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Chapter Text

Eris kept his cool gaze fixed on the male in front of him. That thing deep in his gut, that prowled under his skin and bore claws, and scales, and fangs, writhed at the sight of the smirk across Keir’s face. Eris tried to keep the vile actions of the male across from him from his mind, lest the thoughts have the beast within pressing at the walls of Eris’ skin. Lest it burst through and shred Keir to cindering ribbons. But that was not his kill to take. Keir’s life belonged solely to Morrigan, though he hoped she would let him throw a punch or two at her hateful father. Not that she would need the help.

Eris tried, and failed, to keep the image of a broken, beaten Morrigan lying on the crisp leaf-strewn ground of the Autumn court. How many nights had Eris relived those memories in his dreams only to wake up drenched in a cold sweat and run to the bathroom to deposit the contents of his stomach? He had long since lost count. That was nearly his breaking point. All his centuries of scheming and planning for a better world were nearly ruined by a female with a note spiked through her abdomen. The thought still made him queasy.

Eris brushed an unruly strand of his molten brown hair behind his delicately arched ear. He cast his face into a mask of bemused, cool boredom as Keir finished telling Eris of the developments in the Court of Nightmares since his last visit. He heard each word but wasn’t listening. News of two powerful bloodlines creating a mated pair piqued Eris’s interest, but it was ultimately inconsequential.

“I would like you to join me when I visit Velaris with some of my lords,” Keir said, doing some mix between sneering at and spitting out the name of the city of starlight. It was altogether a vile hideous expression, which matched Keir’s personality perfectly. Eris had long wondered if Keir wore a mask of vile cunning in the way that Rhysand and himself did. He had long cast that thought aside. The way the male grovelled before Amarantha and begged to warm her bed had merely been the final nail in the coffin.

“You’re planning to visit soon?” Eris asked, willing his face and voice to cool disinterest, as one might ask about the weather. “Why now?”

“My reasons are my own,” Keir said, a sadistic smirk pulling at his lips, “But my sources say that my sullied whore of daughter has found a lovely little tavern to frequent.”

Eris Tightened his lips to keep from baring his teeth but couldn’t contain the ember of flame that turned his amber eyes golden.

“Once again, I must apologize for how she spoiled her goods with that bastard-born lesser faerie,” Keir said. “Unless there’s some other reason that the mention of her causes such ire in your eyes, Eris.”

Eris willed disdain to his voice and prayed to the cauldron, the mother, and any of the forgotten gods who once wandered this world that Keir would see and hear distain for Mor, not for him. “I simply don’t enjoy being given spoiled goods. An honourable male would have killed the bitch rather than dumb her on a proper male.”

“Yet by whatever whim of the cauldron, the shadow singer found her before she died.” Keir mused. His brown eyes pinned Eris to his seat.

“Rhysand chose his spymaster well,” Eris said with a shrug. “You would know what methods he employs better than I do.”

“Perhaps,” Keir said, his voice dropping to just above a whisper, “But it’s awfully convenient that the shadow singer arrived at the border of Autumn rather urgently.” He began to drum his fingers on the table. “It was also rather convenient that Tamlin made it to his border with Autumn, just when and where Lucien crossed over.”

Eris let his power thread through his hair, turning it to shades of molten orange and red. He was the heir of Autumn and was more powerful than Keir. Perhaps he needed a reminder. “I don’t know that you’re implying Keir,” Eris said, his voice laced with the molten power of a freshly forged sun, “But I would advise you to choose your next words very, very carefully.” He raised a hand as if to inspect his nails, and flames sprung to life at his fingertips, growing to wreath his hand. “Fires can be so devastating underground, more so when the exits are so far away.”

Keir blanched as if finally remembering who he was talking with. Eris’s smirk was genuine as he spooled his magic back into himself, as his magic sank back into the well of power within his soul. The mountain shuddered, and Eris’s smirk grew as Keir shuddered. “It would seem that Rhysand has arrived at last. You should go greet him.” As Keir started for the exit, Eris checked the delicate brass watch he kept in his pocket. “And Keir, tell him that I don’t appreciate being kept waiting.”

Eris flashed a feral grin to the steward of the Hewn City as the blond-haired male left to greet the High Lord of Night.

Chapter Text

Alone in the obscenely large meeting room, Eris let himself take a moment to drop his mask. He set his elbows on the massive obsidian stone, dropped his face into his hands, and rubbed his eyes. A shuddering breath escaped his lips. Soon. Everything would be over soon. Come next winter solstice, Eris would be dead or the High Lord of Autumn and would wear his hideous mask no more.

Then, as Rhysand’s slow strolling steps set the mountain quaking, Eris leaned back in his chair, set his face into a mask of cool calculation, and drummed his fingers along the table. He let his claws poke out from his fingertips just long enough to let out a clacking sound with each tap.

He remained stretched back in his chair as the doors blew open with a blast of night-kissed wind, and there stood Rhysand with a feline smile on his agonizingly gorgeous face. Behind him, wrapped in swirling, whirling shadows, stood Azriel. And behind them, as pale and still as death, was Keir.

Rhysand gave Keir a dismissive gesture, which set the male walking away without objection, as he gave Eris a smile that could only be described as entirely feral. “Apologies for the wait Eris.” Rhysand said, “I’ve been dreadfully busy these many months. Running a court and all that.”

Eris donned a smirking smile as he added, “And raising your darling Nyx, I’m sure.” Eris shifted his gaze to Azriel’s hazel eyes, and his smirk shifted to a knowing smile as he said, “I hope my gifts were well appreciated.” Azriel’s eyes widened, near imperceptibly, with surprise, and a slight smile tugged at his lips. Then, a blink and it was gone.

It was a gamble, Eris knew, to send a monthly gift to Feyre and her newborn. They were simple yet useful things. Items he’d seen his mother request and use after each of his brothers’ births. His most recent gift, a box filled with soft toys meant to help infants with the pain of their teeth growing in, and although it was perhaps a bit too invasive, Eris added the nipple patches his mother wore to help ease the aches and pains that come with breastfeeding a teething baby.

Rhys let out a dark chuckle. “We were wondering who kept sneaking into Azriel’s room just to leave plain wooden boxes with delicate handwriting addressed to Feyre.”

Then it was Azriel who spoke, his voice as dark and cold as a moonless mist-veiled night, “I didn’t realize you have such dainty handwriting.”

“A curse of the autumn court, I suppose,” Eris said dryly. He shifted his gaze back to Rhysand. “The gifts are simply to ensure that Feyre recovers from her childbirth.” There was a doubtful glance from Rhysand. And in answer, Eris added, “I can’t have my allies drowned in grief when I come to call in my bargain, now can I?”

“So, you have plans to call in our bargain soon?” A quiet question from Rhysand as he slipped into a seat across the table from Eris, Azriel standing guard behind him.

“Soon,” Eris said. “Soon.” He said again, toying with the word in his mouth. “Soon is such a nebulous term. What might you mean by soon, High Lord? Is a moment not soon for a mayfly? Is a century not soon for a mountain? Is a thousand years not soon for the moon and stars?” Eris paused. “In that sense, Rhysand, then I suppose yes, I will be calling in our bargain soon.”

“Ever the poet,” Rhysand said, then shook his head. “I assume you have news,” Rhysand said coldly. “And since you interrupted my time with my mate I’m assuming it’s nothing I want to hear.”

“It’s not,” Eris said simply. He closed his eyes for a moment, readying himself to say the message he needed to give Rhysand, the message he now risked his life for, the message that necessitated Eris to alter his plans. “Beron has sent armies to the continent.” The shock in Azriel’s eyes told Eris enough. His mouth opened, no doubt, to ask for critical detail. “There’s more,” Eris said, cutting the shadow singer off before he could ask. “Since the death of Briallyn in Night Court territory, Beron has grown suspicious of his court and is convinced you have spies within. He no longer holds meetings with his advisors and inner court. Beron now schemes and plans on his own and merely lets us know what we require to do our duties. And nothing more.” Eris took a deep breath. “I do not know when he sent his troops to the continent, I do not know where on the continent he sent them, and I do not know what he sent them to do. However, if I were to hazard a guess, I would say it has something to do with his alliance with Koschei.”

The High Lord and spymaster of the Night Court paused for a moment before Azriel asked softly, “Does he suspect you?”

“No,” Eris said, “If he did, I expect he would have me strapped to one of the cold iron tables in the dungeons beneath his palace again.” At the words, something cold and ancient that Eris couldn’t place filled Azriel’s eyes. Then the shadow singer blinked, and it was gone.

“Good,” Rhysand said quietly, “Good.” He rapped his fingers on the table once, twice, thrice. “So you seek to usurp Beron before he can trigger another war?”

A shallow nod from Eris.

“It’s too risky to continue with our previous methods. How do you plan to get further information to us?” Rhysand asked, his face pure calculation.

Azriel shot Rhysand a glare that would make a lesser male run screaming. “No.” Azriel’s voice was cold, “Eris has done enough. He has held up his end of the bargain. It’s too risky to continue.”

Rhysand twisted in his chair to face his spymaster. “You do not make that decision.” His voice dropped into a growl.

“I am spymaster, and I will not have Eris as a spy with Beron suspecting a spy within his ranks.” Azriel didn’t back down, his mighty black wings flaring, the shadows darkening around them. “And I will also pull my other spies in Beron’s court.”

“No, you won’t,” Rhysand said. “If Beron is going to start another war, we must know his movements.”

Azriel’s large, beautiful, scarred hand clenched on the back of Rhysand’s chair hard enough to cause the wood to groan. “They are compromised and cannot be trusted.”

Eris interjected before Rhysand and Azriel could continue. “Here,” he said, pulling out two matching silver rings engraved with runes that looked ancient and wrong. His power writhed within him when Eris found the rings buried in the stash of ancient artifacts held within the Autumn Court’s stache. He tossed one of them to Azriel before explaining, “Our oldest legends in the Autumn Court tell of the male that would become the first High Lord of Autumn. When the Daglan still ruled this world, they noticed his growing power, and to keep him beholden to them, they stole his friend away and imprisoned him in one of their palaces. But he did not know which. But he was as cunning as he was powerful. So, he forged these rings. But the spells he carved into them could only work when both rings were worn. He searched and searched in his forest estate until he found a small but weak canine. A bloodhound. He wrapped one ring in a piece of his friend’s old cloak and gave it to the bloodhound with a single mission. To bring this ring to his friend. The hound died shortly after finishing his quest. And when his friend donned the ring the High Lord-to-be knew exactly where his friend was hidden. All it took was to winnow in and out, and his friend was saved and reunited with his people, just in time to lead the fae who would eventually reside in the Autumn Court in the rebellion against the Daglan.”

Eris slipped his ring onto his right ring finger. “Put yours on, shadow singer,” Eris said.

Azriel slipped the ring onto the smallest of his fingers, the only one the ring would fit if a bit loose. Eris held in his shudder as Azriel let go of the ring. He blinked once, then twice. It was an odd feeling. As if a tether anchored their souls together. Eris knew that if he wished, he could send his senses down that tether, and he would know precisely where Azriel was. He could winnow down the bond forged by the rings with ease. He knew the winnowing would be easier. It would be like travelling down a dirt road rather than through the dense forest winnowing usually felt like. Then Eris took off the ring, and that bond vanished.

“Wear your ring, shadow singer, and when I can contact you, I will put mine on,” Eris said, slipping the ring into his pocket. “Then you just need to come to me.”

Azriel gaped at Eris as Rhysand said, “And Beron won’t know you took these?”

“No.” was all Eris said with a wink at Azriel before he vanished in a whirlwind of smoke and cinders and winnowed back to the Autumn Court.

Chapter Text

Eris’s hounds were still lounging where he left them by the secluded pond at the northeastern edge of the Autumn Court. It was Eris’ personal estate. The sun streamed through the thick canopy above and set the jewel-like leaves in eternal autumn, shining with their brilliant orange, red, and gold hues. His heart fractured when he first saw this place. Eris loved his court and land but loved this place more than he could describe. He took a deep breath, savoring the smell of petrichor and moist mossy ground.

He purchased his estate not even a decade before the war erupted between humans and the Fae. His father permitted Eris’ purchase of the hundred-thousand-acre estate only because Eris spent his time here training his bloodhounds. He showed his father much of the hills of the thick ancient forest but not this secluded glen. Other than Eris and his mother, no living soul had ever seen this calm, serene place, nor had they seen the modest two-story house that Eris built next to the pond.

Eris sat beside one of the dozing bloodhounds and idly scratched her soft head. He curled his knees to his chest and gazed across the mirror-still pond, and his eyes came to rest on a wooden stake driven into the ground. The only marking of a grave that missed a body. All Eris could bury was a dagger hewn of broken stone, made by that human slave who lived with a heart of such wild, unyielding flame. Wherever that human was, Eris hoped it was a realm of resting. Perhaps he found a place like this. Somewhere, the trees shielded the land from the sun and winds whispered of warm afternoon naps and nights curled up by a fire with a good book.

