understand Elain.

He took his time, planting another, and deepening the kiss when she moved her lips in response to his question.