Eris looked back toward his house, his home. The place he built with his own two hands when his wrath and power threatened to consume him entirely. He planned to build a simple log cabin, but after five centuries of revisions and additions, he had his current home. The door opened into an ample living space with a kitchen to the left and a bathroom to the right. Halfway across the room was an enormous couch facing the large stone fireplace he had built across from the door. On each side of the couch was a chair, turned to form a cozy living space. He did not have company, but Eris enjoyed having the choice of where to sit when he ate his breakfast. Lining every wall, he built shelves filled with his favorite books and the toys he used to train and play with his hounds. Beside the bathroom was the stairwell leading up to Eris’ large, simple bedroom. His second story was his bedroom, furnished with the enormous bed and pair of wardrobes he built himself. And, of course, the balcony he built to overlook the pond and forest. His most recent addition was the small, rough cot he built for the nights he couldn’t bear to sleep in his bed.

Eris fished out the silver ring from his pocket and examined it. The marks on it were strange. They weren’t written in any language Eris recognized, nor had so much as seen. Something about them seemed wrong in a way that repelled the magic that roiled in his gut. But then something else about the markings caused an ancient slumbering part of him to open a curious eye and gaze outward.

When he first picked the rings up in the Autumn Court’s stache of ancient magic items, the marks glowed a pale acrid green for a moment before the light fluttered out. As if to groggily say ‘Good Morning’ before tumbling back into a deep, dreamless sleep. Although Eris desperately wished to learn more about the rings, but he didn’t have the time to delve into the depths of the court library to see if any of the ancient court scholars had any writings about the rings or the marks on them. And mother forbid Eris ask any of the scholars. They would go running to Beron with the information and Eris didn’t see any scenario where Beron doesn’t discover his alliance with the Night Court. Enough people in the Autumn Court borrowed items from the High Lord’s stache that Beron wouldn’t notice the missing rings, as long as he had no reason to check for them. Beron was half a thought away from discovering Eris’ treachery. He didn’t let himself dwell on the thought. It would only be a distraction to what he had to do.

With a sharp whistle, Eris stood, calling the half dozen hounds to him. He needed to be on his way soon. He couldn’t leave his mother alone with Beron for too long, not when he took so much pleasure in her screams as he unleashed his flames upon her. Eris already spent enough time applying healing balms to her burns after Beron retired each night.

Eris willed his emotions to calm, the flames in his gut to bank. With a final breath of the cool, crisp Autumn air and one final glance at the grave marker and winnowed with his hounds into his father’s palace.

As Eris’s serene forest glen vanished in a whirl of ash and smoke, his face hardened into his mask of cold disinterest. By the moment he landed in the kennels, he was once again Eris, the cruel and cunning heir to the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

The kennels were, perhaps, one of the few colorless places within the Autumn Court. Where most of Beron’s palace compound was adorned in the same vibrant shades as the forest the compound sat within and below, the kennels were made of unpainted wood and iron. Eris would have worked to make the kennels a cozier environment for the dogs if the plain walls hadn’t repelled the vain and preening court Beron kept around as the rising sun repels the night-darkened sky. Eris would gladly trade color and some comfort for his dogs if it meant they could sleep through the night without interruption.

“It is good to see you arrived home safely, master Eris,” a soft male voice said from the door to the manor’s exterior. It was an effort to avoid rolling his eyes from rolling. This wasn’t his home. It hadn’t been Eris’ home for centuries.

Eris turned to see the tall, stocky faerie servant dressed in muck-drenched coveralls. He chose to not wonder what the smell was that rippled off the faerie as he asked, “Are you assigned to the kennels today, Rullo?”

Rullo averted his eyes as he said, “No, Master Eris. I was assigned to the stables.”

Sliding his hands into his pockets, Eris gazed at Rullo. His skin was as dark as coal and flecked with freckles that glowed like living embers. “Then why are you lugging muck through the kennels? Are you aware that the dirt and grime on you could kill the hounds?” Eris looked at one of the hounds, who was pregnant with a litter of puppies. “You know that one of these hounds is worth more than your life, right?”

“I am sorry, master Eris.” The faerie said, his voice cracking like a roaring campfire. “His Highness the High Lord is riding near the servant entrance. They said to come in this way, and you wouldn’t mind. But I can wait outside for His Highness to finish his hunt if you prefer, master Eris.”

With a slow shake of his head that set Eris’s long red hair rippling like a roaring bonfire, he said, “The damage is done. Making you suffer in the cold and wet won’t fix it.” Eris waved his hand, and the grime vanished from Rullo. “Just tell whoever is assigned to the stables that the hounds are to be given 17-ounce raw lamb stakes tonight.” With a bored shrug, Eris stalked down the hall and into the manor proper.

Chapter Text

Hours after his meeting with Eris, Azriel sat alone in a sitting room at the House of Wind and toyed with the silver ring on his finger. Rhys may not have let Azriel pull his spies from the Autumn Court, but he said nothing about having his spies go silent until Azriel reestablished contact. Was it a dick move? Yes. Did it completely undermine a direct order from Rhysand? Yes. Did Azriel debate asking Feyre to give him permission to pull his spies? Yes.

The human queens were still staying in their separate palaces and remained wholly silent after the death of Briallyn. Perhaps they would remain there and avoid stirring up trouble. But when had Azriel ever been so fortunate? No, they were indeed up to something, even if Az's shadows didn't whisper of it.

Then, there was the matter of the new king of Hybern to deal with. Little was known about him other than that he shared a great-great-grandfather with the former king and was dispatched to the continent as a trade emissary. Rumour claimed that his line of the royal family hailed from the far western edge of Hybern, in an archipelago that bordered the Edge, a sea ravaged by constant storms which prevented travel west of Hybern. He was young, Az knew that, although reports varied on his exact age but usually ranged from 60 to 100 years. But what concerned Az the most was the absence of a name in any report. He was only ever called "the Storm Lord."

Az let his focus once again fall to the marks on his ring. They looked like those in the Book of Breathings. Maybe Amren would be able to decipher them. He shuttered at the thought of asking Amren anything about the ring. He was less concerned about what she might find inscribed on the ring and more about what Amren might do to him if she decided she wanted the ring for herself.

Azriel glanced at the clock above the hearth. His favoured jeweller, Lakrissa, should still be open if he hurried, Az thought, groaning as he stood up. His body was still adjusting to the after-effects of wearing the ring. When he first put it on, Az felt a connection, a bond between souls snap in place between them, like a rope around his waist catching him from freefall. It was a feeling Az grew accustomed to during his days learning to fly with Cass and Rhys. The rope tied between the three of them saved Az's life more times than he cared to admit.

Perhaps a rather large gift of jewels would put Amren in an agreeable mood. Or at least a mood where she would be willing to take a break from bedding Varian long enough to have a conversation with Az.

~~~~~~

The warm summer winds kissed Az's wings, and he met smells of jasmine and lemon verbena as he descended into Velaris and the throng of activity brought on by dusk. Far below, the lights flickered and danced like an orange-tinted mirror of the stars above. Az noted the streets he flew over, a way to keep his mind busy as he crossed the city. When he was three streets off the Sidra, he gave a mighty thunderous flap of his wings, tucked them in tight, and plunged to the city below. His stomach flipped over as Azriel rolled to face the sky above him and the trail of clouds he left in his wake as he fell and fell and fell.

The wind tore at his hair, skin, and clothes as the ground rose to meet him. Az stretched out a hand to feel the whispy clouds he passed. He closed his eyes and savoured the sheer, undiluted freedom that came from flying. Az's Illyrian blood sang the song of the wind, and when he was in the skies, the wind sang back. Despite being a society of right old bastards, the Illyrians got one thing right: the joy of the skies.

The sounds of Velaris met Az, soft as a whisper at first but grew louder and louder until it was a loud buzz of activity welcoming him in. Then, fast as an asp, he rolled and threw out his wings, banking hard left. The tip of his wing sliced through the surface of the Sidra before he levelled out and looked through the cool water to life below. Az passed under a bridge and gave a few more flaps of his wings and landed just outside the Palace of Thread and Jewels.

Lakrissa's shop The Fang Bang and Hang fit the halfling faerie. Her specific lineage blended humanoid and canine features into something equally mesmerizing and terrifying. Not to mention the other half of her shop, separated by a thick black velvet curtain, that Az frequented for tools and toys best saved for the bedroom. Tools that Azriel was very very skilled at using.

Lakrissa greeted Az with a wave and a smile that flashed her long, sharp white teeth. Az returned the gesture, but his smile was close-lipped, as it so often was, and he felt his shadows disperse slightly as Lakrissa stepped from behind the counter.

"And how might I be of service today?" she asked, her voice deep and rumbling like the growling of a grey wolf.

"I'm looking for a gift," Azriel said, weighing how much to tell her.

"For a lover?" Lakrissa asked, her lips twitching upwards. "Perhaps the selection in the back would be more to her taste." She added with a wink.

"Not a lover," Az said with a shiver as he couldn't keep the image of Amren bare in his bed from his mind. "I have a favour to ask Amren. Given that she has more enjoyable things to be doing than talking with me, I think a gift may keep her from ripping my throat out."

"Then you are in luck," Lakrissa said, motioning for Az to follow her to the display case he used as a counter. "An old friend of mine who married into one of the aristocratic families that oversee Hybern's western archipelago sent me an odd stone last month. She's lived there for the past two centuries, but recently, odd things have been washing up on their shores. She sent it to me along with a note asking for an assessment of the gem."

Lakrissa reached under the display case, pulled out a pouch of black velvet, and set it on the glass. Her hands trembled as she untied the ribbon and opened the bag. The air seemed to shudder as the velvet fell away, revealing dark oval stone embedded into a simple silver band.

Az's breath hitched as he beheld the dark stone that swallowed the light. It was as if someone carved out a thumbnail-sized section of the sea's abyssal depths. As Az stared at the ring, it felt as though something stared back at him, something cruel and cunning and as depthless and ancient as the sea itself. Even his shadows tucked behind his wings as though they were afraid. "Cover it up, please," Az said. And Lakrissa did. When the velvet once again covered the stone the chill in his spine, Az hadn't realized was there, vanished.

"It seems like a fitting gift for Lady Amren, does it not?" Lakrissa asked, her voice flat.

"What made that stone?" Az asked.

"I do not know," Lakrissa said softly. "But I know it was filled with some ancient malice. I could feel the hatred rippling from it when I touched it to put the stone in the ring."

"Why not destroy it?"

"I tried to." She said, baring her teeth at the concealed ring. "It broke 2 of my best forgehammers and nearly killed me when I took my magic to it."

"And you think Amren could…" Azriel stared to ask but trailed off, unsure what to ask.

"Figure the stone out," Lakrissa said. "Or, at the very least, contain it. Only a fool would steal from her."

Az closed his eyes for a moment, contemplating. "I’ll take it,” Az sighed after a long moment. “And give me that goose egg diamond pendant,” Az added. If he was giving Amren something so vile and hideous to be around, he should at least give her something blindingly sparkly.

~~~~~~~~

The following morning, Azriel found himself with his fist raised and about to knock on the door of Amren’s apartment. The gift wrapping crinkled in Az’s other hand as he shifted on his feet. Swallowing his nerves, Az silently prayed to the mother and cauldron that he wasn’t waking Amren, or worse, disturbing her time with Varian, and knocked on the door. His siphons glimmered cobalt in the rays of the early morning sun as his knuckles hit the door once, twice. Silence was all that met him. Az breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps Amren was out doing some shopping this morning.

“Enter,” a female voice came from the other side. So Azriel did.

Amren’s apartment was just as messy and disorganized as Azriel remembered. Jewellery and clothes worth a king's ransom were strewn across each surface as though they were worth little more than used dish rags.

The second in command to the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court sat on the floor sipping tea and working on a puzzle she had laid out on a dark wooden cocktail table*.

“I assume there’s a reason you’re here before most reasonable people are awake,” Amren said, not looking up from her puzzle.

“Where’s Varian?” Az asked, not seeing the silver-haired prince of Adriata.

“Off spending Tarquin’s money to buy me presents,” Amren said. “I’ll have to buy a larger apartment if he keeps at it.” A smile tugged at her lips.

“I hope two more won’t go unappreciated,” Az said, holding the two boxes wrapped in brightly coloured paper and moving toward her. Her head shot up at that, and her eyes glowed silver with what remained of her once terrifying power.

“They certainly wouldn’t.” Amren crooned. “What’s the occasion, Azriel?”

“I need a favour,” Azriel said, “Just a bit of translation.”

“This seems more like a bribe,” Amren said coldly.

“If you aren’t interested in the gifts, I can always return them,” Az said, pulling his hands back.

“Don’t you dare,” Amren hissed with a smile and gestured for Az to sit across the low table from her.

Obliging, Azriel sat, crossing his legs under the table and placing the gifts atop it. “You might as well open them.” He said.

In her usual fashion, Amren tore into the bright packaging with the ferocity of a starved beast tearing into a fresh kill. There was a flurry of flying paper, and Amren held up the ring. Her new diamond necklace was tossed aside after a quick thank you. Her eyes narrowed, and her face paled as she asked, “Why do you have this?”

“A friend thought you would appreciate it.” Az paused for a moment before asking, “Do you know what it is?”

“Among my kind, there were legends as old as the dirt itself,” Amren said. “There were tales of a gate that connects all worlds and the world walkers who mastered its dark powers to traverse and conquer. The oldest among us claimed that our god battled with the world walkers when they came to claim our world as theirs. We would find remnants of that supposed conflict spread across our world’s vast deserts. They were fragmented stones like this, just as dark and unholy. Not even the most powerful among us could purge them from this world.” Amren shifted her eyes to Azriel. “Where did this stone come from, boy?”

“The western shores of Hybern,” Az said. “Do you think Hybern could be allying with these world walkers to bolster their armies?”

Amren considered for a second before pocketing the ring. “It is possible, but if the stories are to be believed, they were ancient long before I came into existence.” Amren blinked slowly before adding, “I’ll look into if they ever ventured as far as our world. What is this favour you’ve come to ask Azriel.”

Az held out his hand to show Amren the ring Eris gave him. He explained everything he knew about them and asked, “Do you think you could read the inscription? It looks like the markings from the Book of Breathings.”

“I suppose,” Amren said with a sigh and pulled Az’s hand to get a closer look. Her thin, bony fingers dug into his scarred hands like the talons of a bird, readying to feast on a catch.

After a long minute, she sighed. “The inscription in a spell, or part of it. I imagine the other ring has the other half of the spell. But from what I can gather, the rings bind the wearers together in a way beyond regular magic and in a way that bypasses Faerie magic. All seven High Lords could glamour and ward you from detection and shove you in the house of wind, and the other wearer of the ring would be able to winnow directly to you. The rings might even be able to bypass the wards on the prison.”

“So it’s the ultimate detection spell?” Az asked.

“Yes, and if Eris’s story is indeed true, then these rings may hold secrets woven into the very essence of the metal itself. The ancient Fae were known for that intricate spell work.” Amren answered. “If these rings can simply vanish without Beron noticing, his trove must be vast. It would be to our advantage to learn what exactly Beron has squirrelled away in the bowels of his palace.”

Chapter Text

It was noon when the messenger arrived at his rooms, letting Eris know that his Father had expected him to meet at his private grove in an hour. Eris dressed in a fine green tunic, a blazing orange coat, and a pair of oak brown pants. Simple and elegant, with his long hair brushed back behind his ears and shoulders. He was the cold, cruel, obedient heir his Father desired and expected. He donned his delicate rapier on his left hip and a jewelled hunting knife on his right hip.

Eris set his face into a mask of cool disinterest and began his walk to his Father’s grove. Always a long walk, with never enough time. It was a game Beron enjoyed playing, always summoning someone with not quite enough time to meet his deadline. Arrive late, and Beron would dish out punishment for disrespecting his time as High Lord. Arrive early or winnow in and Beron would dish out punishment for thinking yourself important enough to intrude on his time. Arrive with a single hair out of place, and he would dish out a punishment for disrespecting his position as High Lord with some justification that he’s not a bastard-born peasant to be greeted like an animal. Nothing short of punctual perfection would satisfy Beron. The Mother knew the scars Eris bore from the punishments Beron thought fitting for when he was tardy, or early, or with strands of his long hair dishevelled after the often hours-long walk to where his Father wished to meet. Eris once prayed to the Mother, the Cauldron, and to any of the gods the Fae and humans once worshiped together to save him from his Father’s cruelty. None of them answered.

The halls of the palace compound were unusually empty. Had Beron discovered Eris’s involvement with the Night Court? Was Eris walking to his own execution? He could winnow away now, vanish into the wilds of the middle and become the wild, raging, scaled beast that lurked within. Eris stomped the thoughts down, down, down. There was nothing to suggest he was committing high treason. Eris left no evidence. His father had no reason to be suspicious, but not arriving when summoned, that was suspicious.

Eris reached his father’s grove after what felt like an eternity, an endless walk that turned his stomach to knots. The grove was filled with trees that bore fruit in autumn, mainly apple and pear trees with the occasional orange tree. He loved this place as a child when his Mother would take him on walks through it and pick fresh fruit for him to eat while she taught him how to recognize each type of fruit in the grove and when each one is best to be picked and eaten. He likely still would have loved this place if it wasn’t for the cruel, smiling male before him.

“Good afternoon, father,” Eris said, bowing deeply at the hip. He stared at the ground as his Father approached. It was improper to rise until his Father addressed him by name.

“Is it a good afternoon, Eris?” Beron said, amused cruelty dripping from each word, like a mouse watching a rat caught in a trap. But who was caught in his trap? Should Eris begin gnawing off his leg now?

“My apologies, father,” Eris said, rising from his bow, careful to avoid meeting his father’s gaze. “I did not mean to assume.”

“Yet you did,” Beron said, looking around the grove. Eris’s gut clenched. “But you assumed correctly.” Eris would have felt relief if it hadn’t been for the smile on Beron’s face that didn’t meet his eyes. “It seems that Rhysand has his claws dug in deep to our court.”
Shit! Shit! Shit! Eris thought as bile began to work its way up his throat with clawed, burning hands. Dread clutched his chest, but Eris kept his face a mask of cold disinterest. “That sounds just like Rhysand to do. Claim to be an ally and demand our trust but give none in return,” Eris said with a sneer at the High Lord of the Night Court. It wasn’t entirely a lie. He did find the male to be a preening pompous, self-righteous asshole. He had all the power in the world and left it as cruel and awful as he had found it.

“Indeed,” Beron said. “I caught one of them snooping through my office this morning. It was rather eager to divulge who exactly Rhysand has in his employ in this court.”

“It would seem the Night Court’s training is not all that impressive,” Eris said idly, a disinterested prince awaiting his Father’s orders.

“It never was,” Beron said, motioning from Eris to follow him to the heart of the grove, “But they had some truly interesting things to say about you.”

Eris steadied his heartbeat and willed himself to believe his own lies. He was just the cold and cruel prince of Autumn. “If it is not out of turn to ask, what sort of things did these traitors say?”

Beron stopped before an apple tree to pick a fat succulent fruit. “They claimed one of my sons had betrayed me and sworn their allegiance to Rhysand in exchange for clearing the path to the throne.”

Eris said nothing for a moment, considering his next words. “It would be a fool’s bargain to strike a deal with the Night Court.” And Eris had been a desperate fool years ago when he struck his bargain with Rhysand.

“I do not recall raising you to be a fool, Eris. So tell me why they were so eager to sing about your dealings with the night court and frequent visits to the Hewn City.” Beron said.

“I am your faithful emissary,” Eris said, bowing low, “and securing our alliance with the denizens of Kier’s court as you directed. Did these spies explain why I would need to secure an alliance with Rhysand? I am your heir.” Eris rose. “To ally against you would be not just the grandest insult to this court but to the Mother and her Cauldron.”

Beron laid the full weight of his gaze on Eris, eyes scanning his son’s face. Eris stared straight ahead and kept his hands clasped behind his back, the position his Father preferred. And he noticed, perhaps for the first time, that his Father was shorter than him, and was he always so thin?

“It would indeed be such a grievous insult,” Beron said and held out the fruit he picked to Eris, a Veritas apple, a tightly kept secret that only grew in the High Lord’s private grove and would compel any who eat the flesh of the apple to answer the next question they are asked truthfully. “If you speak the truth, my silver-tongued son, then you shall enjoy a gift from your High Lord.”

“Of course, father,” Eris said as he accepted the apple and took a massive bite. He chewed slowly and swallowed. The magic of the apple filled Eris’s mouth and he felt his mouth go numb as it was no longer under his complete command.

“What was the purpose of your last visit to the Night Court?” Beron asked.

“To congratulate Kier’s niece on her betrothal to my cousin Azar. He is a lord of this court and is a strong union to secure an alliance between us. I took it upon myself to extend our congratulations. And I was also there to offer a gift to Lady Feyre, as I have each month, to remind them of our generosity and the benefit of remaining our allies.” Eris said. The magic vanished as he finished his answer, and sensation returned to his mouth.

Beron glanced at the apple; there were to be more questions. He obediently took another large bite.

“Are you plotting with Rhysand to overthrow me?” Beron asked.

“I am not currently plotting with Rhysand to overthrow you,” Eris responded. Not a lie. He wasn’t currently doing anything with Rhysand as Eris was currently having a conversation with his Father.

And so it went.

Bite. Chew. Swallow.

“Are you planning to plot with Rhysand to take my throne?”

“No, I have no plan to plot with Rhysand to take your throne in the foreseeable future.” Not a lie. He was planning to plot with Rhysand to eliminate Koschei.

Bite. Chew. Swallow.

“Do you want my throne?”

“Yes.”

Bite. Chew. Swallow.

“Which of your brothers is most likely to ally with the Night Court?”

“Lucien. They have his mate.” Not a lie. It just didn’t answer what Beron meant to ask.

On and on it went. Bite. Chew. Swallow. Question. Not a lie.

Eris was halfway through his third apple, and Beron no longer looked at the apple to get Eris to eat more. Seemingly satisfied that his son was not a traitor, Beron engulfed the remaining apple and the cores of the others in flame and continued his walk to the center of the grove. Eris slipped his hands into his pockets and silently followed.

They walked in silence for a few minutes before Beron halted suddenly. Eris looked around but saw nothing of note, just fruit trees surrounding them. Then, the world in front of him rippled. His Father glamoured the grove then. The world rippled again, then, like the opening of a stage curtain tore away, revealing three Faeries burned, bloodied, and tied up on the ground. Bile burned the back of his throat when he saw who the faerie in the middle was. Through the grime, blood, bruising, and burns, Eris recognized Rullo.

As though his presence stirred him to consciousness, the faerie, which looked like smoldering coal, lifted pleading eyes to Eris. It was an effort to keep the thoughts of the few nights they spent together from his mind as Eris looked at one of the few people he could have called a friend.

“Eris?” Rullo groaned, “What’s happening?”

Beron didn’t so much as glance at the brutalized Fairies on the ground. “These are the traitors in our court, Eris.” He said coldly and set a brand of flame, rousing the other two to consciousness with a scream. Eris kept his disgust at his Father’s actions contained. “They’re Rhysand’s spies. Kill them.”

So, this was to be a test then. Azriel had far more than 3 spies in the palace. This entire afternoon was a test of his loyalty. Did his Father choose 3 faeries at random? Or was Rullo chosen because Eris knew him? Would Eris question his Father? Or kill at his command?

Eris knew what he had to do. He added 3 more names to the list of people he had to atone for and set his lips into a bored smile as he drew his hunting dagger. It was all he could do to give them the mercy of a swift death and as painless as possible. “Of course, father,” He said flatly, a prince carrying out his Father’s orders.

He squatted down, grabbed Rullo’s hair firmly, and yanked his head up, exposing the soft, supple flesh of the faerie’s neck. Tears welled in the male’s beautiful face, either from the pain or the realization that he was about to die, perhaps both. Eris sent up a prayer to any gods that might be listening to let Rullo find a land of peace and comfort in the afterworld. With a slash, Eris severed his neck and blood the colour of living flame spurted. He heard a squelch crack, squelch thud as metal cut into the flesh, then severed bone, then cut out of his neck, and his body fell to the earth. Eris dropped the head as if it was a broken doll he lost interest in playing with.

Eris repeated the same steps with the other two Faeires. By the time he was done, Eris’s fine clothes were covered in the blood of the Faeries he murdered. Vibrant hues of orange, green, and the same violet colour as Rhysand’s eyes. He should meet with Azriel soon if only to let him know that his spies might be compromised. Eris rose to his feet and bowed to his Father with a steady grace he didn't feel. “It is an honour to serve you and this court,” Eris said, forcing a cold, bored flatness to his voice.

“There’s one last thing we need to discuss,” Beron said. "I will be venturing to the continent soon to meet with potential allies. I will need you to select a team of a few hundred men to escort me.”

“Gladly, father,” Eris said.

“Your mother will be joining me,” Beron said, and it landed like a physical blow in Eris’s gut. “Ensure you’re sending your best,”

Eris gulped before asking, “I do not wish to speak out of hand, but is it best to bring my Mother along? If there is danger on the continent-”

Beron cut Eris off with a strike across the face, hard enough to send him sprawling in the dirt.

“She is my wife.” Beron seethed. “She will go where I wish. Do not tell me how to manage her. But if you are so concerned for her safety, send your best and don’t try anything while I am gone.”

“Of course, father,” Eris said, holding a hand to his swelling cheek. “My apologies.”

“Go get yourself cleaned up,” Beron said with a sneer. “I depart in three days.”

Chapter Text

The tiles of Eris’s bathroom floor chilled his knees as he vomited into the toilet. His body protested as his body heaved again, stomach clenching, and bile dribbled from his mouth. He had long stopped wincing at the rancid taste on his tongue or the smell rising from the toilet bowl. Eris had lost track of how long he was hunched over the cold porcelain, but the sun had set, so a few hours by his estimate.

Eris’s composure lasted until he reached his chambers. Unluckily, servants were cleaning his rooms when he arrived. They could smell the blood on him. The blood of their friends that Eris spilled at the request of his father. He hated it, the cold, sticky congealing blood that clung to him. “get out,” he told them quietly. He couldn’t bear to look at them, but he heard them still their hands and work. There was no way they didn’t connect the dots, the arrogant, entitled prince covered in the blood and smell of lesser faerie servants. Surely, Eris killed them for his own cruel amusement. He wished they would tear him apart for what he did, silently begged one of them to rip his fracturing heart from his chest. But he simply roared at the servants, “GET OUT!”

They all but ran out of his chambers, leaving Eris alone with nothing but his thoughts for company. Eris locked his door and made it as far as his bathroom before he collapsed on the ground, hot, silent tears cutting through the dried blood and grime on his face. It took nearly all his concentration to draw himself a bath and remove his blood-soaked clothes, cutting his pants off with a dagger when the buckle of his belt was too slick with the blood coating it to undo with his trembling hands. He would have someone burn them tomorrow.

Eris rubbed and scrubbed his skin until it was raw and red, and the water carried a chill that not even the flames in his blood could shield him from. It would have been half a thought to keep the bath heated and comfortable. But Eris didn’t deserve comfort, and the thought of touching the power that came from his father made Eris’s skin crawl. So he sat in the cold water until his lips turned blue and his teeth clacked. Until his shivering became so violent that the water began to lap over the tub’s edge.

Slowly, Eris began to piece himself back together. He needed to get out of the bath, dry off, get dressed, and meet with Azriel. Meet with Azriel to tell him that- His stomach clenched, and Eris lunged from the bath, his lithe, naked, scarred body nearly slipping on the smooth tile as he reached for the toilet. And hurled his lunch into the pristine white porcelain. He stayed hunched over the toilet, shifting between sobs so violent his bones felt like they would shatter under the force of his shaking and hurling his guts up.

With trembling arms, the heir of the Autumn Court pushed himself to a proper seated position, the movement sending painful waves of needle-like pain down his numb legs. He lifted his gold-flecked amber eyes to the window and the twinkling stars looking down. Get up, they seemed to whisper, get up. Eris rose on unsteady legs and dressed himself.

Once dressed, he was a cobalt blue tunic embroidered with swirls and whorls of black so dark they swallowed up the light, and he wore a pair of simple black pants and polished brown leather boots. He glanced at himself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror in his closet. Eris did not recognize the dead, gaunt eyes that gazed back at him nor the slack, emotionless face he wore. The face that stared back at him was not the Prince of Autumn, heir of fire, the to-be ruler of a cruel, wicked court. He didn’t know who it was that gazed back, but perhaps it was Eris, as he truly was, who looked back. But Azriel needed to meet with the Heir of Autumn, so Eris descended into that place of bored cruelty. Like a glamour sliding into place, Eris saw his eyes glaze with ice and his face twist and contort into a cruel half smile.

Eris gave himself another heartbeat before he drew up his power and vanished into smoke and embers. Between one heartbeat and the next, Eris crossed halfway across Prythian. One heartbeat, he was standing in his closet, gazing at his cruel face; the next, he was standing on an island north of the Illyrian mountains, staring out at the raging inky black sea beyond the cliff where he stood. Without giving himself a moment to reconsider, Eris slipped the ring from his pocket and felt the bond between himself and Azriel go taught and blaze deep within his heart and soul, pointing him to what Eris knew to be Azriel’s room in the house of wind.

~~~~~~~

Azriel awoke with a jolt. A glance across the room revealed it to be just past one in the morning. His sleep was fitful with dreams wracked first with hazy images that filled him with fear and disgust and despair, then they switched to an all-consuming cold that buried its claws into his bones and burned his skin and finished with violent shaking below the star-flecked sky.

Az woke with a tug in his gut like a warm hand pushing him awake. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stretched his wings as he sat up, his sheet falling away to reveal his heavily muscled chest and torso. Blinking away the remaining exhaustion, Az came fully into consciousness and realized that the warm feeling that tugged him awake still sat in his gut but seemed to settle, as if it were a cat that leapt on Az and now curled up to lightly doze.

Reaching inward, Az felt a power of ash and embers curling within him. At his mental touch, the power quirked a head at his own and let out a contented sigh that warmed Az’s bones like a soft blanket by a roaring fire before settling back down. Az reached further in, past the slumbering power, and felt a bridge of flame and shadows reaching out from his soul toward an Island north of the Illyrian Mountains. Eris had a report to make then. Az thought. It better be worth waking him up in the dead of the night, or perhaps he would send Mor to flay his flesh from his bones.

Az did not wish to linger longer than necessary, so he tapped the siphons atop his hands. The black scales of his battle armor covered his naked body, and his five other siphons appeared, glowing like cobalt fire. He let himself glance at the notes he tore up and threw there. Such sweet words from such a vile male, who left Mor alone in the woods with an iron spike through her uterus. Azriel could only find Mor because he felt a tug, as mates often feel when one of them pulls on the bond. It was only by following the tug in his gut that Az found Mor before she bled to death. Mor may not have accepted the mating bond or even acknowledged it in the centuries since, but Az knew what he felt. Pushing the thoughts aside, Az walked out of the house of wind to meet Eris.

~~~~~

Eris heard the rustling of near-silent wings before the cedar and midnight mist scent filled his nose. Something tight and coiled in his chest relaxed, urging him to lean into that scent and the male it rippled from. Five centuries, that’s how long Eris knew Az was his mate. During a meeting with the Court of Nightmares about his betrothal, Eris saw the shadowsinger, and the bond snapped in place for him like a wave crashing into a cliff. When he found Morrigan with that spike through her uterus, Eris tugged on the bond and tugged hard; it was all he could think to save her from falling into Beron’s clutches. He would have tortured her until she was a shell of a female like Eris’s mother was.

It was a mistake how Eris handled the situation with Mor, and it was one of Eris’s few regrets. It cost him access to Azriel, his mate. It wasn’t until Azriel tackled Eris during the last High Lords meeting that Eris realized just how much Eris had lost. Azriel thought it was a mating bond with Morrigan that called him to the woods.

~“Don’t ever speak that way about my mate,” Azriel had hissed in Eris’s ear while choking him with those scarred hands.~

Eris wished to die in that moment, to turn into flame and smoke and vanish in the soft breeze atop Thesian’s palace. Azriel believed that Mor was his mate. And hated Eris’s guts for failing to help her.

“What do you want, Eris?” Azriel said, his voice laced with venom and centuries of hatred.

Eris turned slowly to see Az standing behind him. It was an effort to keep his breath from hitching at the sight of Azriel in full Illyrian battle armor. Eris had spent more than a few nights alone in his bed, thinking of the shadowsinger in full armor. With a slow blink, Eris pushed the thought away.

“Did I not tell you to pull your spies shadowsinger?” Eris crooned, sliding his eyes to meet Azriel’s. They were filled with a cold rage that would have had Eris’s teeth bared in a silent snarl. If it wasn’t for centuries of training, he would have. Not a snarl directed at Azriel, never at his mate, but toward those who had inflicted so much pain upon the shadowsinger that caused him to be filled with that silent wrath.

Azriel’s face remained a mask as cold and unyielding as the Illyrian’s mountain, Ramiel as if he was carved from it, but something like shock and concern seemed to flash in his hazel eyes. “Explain,” was all he said.

Eris idly looked at his nails and picked at an invisible piece of dirt beneath one of them as he drawled, “Three of them were discovered and so deliciously executed.” Nausea twisted his gut, but Eris forced his mouth into a cruel smile that bared his teeth. “Beron had them squealing about our alliance after a few hours on his tables. I thought the night court training was better than that.” Eris lifted his eyes to Az’s and set them, blazing with his inner flame. “Your refusal to pull your spies threatens our entire alliance. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you, Azriel, but if my father discovers that I have been working with you, I will be executed and believe me when I say your High Lord would not want to see one of my brothers ascend to the throne.”

“It was Rhysand’s order to keep the spies in your court, but I will see if this new information changes his mind,” Azriel said softly, almost remorsefully. “Is that all you summoned me for, Eris?”

“No,” Eris said, his face sliding back into unruffled boredom. “My father is meeting with his allies on the continent in three days to meet with his allies on the continent. I suspect he will be meeting with Koschei.”

Worry must have shone through Eris’s mask because Azriel asked, “Has your father not met with Koschei before?”

“No,” Eris said, brushing a lock of his long red hair behind his delicately arched ear as the wind picked up. “Before Briallyn was unmade, he thought he was making an alliance with her and has not reached out since. But I fear that now Koschei whispers to him on the wind and calls him to his unseen ruin.”

~~~~~

It took nearly all of Azriel’s self-control to keep from winnowing back to Velaris and throwing Rhys into the Sidra from insisting his spies stay in the Autumn court. If Beron was now in direct contact with Koschei, then no amount of training and strategies could keep their spies concealed against whatever dark power the remaining death god possessed. He would force Rhys to pull their spies even if Az had to beg Feyre on his hands and knees. Az wouldn’t leave his men to be tortured and slaughtered by Beron.

With the change in wind, Az caught a whiff of Eris’s smoke and ember scent, like a raging bonfire, and it was laced with fear, and disgust, and rage, and other things Azriel couldn’t identify. It was so rare for the heir of Autumn to show any emotion, and he never smelled of his emotions. “What are you afraid of, Eris?” Azriel asked.

Eris stiffened. He blinked. “I’m not afraid,” he said, slowly. “I don’t know what you are talking about Azriel.”

“Your scent is laced with it.” Was all Az said.

Eris’s eyes widened for a heartbeat, and a half-strangled gasp of surprise slipped from his lips. He cleared his throat and straightened himself before saying cold and flat, “He is bringing my mother with him. She is to be his hostage so that I do not step out of line while he is away.”

There was more that Eris wasn’t telling him, but the shadows slithering along his neck whispered for Azriel to drop it. They always acted strangely when Eris was around, gathering around Az and reaching toward the Autumn court Heir as if pulling him toward the male. Later, he soothed his shadow,; he would deal with Eris later. Whatever that meant when it came to a male, cruel and wicked enough to leave a female to slowly bleed to death in agony, but was willing to repeatedly risk their life for the greater good. The fact that Eris didn’t call off their alliance immediately after Beron became suspicious was a testament to whatever shred of decency Eris still possessed.

The wind began raging, and once again, Az’s nose was filled with Eris’s scent and accompanying the male’s usual smell was that of tears, vomit, and the faint smell of blood from three different faeries, but it was too faint for him to make out any other details.

“Why do you smell of blood?” Az asked.

“What I do with my afternoon is none of your concern, Azriel,” Eris sneered.

“Any chance it has anything to do with the three spies you claim Beron tortured and executed today?” Azriel asked, his hand resting on the hilt of Truth-Teller.

“What I do with my afternoons is none of your concern,” Eris said, and if Az didn’t know any better, he could have sworn hurt flashed in his gold and amber eyes. “Goodbye, Azriel.” And he removed his ring before winnowing away.

A wave of frigid rippled through Az as the warm, slumbering power in his gut vanished. So it was Eris’s magic, or some part of it, that slumbered in Az while their connection through the ring was active. Such a soft, soothing gift of warmth for such a vile male. As Azriel winnowed back to Velaris and flew the remaining distance to the House of Wind, he couldn’t keep his thoughts from drifting to what bit of his magic Eris felt while wearing the ring. Was it calm and soothing or raging and vengeful?

Chapter Text

Azriel landed on the lawn of the river house with enough force to set his knees barking in protest. His siphons blazed as Az slammed open the door and stormed to Rhys and Feyre’s room. Shadows rippled off Azriel like death itself and clustered at his ankles like the braying hounds of hell. Az hadn’t fully landed on the veranda at the House of Wind when he turned around and launched back into the sky. He meant to change and wake Rhys at dawn with the news to give his brother extra time to sleep. But his feet had no sooner touched the stone when it occurred to Az that Rhys had begun to trust Eris for whatever reason and might truly wish to be alerted as soon as possible.

Or at least that was how he justified waking his brother. If he was being honest, Az was pissed at Rhys for insisting their spies remain, and if Az had to be woken in the middle of the night because of their deaths, he was sure as shit going to wake Rhys for it.

Az threw open the door to the High Lord and Lady’s bedroom hard enough that the house shook. He knew that cold, raging fury burned in his eyes, but Azriel didn’t fucking care. Most days, the sight of a very sweaty and very naked Feyre riding an equally naked and sweaty Rhysand would have given Azriel pause, but not tonight, not after dealing with Eris. “They died,” Azriel snarled, glaring at Rhysand, whose eyes were glazed with an equal mix of confusion, wrath, and lust. “You insisted they stay, and now they’re dead.”

Rhysand was silent as he held Az’s gaze, but it was Feyre who spoke up, grabbing a sheet to cover her large, perky breasts. “Who died, Az?” She asked in between pants of breath.

His attention shifted to his High Lady. “Three of our spies were found and executed by Beron.” His eyes flashed to Rhysand. “Did Rhys not tell you?” Az asked. “That he ordered our spies to remain in the Autumn Court despite warnings from both Eris and myself?”

Feyre whirled on Rhys, his manhood still inside her. “You did what?” she demanded. At the same moment, a pair of night-flecked talons brushed along Azriel’s mental shield of cobalt power, a silent request to see. Az opened a small antechamber in his mind and showed Feyre his meeting with Eris. When he was finished Feyre glanced at Rhysand, no doubt a silent conversation down their mating bond.

Feyre shook her head at Rhysand a moment later and turned to face Az, sliding up and off her mate and his considerable size. “Rhys and I still have more to discuss, and I am not happy with him for several reasons.” She gave her mate a sharp stare; Az was thankful it wasn’t pointed at him. “But pull your spies from the Autumn Court. You can give the order now or first thing in the morning, but pull your spies. Then, meet us here at 6 for breakfast with the rest of the court. Rhys is letting everyone else know right now.” Feyre shuffled into her closet, careful not to drop the sheet. “I might as well go check on Nyx since I’m up,” she said. “Oh, and Az,” she called from behind the closed closet door, “Next time you see Eris, thank him for the gifts. They have been wonderful.” Then, wrapped in a deep purple silk robe, Feyre padded down the hall to Nyx’s room.

“Well,” Rhysand said when Feyre was out of earshot, “you have thoroughly ruined the mood.”

“Three of our men died, and you’re complaining that it’s interfering with your sex life?” Azriel asked.

Rhys just chuckled and shook his head. “When you find your mate, you’ll understand.” Rhys summoned a simple black shirt and put it on. “Koschei is stirring Az. More lives will be lost before he is killed.”

That softened his rage slightly, so Azriel asked, “Why do you think Eris smelled of blood and vomit and tears? Do you think he was involved in the torturing and killing?”

Rhys’s expression turned vacant as he considered. “It is possible,” Rhys said. “Although I can’t see a reason for Eris to partake in torturing information out of your spies that could expose him.” A pause. “Eris is a complicated individual,” Rhys said, trailing off as though trying to find the right words. “I don’t know everything, but he showed me enough to earn my trust.”

“And what did he show you?” Az demanded.

“I can’t tell you,” Rhys said. “It’s not my place to share some of it, even if Feyre disagrees, and some of it because it is a part of our bargain that I do not share it.” He picked an invisible speck of lint off the bed around him. “Eris has known who his mate is for over five centuries, and his mate has not so much as acknowledged the bond. He is willing to let his mate marry another if that would make them happy. He is willing to do what I was willing to do for Feyre. That is what earned my trust.” Rhysand let out a hiss of pain as a tattoo of a leopard melting into the shape of a 2-legged dragon glowed angry red against his skin. The mark of Rhys’s bargain with Eris. Then, a chuckle. “It would seem Eris doesn’t want me to say that.” He shook his head. “Go sleep, Az. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Rhysand clasped Az on the shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I can’t let my mate have all the fun with Nyx. Or she’ll fill his head with just the worst things about me,” And he walked out of the room to join Feyre down the hall.

Azriel pitied the poor female that was bound to Eris, but he had to give the bastard some credit for not claiming the female as his property. And five centuries, to not pursue his mate, what kind of game was Eris playing. Az tried to piece it together as he walked out of the house and took off into the skies of Velaris but couldn’t get all the pieces to fit together. Eris respects a female enough to give her the freedom to make her own choices, yet he left Mor to bleed out and called her a whore for her choices. He allied himself with Kier and delights in all the horrors of the Court of Nightmares but actively defies and undermines his father at the risk of death for the good of his court and Prythian.

With a fresh headache, courtesy of Eris and Rhysand, Az landed on the veranda of the house of wind. Az knew sleep would not claim him soon, so he went to his desk. He had letters to write, spies to pull, and a favour to call in.

Chapter Text

The blonde-haired woman was sitting alone in her ironwood cabin, sipping on a cup of pine tea, deep in the Illyrian mountains, when the letter arrived at her doorstep. Delivered, no doubt, through the strange magic of this world. Even years after her arrival, she was not used to how the Fae of this world moved through it instantly, as though distances were a suggestion rather than an immutable fact of the world.

Winnowing, they called it. A Fae male tried it on her once, just once, when she fell through worlds into this one. The instant they landed, she had him pinned to the ground, her teeth bared and demanding an explanation. She left him alive, if only because she had no weapons and she heard approaching footsteps.

She expected to be embraced by the darkness, for it to finally claim her soul. Perhaps she landed here because that golden-haired queen with eyes of fairest blue ringed with gold banished the gods from their world. Or maybe this was the afterworld the Fae claimed to fade into. She eventually found her way into a village and managed to steal herself some clothes, enough to cover her breasts and abdomen.

She did not speak the language of the Fae from this world, but the wind still whispered to her. Perhaps the language of the wind was universal, or maybe the three-faced goddess was offering her some mercy. The winds told her of this land and peoples and urged her north through lands of eternal spring, and autumn, and winter. Into a land of monsters wild and untamed. Then into a land with heartbreakingly beautiful sunrises followed by a land of brilliant days and shimmering sunlight. Courts, the wind called them, ruled not by kings and queens but by High Lords.

The woman wandered until she entered a land where nights glittered like the face of the mother, where the wind howled her name and became frantic, urging her to go faster, faster, until she found a walled city built next to a mountain near the coast. Then the wind sang to her of a palace atop the mountain. It dared to lead her to a staircase that wound up and around and around. By some mercy, the ironwood trees in this world could still be whittled into functional brooms. Under the cover of night, she soared for the house and whatever the wind whispered for her to find. She made it perhaps half a mile above the city when a night-kissed wind slammed into her and trapped her like a fly in a web.

She was taken to a cell deep in a mountain, where not even the wind could reach her. A fae male with violet eyes and raven black hair, who reminded her of her cousin’s chosen lover, seemed surprised at the language she spoke. He gave her a silver bean the size of a bean and motioned for her to eat it. She swallowed it, and a heartbeat later, she could understand their language.

She drained her tea to the dregs before rising from her table and opening her cabin’s door to the harsh winds of her mountain. The letter was delicately folded within its envelope, which smelled of cedar and mist. She smiled faintly to herself, opened the envelope and read the request written in a small, delicate scrawl. Her smile bloomed into a feral grin as she strode back into her cabin. Asterin Blackbeak had work to do.

Chapter Text

As Eris winnowed in, the army base was a flurry of movement and colour. Unlike the war camps favoured by the Illyrians in the Night Court in his five centuries commanding the Autumn Court armies, Eris preferred permanent buildings and a recruited fighting force rather than a conscripted race of fighters.

It took decades of referencing historical records of powerful fighting forces to convince his father to shift the Autumn Courts forces to a professional and well-paid fighting force. But mainly, having their ass handed to them during the war by such a force changed Beron’s mind. Unfortunately, serving in the military was one of the best ways for Autumn Court citizens to avoid starvation. Beron starved so many of his citizens that they all but threw themselves at Eris and his army, so perhaps the only upside was that Eris could be selective about who joined. At any given moment, he had around ten thousand soldiers ready to deploy for combat, a bit more than the other courts, but his true secret, and the reason he did not fear the other courts or even other kingdoms in open combat, was the hundred thousand soldiers he had in reserve, that he could rapidly deploy within a week or two. It was an army that could have matched Hybern for numbers, but Beron refused to allow Eris to ready the full might of their army to crush Hybern. He could only bring half of his ready force to that final battle after Tamlin dragged Beron out of his palace.

That was a memory he would forever cherish, and perhaps when Beron was dead, Eris would beg Feyre to peer into his mind and paint the scene. She could do it justice, even if she despised both men. But if she refused, he could ask her to share the memory mind to mind with another artist in Velaris who could do it justice. Perhaps a sculptor, to forever memorialize Beron’s tomb with his cowardice and greed.

The base had buildings constructed of stone and steel. They were simple structures but functional. His quarters in the barracks were private but little more than a bed and a desk. Like all his captains and commanders, he still shared a bathroom with the other men. No one was above sharing a bathroom here.

A young recruit gave a salute to Eris as he passed. Eris gave him a slight nod in reply, keeping his face stoic and unreadable. He had no need to don a mask of cold, bored cruelty around his men. In fact, he refused to show them that mask. He was their calculating commander first and foremost. He did not want his soldiers to think him cruel and pampered. So he chose a mask of reserved calculation around them. Eris didn’t punish his men either, not like most generals did. If any of his soldiers were getting too mouthy or not performing their tasks to standard, their direct commander was encouraged to add extra sets to their workouts or a few miles to their morning run.

During a meeting between Eris and his commanders, one of Beron’s older generals once tried to take a whip to a low-ranking soldier for spilling a cup of water on a map. Eris was already unhappy with the commander for using one of his soldiers as a servant, so when the commander threatened to whip the boy, Eris melted his shield and incinerated the male’s favourite body part. Then, he demoted the commander and sent his wife an explanatory note and a sizeable upgrade for her to enjoy.

Eris motioned for one of the more seasoned soldiers he recognized, Elwin, to come over to him. The male joined the army a few years before Amarantha took them all under the mountain, and Eris had worked with the male to know that he wouldn’t tremble with fear around him.

Elwin saluted Eris and stood at attention after striding the few steps to Eris. “General sir,” he said.

Eris saluted him back and could not keep the corners of his lips from twitching up as he said, “At ease.” When Elwin stood more relaxed and natural, Eris asked, “Do you have an hour to do me a favour?”

“Yes, general,” Elwin said, “How can I be of service?”

“I need you to run some messages to some of my commanders. You might need to track them down, which might take the better part of the morning. Are you sure you have time?” Eris asked.

“Yes, sir,” Elwin said.

“Good,” was all Eris said as he summoned half a dozen sealed envelopes from the realm between realms and passed them to the male. Then he stalked off toward the command building at the center of activity and the Lieutenant General he came to see. He would need to make a trip to the military naval base to see his Vice-Admiral, but that was for Eris’s future self to deal with. Right now, he had to prepare for a new meeting of the High Lords at the request of the new King of Hybern.

Beron sent Eris a copy of the letter he received, along with his own instructions for how Eris was to proceed. The king’s letter went:
“Dearest High Lords and Ladies of Prythian,

I extend my sincerest apologies on behalf of Hybern itself for any trouble my predecessor may have caused you. He was a despicable male who encouraged the worst kind of rot to fester amongst my people. I lack the words to express my regret for being unable to stop his wickedness before it plagued your lands and my gratitude to those who allowed his head a much-needed divorce from his shoulders.

Although I am unable to heal the mental and physical scars he inflicted on your people, I would like to do what I can to repair the scars my predecessor’s misguided war inflicted upon your nations. My citizens are poor, and the royal coffers drained, but should any High Lord or Lady of Prythian wish it, I shall fund rebuilding efforts of up to 500,000,000 million gold marks from my family’s personal estate.

If possible, I would like to meet with the Seven High Lords and Ladies of Prythian and the governing body of the human lands in 3 days at high noon. My estate on the Western Edge of Hybern is open and available; however, the weather tends to be somewhat disagreeable to those who do not live there. As such, I am more than amenable to coming to a location of your choosing. My one request is that I can winnow in with my six personal guards, as I entirely despise long days of overland travel.

Location permitting, I would also like to bring a gift to give those who are most affected a chance at retribution for all they endured. The former king was not the only citizen of Hybern responsible for the plot that caused so much pain and sorrow. I have arrested the members of my predecessor’s court who played a hand in forming the plot to conquer Prythian or who were instrumental in executing the former king’s plan. Those arrested consist primarily of high-ranking military officers and many lords and ladies of Hybern. There are perhaps two hundred I wish to give to Prythian. I was going to feed them to the beasts who dwell past the Edge, but you may do with them as you please. Enslave them, torture them, or execute them. I do not care. They are a gift. I am clearing the rot my predecessor let fester. If you wish them not to be your problem, I will gladly toss them into the horrors that lurk below.

You may find two hundred to be too few conspirators for such a plot. You would be correct. But those who remain in my dungeons focused their efforts on my people, on making them suffer. They stole the wealth, power, and food from my citizens until they were ravenous for change. And they created instruments of pain and suffering designed to break those who survived Hybern’s initial invasion, tested them on my people, and now get to live out the rest of their immortal lives experiencing the horrors they meant to unleash.

I eagerly await your responses.

Looking toward the best future for both of our peoples,
Taranys”

Eris was stunned by what he read. His first thought was that this was a trap to lure the High Lords together and strip them of their power like Amarantha did. But something about the letter seemed candid, as though Taranys genuinely wanted to move forward with an alliance with Prythian. But the meeting was to occur a day after Beron’s departure. Perhaps that was why the High Lord of Autumn sent a note rather than summoning Eris.

Beron sent a small piece of paper with two lines that read, “You are to attend this meeting on my behalf. I do not wish for another war with Hybern, nor do I wish to be allied with this child calling himself King.”

So, Eris was to be the test subject then, to see if the new king of Hybern was putting up a front or looking for alliances and trade with Prythian. If Eris was indeed marching, or more accurately winnowing, into a trap, he wouldn’t be going undefended. So he came here, to the largest base in the Autumn Court, to bring a legion of his best soldiers and his Lieutenant General with him. It would be an envoy of considerable power, and perhaps Beron was testing to see what type of court Eris would bring with him as High Lord. Eris was also here to inform the various legion commanders he trusted most that they would accompany Beron to the continent. He sent a personal request to a healer from the Dawn Court to accompany the Lady of Autumn. The healer would officially be paid to lead the autumn court healers Eris would send, but he asked that the healer keep an eye on his mother and ensure her health and safety.

The command center was a thrum of activity as soldiers winnowed in and out, carrying messages from scouting teams, border patrol, the Autumn Court spy network, and the other military bases scattered around the court. The wards Eris put up around the camp's buildings prevented anyone not possessing an object keyed to their blood from winnowing into the building. Each building required a different key to be made of each otherized individual. Eris preferred to leave his winnowing keys in his rooms at the Autumn Court compound, not for any reason other than laziness. The two hundred-odd stones, bones, rings, necklaces, and other things he bespelled as keys were more than a little cumbersome to carry around. He didn’t mind walking. It gave Eris time to clear his head and enjoy the brisk weather of the Autumn Court.

Up the stairs and through the second door on the left sat the male Eris came to see Petran, the Lieutenant-General of the Autumn Court’s Expeditionary Forces. Rather than being hunched over his desk examining reports and battle plans, as Eris usually found him, Petran stood with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing out the window.

“How long has it been?” Petran asked as Eris shut the door, the Lieutenant-General’s voice gravelly with age.

“How long has it been since what?” Eris asked flatly, an edge to his voice warning of listening ears.

A shield of solid air locked in place around them as Petran turned. “How long has it been since there was joy in these lands.”

Originally hailing as a lord of the Day Court, Petran’s magic flowed as air and light. As a distant relative of the High Lord's bloodline, he inherited a vast well of magic. He looked as a mortal man might in his mid to late 40s. His long braided black hair was threaded with grey, and his dark brown skin was beginning to crease with wrinkles. Eris had never worked up the courage to ask how old Petran was, but he defected from the Day Court to the Autumn Court over two millennia before Amarantha first brought her horrors to Prythian and was one of the few people who dared to defy Beron and tell him to not attend the ball thrown by Amarantha.

Petran’s soil-brown eyes shone with a melancholic sadness as he answered, “I left the Day Court because I could hear the very land itself crying from what the High Lord inflicted upon it. Yet all I hear from the land here is screaming in utter terror.”

“I can’t say that I have much of an answer,” Eris said, slipping into one of the chairs opposite Petran’s desk.

“This land used to sing.” Petran said, sliding his eyes to Eris, “I would do anything to hear it sing again.”

Under the full weight of Petran’s gaze, Eris shifted in his chair.

“I can hear it now. Beneath the screaming, a single note hangs in time, the start of a grand symphony waiting to begin. When you become High Lord Eris Vanserra…” Petran tilted his head as though listening to something Eris couldn’t hear. He gave a sad smile before shaking his head. “How can I be of service general?”

Eris shrugged off Petran’s stare and tucked what Petran said away, somewhere deep and buried in Eris’s mind where he could ignore it until he had a moment to properly sort through it. “As I mentioned in my letter, Beron is taking a trip to the continent, and I have dispatched orders to the commanders and squadrons I wish to accompany him,” Eris said, aware that Petran had yet to drop the shield of solid air that kept prying ears from their conversation.

“And what else?” Petran asked, nodding to the shield around them.

“There is to be a meeting of the High Lords at the request of the newly crowned King of Hybern. Beron will be away with our allies on the continent, and you are to accompany me with a legion of our finest men.” Eris said.

“So Beron leaves for the continent in time to send you on his behalf to meet with the other High Lords,” Petran mused. “As you know, Beron does little without some scheme to claim power for himself. What sort of game might your father be playing?”

“After Amarantha, I believe I am bait for Hybern’s trap,” Eris said.

Petran shook his head. “Your father would merely opt to not attend if he truly believed it a trap. No. He has something else planned. You may still be bait, but for a far larger fish than Hybern.” The shield of air vanished. “I shall put together a delegation general. I will have it sent over tomorrow morning if that suits you.”

“Thank you,” was all Eris said as he stood and walked out of the building before winnowing away.

Chapter Text

Much to his surprise, Azriel was the last one to arrive at the river house. Mor and Amren sat in large cushy armchairs opposite each other. The latter of the two sipping on a steaming cup of tea and the former massaging her temples, no doubt in an attempt to soothe a hangover from the night before. Cassian and Nesta were sharing a couch with Cassian half asleep and Nesta unsuccessfully prodding him in the ribs to wake up. Then there was Feyre and Rhys staring down a piece of paper folded neatly on the low table before them.

As if reading the silent question in Az’s eyes Feyre said, “It would seem that Beron is not the only enemy gathering.” She gestured to the paper and said, “The new king of Hybern has requested a meeting with the High Lords and he is offering up the other alleged architects of Hybern’s war as an incentive.”

“So it’s a trap then,” Az said. “Another attempt to ensnare the High Lords and their power.”

“That’s what I thought as well,” Amren said, setting her teacup down, “But it doesn’t make sense. He purged his court and has been keeping such a tight leash on it that neither you nor your spies can infiltrate his court. The entire country has gone dark. No one goes in. No one comes out. Their ports are shut down.” She took a sip of her tea. “Then there comes the simple fact that Amarantha was only successful at subduing the High Lords because she spent fifty years prior attempting to build trust with them under the guise of improving Prythian and Hybern relations. If this king is indeed planning an attempt on the High Lord’s power, he is a fool.”

“So?” Az asked. “Fool or not why open our selves up to such a risk?

Rhys glanced at Feyre before saying, “Hybern is a potentially powerful ally. If their new king does truly intend to repair relations with Prythian then he may very well be able to provide the brute force needed to deal with Koschei.”

“That’s what you would risk your power and freedom for?” Az demanded, his voice laced with frigid wrath, “For a potential threat.”

“You know as well as I that Koschei is stirring.” Rhys hissed, “If we don’t start finding allies now we’ll end up with another Hybern on our hands and we won’t have a unified Prythian this time.”

The room stilled at that.

“What do you mean Rhysand,” Amren asked coldly.

He merely gestured to Azriel.

“Eris informed me that Beron will be visiting the continent and his suspicion is that he suspect’s Beron’s primary motive for the trip is to meet with Koschei. Although it seems rather convenient for him that he is leaving mere hours before the meeting was to occur.” Az said.

“Would he not delay his travel to attend the meeting?” Mor asked.

“You do not delay when a death god calls you, much less the mightiest of them.” Amren said. “But how will Beron manage this I wonder.” She added, looking into her tea.

Like a flaming arrow in a moonless shadow veiled night a thought struck Az. “Eris.” He said quietly.

“What about him?” Mor asked rolling her eyes.

“Eris.” Az said, his voice barely above a whisper. Then like a candle extinguished on a mist wreathed wind the thought vanished before he could fully verbalize it. Then he shook his head.

“For now,” Rhys said, his eyes giving Az a warry assessing gaze, “We will prepare for the meeting and who will attend with Feyre while I remain in Velaris.”

“You?” Mor asked, turning to Feyre.

“Yes,” Feyre said. “We discussed it at length before you lot arrived this morning. Although we do not believe the meeting to be a trap, if it Is, and our powers get stolen Rhys is better equipped to free us. And I can’t possible let Rhysand have all the fun at these meetings.”

“I will go,” Nesta declared when Feyre finished, with a tone that left no room for disagreement. “I will not allow my sister to go to such a place without me.”

Rhys gave Nesta a nearly imperceptible nod of gratitude.

Then the argument ensued about who would join and who would remain in Velaris with Rhys. After an argument that lasted until the sun reached and passed its peak Feyre’s retinue would be composed of Nesta, Azriel, Amren, and at Nesta’s request and suggestion, Emerie and Gwyn, should the Valkyries agree to attend. Mor and Cassian would remain with Rhysand to rally the Night Court armies in the event the worst occurred.

The plan was far from Azriel would have preferred, since he was still of the opinion that the meeting was not a good idea and only hoped that their allies wouldn’t be foolish enough to attend.

Chapter Text

Eris and his small legion of High Fae. They were all well trained, more so with blades rather than magic, but they possessed the gift of winnowing, which was both convenient for travel and made them a nearly unparalleled force on the battlefield. Eris had also taken nearly, if not all of them, into his bed, often three or four at a time. They were the same legion he fought and bled alongside in that final battle with Hybern.

His men were bedecked in full Autumn Court regalia, their silver armor was polished and gleaming with shoulder capes bearing the burnished orange flag of the Autumn Court. They each bore a finely made sword with hilts fashioned after the leaves of different trees that grew throughout the Autumn Court.

Eris chose to stray from the traditional colours of the autumn court in favour of brown leather boots, black pants, a burnt orange shirt, and a black jacket threaded with cobalt so bright it seemed to glow and shimmer as he moved. At his side was a thin steel blade with an elaborate hilt and hand guard fashioned after leaves blowing in a brisk autumn wind. The sword at his side, which Eris had begun to call Blaze Striker, had a blade that landed somewhere between a rapier and a long sword. Blaze Striker was able to sacrifice little of the the nimble swiftness of a rapier, while having the strength to slash and meet blows head on.

Eris and the rest of the Autumn Court’s meeting party landed on the lawn of the King’s estate, right in the middle of a raging storm. Eris threw up a shield of heat and flame the moment the frigid rain and wind sliced into him, but he wasn’t fast enough to keep them from getting soaked. The King at least was telling the truth, the weather was truly miserable.

It was only a few more moments before a faerie with hair of black silk and a body that looked hewn of pure emerald stepped out of the towering double oak doors that led into the manor home of the king of hybern. She led them to a glass dome in the center of the rear of the courtyard that offered 360-degree views of the gardens around the manor and raging tumultuous ocean beyond the cliff, onto which the manor was built.

Standing at the other end of the glass structure was a fae male looking out at the ocean beyond. He was tall and slim, not lanky, not muscled either, he wore a fine grey suit accented with vibrant shades of blue. The top of his mousy brown hair was pulled into a bun at the crown of his head and he left the sides and back of his hair to fall into cascading curls. No crown sat atop his brow, but as he turned to face them, Eris’s breath hitched at the sight of his eyes. They were a dark blue, like the raging sea around them, and ringed with grey that flashed and arced as if he had captured a storm within his eyes and lightning lashed out to escape.

The male smiled as looked Eris up and down before he said, “Beron doesn’t have such lovely flame red hair so take it that you’re Eris.” He sketched a bow before adding “I am Tanarys, King of Hybern and it is a pleasure to meet you.”

Eris dropped into an equally deep bow and said, “The pleasure is mine your majesty.”

“Just Tanarys is fine,” the king said rising from his bow. “Please have a seat,” He added gesturing to the ornate wooden chairs forming a circle around the room. “I hope the other High Lords arrive shortly.” His face turned contemplative. “Summer, Dawn, and Night were the only courts to confirm their intention to come.” He glanced at his watch, a fine piece of elegantly crafted silver and amethyst set in a band of dark leather, and his frown deepened.

Before Eris could continue the conversation, they were interrupted by a warm summer breeze blowing through the space as Tarquin and his retinue winnowed in. The dark skinned silver haired male smiled slightly. “It would seem I was a little off of where I intended.”

“Welcome Tarquin,” The king of Hybern said, bowing to the High Lord of Summer. “Please grab a seat. I was just informing Eris here of the other courts who confirmed their intent to attend.”

Thesan was next to arrive, practically glowing as he strode into the room with his had tightly wound with his peregrine lover. The scent hit Eris a heartbeat later, woven between Thesan’s smell of lilac and mist veiled rivers was a wicked scent of raging wind. They were mated.

Then came Kallias, his mate Viviane no where to be seen. As though reading the question Kallias simply explained that she was recovering after the birth of their child. Eris made a mental note to look into Viviane. She gave birth shortly after Feyre and should be fine by now.

Helion and his entourage arrived next, glowing golden as the sun.

The Night Court arrived last, with Feyre and Amren leading the group flanked by Azriel and Nesta with and bringing up their rear was an Illyrian female Eris didn’t recognize and a redheaded female who looked vaguely familiar but he couldn’t quite place from where.

“Welcome Feyre,” Tanarys said with a smile, gesturing to the remaining empty seats, “Please take a seat and we can get started.”

Feyre eyed the sitting high lords around the room before, no doubt noticing the distinct absence of Tamlin and Beron. Eris gave her a bored smile as her blue grey eyes landed on him.

“It’s a shame Beron couldn’t be bothered to join us,” Feyre said, her black velvet gown spilling around her like liquid night. “I don’t suppose you could enlighten as to why, Eris?”

Eris turned his attention to his nails, and fraying cuticles, he would need to get them treated soon. “I wasn’t aware my father was beholden to another High Lord’s wife,” Eris said. He curved his lips into the bored taunting grin he knew made the holier than thou members of Rhysand’s inner circle seethe. If the growl that ripped from Az’s throat was any indication he’d struck his mark. Eris looked back to Feyre as he added, “Your dog can snarl all he wants but my father’s business is none of yours.”

“Beron nearly betrayed us all. How are we to know he won’t do so again?” Feyre questioned.

Eris bit down on his snarl. The more Feyre pushed the closer she came to revealing them. Was that her goal? Had Rhys and Feyre gone back on their agreement? Was that where Rhys was now? Setting up the reveal to his father? A yawning pit of dread opened in Eris’s stomach.

“If you want to discuss betrayal,” Eris sneered, “Perhaps we shall discuss how your darling Rhysand warmed Amarantha’s bed. Or perhaps we should discuss how you infiltrated the spring court, lied about Rhysand forcing you to bed, wormed your way into the minds of Tamlin’s sentries, and tore down the Spring Court’s defenses leaving the land primed from Hybern to take without contest. And how you left the citizens of the Spring Court defenseless against the horrors they brought.” Feyre opened her mouth to say something, but Eris shifted his attention to Nesta, “I don’t suppose you’ve reconsidered my marriage proposal at all, Nesta Archeron,” Eris added, his voice as idle as though he were merely asking about the weather.

Nesta leveled her steel gaze at Eris, her eyes glowing silver with power. “I thought you weren’t interested in females sullied by bastard-born lesser faeries,” Nesta said, her voice like cold death, “Why the interest?”

A genuine smile pulled at Eris’s lips. “It’s like you said, its hard to find a good dance partner these days.”

“As riveting as this discussion is,” Tanarys said calmly yet firmly, “I would like to move onto why I requested you all join me today.”

Eris merely nodded and turned his attention toward the king.

“As you are all aware, my predecessor was a…” Tanarys paused for a moment, as though carefully considering his words, “he was an ambitious male with certain proclivities for cruelty. And his ambitions were to the detriment of my people and yours.”

Tanarys’s shoulders tensed. “My family has long been the hidden keystone of Hybern.” He continued. “Content to let the royal family rule and do as they please. However, after the war five centuries ago Hybern became increasingly erratic and despotic. He turned his attention to my people, turned them against each other, purposefully killed trade deals and laws that would have helped my people. He wished to have his citizens fester and rot until they were eager to die in a nonsense war to expand his power.” Tanarys scoffed and gazed out the glass, toward the raging seas beyond. “I was on a diplomatic assignment deep in the heart of the continent when I got word that he had my mother and father executed. They were burned at the stake.” Thunder boomed overhead so violently the glass rattled and the sky flashed blindingly bright. “I was coming back to kill him when he began his war. And then I got caught up in some business in Rask, which unfortunately delayed me long enough that you lot had to bear the brunt of Hybern’s army.”

Tanarys rose from his seat and looked each and every High Lord in the eye, ending by looking at Feyre and Nesta, and bowed deeply. “For that I will be eternally grateful.” When he rose, there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And as a thank you,” He said waving his hand, “These are the various aristocrats and officials who helped the former king radicalize the population so severely.” As he spoke a massive glamour was ripped away from the field around them. As though a curtain was lifted, hundreds, then thousands of figures were revealed, bound and hooded in the rain. “As their primary targets were the citizens of Hybern they have all been tried and found guilty of treason. Their assets have been seized. The standard punishment would be execution, however, seeing as Prythian bore the brunt of the consequences of their actions I have decided to allow their fates to be yours to decide. Should you choose to leave them I will throw them to the sea there,” Tanarys gestured toward the violent crashing waves “To drown or meet their fate in the belly of the various beasts that dwell at the edge of the world. Or you can take them to face whatever justice you deem appropriate. My staff within the main manor will be able to provide you details as to who played what role in Hybern’s plans.” Tanarys sat before adding one last thing, “However, should you choose to set any of them free through your own judicial system just know that they will be subject to immediate execution should they set foot in my kingdom or sail into my waters.”

Chapter Text

Az tried to focus on the king of Hybern and what he was saying but his attention kept sliding to Eris. He was as beautiful and delicate as he had been for as long as Az had known him. Not a single silken strand of his flame orange hair was out of place, his lips still met in a delicate soft curve, and his amber eyes still smouldered with an inner flame and yet something about him looked off. Despite his generally relaxed posture and demeaner Eris’s shoulders were tight, creasing his finely cut jacket at the nape of his neck ever so slightly. His lips were pressed together, nearly imperceptibly more so than usual, which caused slight creases to show around his lips.

By the time Tanarys finished speaking Az had lost himself taking in each and every detail on Eris’s face, each slight change to his expression, how he shifted in his seat, the way the fire the smoldered in his eyes guttered like a candle in a draft when he shifted. Eris was perhaps the one male Az had never been able to get a read on. On paper he was a cruel calculating male willing to climb over anyone for more power, the perfect heir for Beron. And yet. And yet he allied with them against his father, risking his position, his life. And for what? He made no move to pressure Rhys to fulfill his end of the bargain to kill Beron, made no move to do anything other than to continue to feed Az information on Beron’s movements. And then there was the Mor sized elephant in the room. Eris left Az’s mate nailed to the ground though her uterus for the crime of sleeping with Cassian yet continued to pursue a marriage with Cassian’s mate.

Az was pulled from his thoughts by Feyre’s voice in his mind, “Why are you staring at Eris?”

He didn’t respond but Az pulled his attention to look at the prisoners filling the field around them. “Is Rhys interested in taking any of them?” Az asked Feyre, leaning back in his chair.

“No. There’s no need to take any of them.” Feyre responded, rising from her seat. “Besides we have more pressing concerns than interrogating the remnants of Hybern’s former court. I have things to discuss with his majesty.” Her mental voice carried a sneer as she said that last part and began walking toward Tanarys.

On the other side of Feyre Nesta stood, and followed Feyre. Az would join her in a moment but for now. He slid his gaze back to Eris who was talking quietly with the older dark skinned Day Court male he brought to the meeting. Az pushed the tightening sensation that formed in his gut at the sight of Eris standing so close to another male out of his mind and prowled toward the Autumn court heir.

Azriel stopped a mere foot from Eris and looked down at the male. He met Az’s gaze, nothing but cold boredom and something Az couldn’t place in his burnished gold eyes. The sentries around Eris tensed as Az approached, their hands resting on their weapons.

Eris dismissed the male and his sentries with a wave. When they were out of earshot Eris said quietly, “Out with it.”

“Why?” Azriel asked through gritted teeth.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.” Eris said, flashing his bone white teeth in pristine calculated smile that probably had females throwing themselves at him in the Autumn Court. Az resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the thought of Eris taking anyone to bed. “I’m a very busy male. I do quite a lot.”

Azriel growled softly, his irritation slipping from his grasp, and perhaps it was a trick of the light, but Az could have sworn Eris’s pale cheeks reddened ever so slightly. “Why propose to Nesta? I thought Illyrian leftovers were beneath you.”

Eris scanned Az’s eyes, as though he was reading something only he could see. His smile dropped and he bared his teeth ever so slightly. “That is none of your concern.” He snarled. “But if you truly care then ask that High Lord of yours.” He then turned from Az, to join his sentries.

Before he could stop himself, Az wrapped a dark scared hand around Eris’s lithe and powerful bicep and pulled the autumn heir to face him. In a rare moment Az glimpsed the Autumn heir’s true feelings. For a heartbeat Eris’s face twisted in surprise and pain. Then he blinked, and his face slid back into boredom. But the flame that burned in his eyes had dimmed to sputtering embers and remained like that.

“Why did you leave her there?” Az demanded, his voice barely above a whisper.

An unsaid pain lingered in Eris’s eyes before he said softly and barely loud enough for Az to hear, “She’s not your mate.”

The words struck Az like a blow. The truth of the words sinking deep into his soul, his very being. He did not need to reach for the knife at his hip to know that the handle would be warm. Az’s hand lost it’s grip and Eris and the male just turned on his heel and walked off without a second glance.

With the words still reeling through him Az joined his High Lady in time to catch Feyre hand Tanarys the proposal for a trade agreement she and Amren had spent several days drafting.

“Thank you,” Tanarys said, sending the document to his own realm between realms. “I shall take a look and get back to you by the end of the week.”

Chapter Text

The smell of blossoming cherry trees and flood of afternoon sun hit Eris first as he winnowed onto the hill overlooking Tamlin’s manor home. The once sprawling manor had truly fallen into a state of disrepair. Beyond the gardens overgrown with weeds and grime covering the walls and windows the very air around the manor seemed to consume the watery sunlight as though it was drinking a fine wine.

Eris let out a silent sigh before starting his walk down the hill careful to not slip on the steep slope and get mud on his clothes. He’d dropped his men and their chosen prisoners off in the autumn court and stayed just long enough to order his dogs prepared for a hunt and to get word about Tamlin’s whereabouts before making the jump to Spring.

The grand oak doors were half hanging off their hinges as Eris pushed them open. A horrific screech tore through the foyer as metal grated on metal. The sun streamed through the dusty air of the cavernous space is shafts of golden light.

As he stepped into the dim ruins of Tamlin’s manor Eris blinked, allowing his eyes a moment to adjust to the light. Splintered and shattered wood covered the floor. Each wall and pillar was gouged with deep claw marks. What was once a grand manor of life and light had become a dark and shattered tomb.

Eris sniffed, searching for where Tamlin’s rain and earthen scent was strongest. A moment later he found it, and like one of his smoke hounds Eris followed the scent to the subterranean levels of the manor. To Eris’s knowledge there were two basement levels to the spring court manor, primarily used for storage now that Tamlin was High Lord but they used to serve as “butchering rooms” under his father. It was nothing compared to the grand castle at the heard of the Spring Court’s capital city of the east coast of the territory, but it sufficed for the wickedness that dwelt in the heart of Tamlin’s father.

That wickedness never manifested in Tamlin though. Rather it was a bone deep anxiety, a mask of stoicism over a male second guessing his every choice, a male who loved his people as perhaps Eris did, but lacked the training and education to lead effectively. How no one else saw through Tamlin was a mystery to Eris. Although others still bought Eris’s own deceptions so perhaps mmpeople really did just see what they wanted to see.

Yet despite all that Tamlin turned the Spring Court into a safe harbor for those that needed it. He was the reason Lucien still breathed and Eris would be forever grateful for that. Perhaps it was that gratitude more than anything else that had Eris here now. Had Eris been smart he would have come with an escort. Had he been smarter he wouldn’t have come at all. But war was coming to Prythian and Eris needed allies. At least that’s how he justified his visit today.

There was a sharp contrast as Eris crossed the threshold into the descending stairs. Gone was the marble and woodwork of the manor. Descending into the gloom was an uneven staircase made of rough carved granite stones. It was half a thought to wreath his hand in heatless orange fire. The shadows cast on the stones leapt and danced.

Eris’s steps echoed softly through the curving stairwell as he walked, careful not to trip and twist an ankle or snap his neck. Eris may be resilient as High Fae but his ability to recover was much lower than the vampires were in the smutty fated mates romance books he liked to read .

Upon reaching the base of the stairs Eris looked around at the large stone chamber he found himself in. It was so large the light from his flame dimmed into the murky gloom before reaching any walls. This place must have been as large as the manor itself, larger perhaps. To his left was another staircase descending to the second subterranean level. Scattered through the gloom was an array of racks and chains and whips and floggers and knives and even more devices Eris couldn’t name, despite the extensive time spent in his father’s dungeons. Tamlin’s father truly knew a level of depravity that even Beron didn’t. Eris suppressed his shudder at the thought of what it was like for Tamlin to grow up with a father like that. But evidently Tamlin was not here so Eris descended to the next floor.

The smell of loam and decay were like a wet wool blanket cast over his sense of smell. Gone was the usual nuanced and intricate weave of scents that greeted him and in its place a constant overpowering smell of rot and decay. This room was smaller, large enough to hold a proper ball perhaps, but was no where near as large as the manor itself. The walls and ceiling were made of a black stone that seemed to pulse as though they were the heart of a mighty beast and was carved with an array of symbols, some of which Eris recognized from some of the books Beron kept under the strictest security in his vault, most of which he did not. The floor was loosely compacted dirt save for a single tile of that same black stone as the walls, in the shape of a coffin, placed at the center of the room with one symbol gouged into it.

In the far-left corner of the room was Tamlin. He was sitting on the ground with his knees pulled up to his chest and with his arms and head resting on top of his knees. The hair that covered his face was not his usual silky golden blond but was instead matted and darkened to nearly brown with unwashed dirt and oils. His back rose and fell is a slow shaky rhythm.

Eris walked over to Tamlin ensuring his steps were as loud as reasonably possible on the dirt floor and giving the center stone a wide berth. With silent reluctance Eris sat a few feet from Tamlin. He would need to leave these clothes in his cabin and change into something new so that no one asked questions about the dirt that would surely cling to his pants and the bottom of his jacket. Tamlin lifted his head to look at Eris, his face gaunt and hollow, his green eyes flat and dead in the flickering firelight.

“You missed the meeting,” Eris said.

There was a long stretch of silence as though Tamlin was attempting to reacquaint himself with language.

Tamlin blinked. “I assumed it was a trap.”

A huff of amusement slipped from Eris before he added, “so did my father.”

Blindingly white teeth flashed, and a low snarl came from Tamlin.

“Oh, put it away,” Eris said, giving Tamlin an over dramatic eye roll, “My father has done far worse to me than use me as bait.” Eris paused for a moment attempting to bite his tongue, but his curiosity got the better of him. “What is this place?”

“Where evil sleeps.” Tamlin murmured.

Eris said nothing but was unable to keep the look of confusion from his face.

“Don’t ask me what it means.” Tamlin said. “My father only ever said it was where evil sleeps with a sneer on his face when I asked him about it. Perhaps he told one of my brothers but I was never supposed to be High Lord so I didn’t need to know.”

“Do you know what any of these symbols mean?” Eris asked gesturing around.

“No.” Tamlin said, “But I caught my father drawing them once and he called them wyrdmarks.”

Eris made a mental note to look into wyrdmarks to see what he could find. Perhaps Helion had something on them in one of his libraries or perhaps he should ask Azriel if any of the nasty beasties they keep in that prison of theirs would know anything. And if those routes proved unfruitful, he could always trap a Suriel.

Silence stretched for long moments before Tamlin asked, “Why are you here Eris?”

“You.” Eris said. “We’ve been friends for centuries. You’re dying Tamlin. Have you seen yourself lately? You’re wasting away.”

Tamlin averted his eyes and mumbled something under his breath.

“Tamlin?” Eris asked.

“She killed my mate.” Tamlin said, voice hitching.

“Who?” Eris asked, “Amarantha?” Then before Tamlin had the chance to answer Eris’s brain caught up with him, “WAIT since when did you have a mate?!”

Silver lined Tamlin’s eyes with unshed tears. “We met 63 years 7 months 2 weeks and 4 days ago. The bond snapped into place the moment I saw him. He was a new sentry. We didn’t tell anyone. Not even Lucien.” Tamlin’s voice was unsteady. “He was young not even twenty-five yet. I wanted to give him time to find himself without the scrutiny of the court.”

Eris certainly understood that desire.

“I was going to make him my High Lord consort.” A snort of amused derision escaped from Tamlin. “I suppose Rhys and I aren’t terribly different after all. And then I was glad I kept him secret when Amarantha arrived. He would have been her first target. In a way I suppose you could say Amarantha killed him.”

Tamlin paused, a tear sliding through the muck and grime on his face, and steadied his breathing.

“By the end of Amarantha’s curse I was nearly out of sentries. The only ones remaining were what was necessary to train new sentries. There was not even a year left when my mate insisted. He was the last sentry to go over the wall. He died and well… you know the rest.”

“Feyre killed your mate?” Eris asked.

A silent nod from Tamlin was all he got in return.

Well shit. Although that explained Tamlin’s whole devolution into his beast form as of late.

There was nothing Eris could do or say. Nothing could fix this. Nothing could help Tamlin. So Eris simply wrapped his long-term friend into a tight hug. Most males that lose their mates are so overcome by the grief and absence of the mating bond that it drives them to insanity. Then before he could stop himself Eris said, “I’m going to kill my father when he comes back from his meeting with Koschei.”

Tamlin stiffened in Eris’s arms. “I thought you were waiting for solstice. Why the change?”

“I suspect it’s the same reason you’re curled up in the dark in your basement.” Eris answered.

Chapter Text

It was past midnight as Azriel stared up at the silk canopy of his bed. Silver light spilled through his window from the waxing crescent moon rising over Velaris. The revelation from Eris a few days earlier still reeled in his mind. He didn’t want to believe it. It couldn’t be true. If Mor wasn’t his mate then what pulled him to her that night. It was the tug of a mating bond. Everything Azriel read and heard over his five centuries about mating bonds described the sensation exactly as he experienced it. Eris must have lied. But Az’s shadows whispered no warning of deceit.

That was another thing. Ever since Eris had all but punched Az in the gut with a single sentence his shadows had been frustratingly quiet, one might even describe them as slumbering. Not once since finding Mor has his shadows ceased their murmuring. Yet now there was nothing but silence from them as they clung to his wings like napping bats.

After several more minutes of restless tossing and turning thinking about any and everything except for Eris’s damning words Azriel gave up on sleep and slipped out of bed, his sheets rippling as they cascaded down his naked body as he stood. Perhaps some time in the ring would calm his raging thoughts.

After slipping into a pair of loose dark grey cotton fleece pants Az made his way to the top floor of the house of wind and stepped out into the crisp night air. The calm midnight mountain breeze nipped at Azriel’s tan skin as he strode to the weapon rack eying up his options. Although a dagger and short sword was his usual preference something in his gut had him reaching for the rapier.

The Illyrians didn’t use rapiers. And in fairness they were difficult to use while flying. It was a struggle for Az to learn how to use one when he learned more traditional fae weaponry, and although he would never admit it aloud the rapier was far and away one of his worst weapons. Az was fairly certain any halfway decent rank and file dark bringer soldier could best him in a duel with a rapier. By some mercy of the mother the Valkyries never expressed interest in learning to use the weapon. Although it was traditionally a weapon favoured by the seasonal courts and especially Autumn.

Having drawn the weapon from the rack of weapons Az walked to the center of the ring and assumed the fighting stance he’d been taught. He balled his left hand into a loose fist and tucked it behind the small of his back then raised his right arm slightly in front of him with the blade pointing up in the direction of an imaginary foe across from him. With a snap of the wrist Az began working through the steps and swordplay he’d been taught.

------------------

Eris eyed the books around him with a deepening frown on his face. He wanted to learn more about the text on the rings he and the shadow singer were using so down into the bowels of Beron’s private archive Eris went skulking. It was the same place Eris found the rings, only he was in the library section rather than the artifact storage section.

Most of the books were written in an antiquated version of the modern fae language, which was fine. Eris had spent enough time with his father painstakingly teaching him how to read, write, and speak the various ancient languages the fae had used. From what he’d been able to learn over the past few days symbols similar but not identical to the ones on the rings were featured in the writings of a handful of scholars starting about eleven thousand years ago referring to them as mysterious ancient symbols of power used by fae thousands of years prior.

It was maddening. Some accounts claimed they were used in sacred rites to worship the mother. Others claimed that they held no religious weight and that they were used in ancient spell spell craft. One specific scholar claimed that the mother once walked the earth and that the symbols were the written version of the language she spoke, capable of reshaping the world at her whims. Another scholar insisted they were used by the ancient fae to raise and speak to the dead.

He'd read that account the night before so Eris was now scouring his father’s private library for anything about necromancy older than fourteen thousand years old. So far all he managed to turn up was a few footnotes referencing a mask of golden horror and far more texts from long dead scholars arguing amongst themselves if the High Lord of Dawn’s magic possessed the ability to heal death, and amongst those who believed it could they argued over what state the corpse could be in and how long after death he could be effective. Apparently the people of Prythian had a lot of faith in the skills of their ancient High Lord of Dawn.

With his scowl deepening at the shelves full of unhelpful books Eris had all but decided to give up his search when he heard rustling paper and a thump to his left. He peered over and saw a book laying on the floor. Eris cast his magic around him, a golden flame of light without heat, feeling for any hidden fae only to find nothing.

With cautious steps Eris approached the dark leather-bound book and peered at it. In a clean script golden letters named the title of the book, written in the oldest version of the fae language Eris knew, The Walking Dead. Flipping open the book Eris saw page after page of the same symbols as the rings. The entire book was filled with them from cover to cover. As he flipped through the pages a note slipped out on ancient paper with the night court insignia merged with a stylized Pegasus at the top and a library section code below. Perhaps a meeting with the Night Court was in order.

-----------

Azriel finished his last set of exercises and wiped the sweat from his brow and ran his hand through his hair to pull his black hair out of his eyes. He placed his rapier into the holder and grabbed himself a cup of water from the reservoir outside the ring. Az leaned against the wall of the house of wind, the stone façade digging into his skin. He leaned his head back and gazed up at the sky while he let his breathing calm. The chill in the air bit at his cool sweat slick skin and cause his nipples to perk and goosebumps to raise along his torso.

The sky had begun to bleed gray with the coming dawn. He had lost track of time. The Valkyries would be coming out to train soon. And quite frankly Az didn’t feel like explaining to Nesta why Az was training shirtless before dawn. He should head back to his room and get changed before anyone wandered out of their rooms to find him.

Az had just peeled himself off his spot along the wall when he felt the sudden tug in his gut followed by a surge of urgency of the freshly solidified bond with Eris. But before Az could rally his power to shadow walk Eris winnowed into the training ring in a flurry of smoke and embers.

“I need a favour…” Eris said, trailing off, his face blushing pink as he looked at Az. Eris’s eyes struggled to stray away from Azriel’s tattooed chest. Eris’s blush deepened, casting his face and ears into a burning red, as his golden eyes followed the swirls and whorls of Az’s tattoos to where they crossed his lower abs to meet with Az’s happy trail and disappear below his pants.

The slight smirk that tugged at Az’s lips at seeing the heir of autumn flustered and speechless was unavoidable. “What kind of favour?” Az asked. And maybe he dropped his voice into a low purr to see what kind of reaction he would get from Eris.

Eris’s eyes shot up to meet Azriel’s gaze and the blushing male blinked once, twice, and audibly gulped, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down his delicate throat. Having regained some of his composure, and his blush having faded, Eris cleared his throat before saying, “I’m not entirely sure but I have a feeling Rhysand would like to be a part of the discussion.”

Chapter Text

It took less than a half hour for Rhys to arrive at the house of wind with Feyre, Nesta, Elain, and Cassian and to have everyone take a seat at one of the many long dark red wood tables surrounded by tall backed chairs made of identical wood upholstered in dark cream leather with slats cut out to accommodate wings. The chairs weren’t what Eris would call comfortable, but he’d sat of stiffer furniture before and his father had forced Eris to sit in truly painful chairs for days at a time, but Eris chose not to dwell on that.

“Well,” Rhys started, looking around the table, “You dragged us all here what is this favour you need to ask for?”

“I only wanted the shadow singer to bring you here,” Eris mumbled under his breath, quiet enough to keep the heightened hearing of the other fae around the table from hearing.

“I didn’t quite catch that,” Rhys said lounging back in his seat sipping on a cup of tea.

Eris sighed and pulled his ring off his finger and began to fiddle with it in his fingers. “How familiar are you with ancient fae enchantments?”

There was a slight glance around the table Eris was either too tired or too distracted to care about. “I can’t say it’s something with which I have intimate familiarity.”

Eris stares at the ring in his fingers, examining the way the light catches the engravings. He shouldn’t be fidgeting. He should be going about this with more tact, but he just can’t stomach it. Perhaps it is the fidgeting that’s keeping Eris steady while he commits another act of high treason or perhaps it’s the comforting presence of his mate’s presence without the usual hatred in his eyes. Eris decided not to dwell on it as he said, “It’s rather a passion for my father. He has an entire private subterranean archive nearly half the size of the manor filled with enchanted objects. Merely entering the archive is grounds for execution.” Eris suppressed the memory and accompanying shudder of what happened to the last noble that had the bright idea to go snooping.

“The bonded rings I have been using to communicate with the shadowsinger are no more than mere parlor tricks compared to the rest of the collection,” Eris continued.

A look of horror spread across several of the faces around the table. “They let you winnow through our wards which haven’t been broken in...” Feyre said, trailing off.

“Ever.” Rhys finished on his mate’s behalf. Eris decided to ignore the pang that ripped through his chest at their closeness, even if he couldn’t stand them at the best of times.

“Like I said parlor tricks,’ Eris sighed and slid the ring back on his finger. There was a wince from Az at reestablishment of their connection. A sliver of guilt twinged in Eris, he didn’t mean to make Az uncomfortable, but he continued onward not bothering to apologize. “Given my father’s nature and his conveniently timed absence I decided to do a bit more research to see if there was anything to be done to neutralize his trove.”

“What did you find?” Nesta asked.

“Nothing useful.” Eris said and propped his head on his fist. Several moments passed after Eris finished, everyone else around the table waiting for him to continue.

To Eris’s eternal surprise it was Azriel who broke first. “Then why are you here?” he asked.

“Oh yes” Eris exclaimed, clapping his hands once. “I need to borrow your library.”

Minutes ticked by while Rhys, Feyre, Nesta, Azriel, and Cassian shared several glares and glances among each other and directed toward Eris. He was mostly on the receiving end of the former. They were no doubt having a conversation mind to mind. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Rhys broke the silence, “I don’t think that will be possible.” He paused “Perhaps Helion might have what you need.”

“He won’t.” Eris interrupted and locked eyes with Az. “Send me with supervision then. Send me with a dozen guards, a hundred. Bind my magic with faebane manacles if that makes you feel any better. I don’t care your conditions, but I need access.” Eris slid his eyes back to Rhys, hoping his message was clear. “So, what say you High Lord?”

Rhys’s face turned thoughtful. “Do you need access to the entire Library?” He asked. Message received then.

“I have a general section in mind.” Eris replied and added the specific section code he found. Nesta’s face paled. That was good and bad. On the one hand that made Eris even more sure that there would be answers there. On the other hand, Nesta’s face went ghostly white and that was disconcerting enough to knock Eris off balance more than he already was.

Rhys turned to Nesta. “You know the library better than I do. What do you think? Would we be able to close off that section?”

“You wouldn’t need to.” Nesta answered matter-of-factly, gripping her mate’s hand so hard Cassian looked like he was about to burst into tears. Eris suppressed his chuckle at the sight but committed it to memory for the next time he needed a good laugh. “That section is on the lowest level. No one goes down there anyway. You would need to clear it with Clotho but as long as they’re discrete on their descent and ascent it shouldn’t be an issue.”

“Excellent,’ Rhys said. “I’ll get everything squared away with Clotho but before I do that how about we make this a bargain Eris?”

“I would expect nothing less. What are your terms?” Eris replied.

“If Clotho approves I will grant you supervised access to the section of the library you mentioned as well as safe passage into and out of the library to and from a point you can winnow whenever you require access.” Rhys stated. Eris turned the words over in his head not seeing any obvious loopholes Rhys could use to screw Eris over, but the bargain magic was a finicky mix of intent and literal interpretation of bargains. “In exchange,” Rhys continued, “Azriel will act as your escort and supervisor while you are travelling to and from the library as well as while you remain within the library. While he is acting as your escort and supervisor you will listen to and obey his orders.”

The look of outrage on Azriel’s face is almost delicious as Rhys apparently voluntold him for guard duty but he ignores the expression and says, “Within reason Rhysand.”

“Fine. You will listen to and obey Azriel’s orders while he is acting as your escort and supervisor as they pertain to your objectives in the library or your related travel, but you are not beholden to any orders that would imminently harm you or another.” Rhys amends.

Once again Eris turns the words over in his head. “I am not beholden to any orders that would cause me harm imminent or otherwise and it’s a bargain.” Eris says.

“It’s a bargain,” Rhys smiles, baring his teeth and Eris felt the agonizing sharp twist of bargain magic in his gut and he pushed back against the attempt to brand his skin. As quickly as it came the sensation ceased leaving no visual mark and the bargain was sealed.

Then Rhys and everyone except Azriel rose. Cassian looked like he wanted to stay but Nesta’s death grip didn’t give him much of a choice. And oh look his fingers were starting to turn purple. “Play nice you two. I’ll let Az know if he can bring you to the library or if he’s flying you out of reach of the wards and you’re leaving.” Rhys then turned and strode out of the room with Feyre on his heels. Nesta half dragged Cassian in the direction of the training ring Eris had winnowed into.

Silence falls as Eris and Azriel are left alone. The exhaustion of several sleepless nights weighs on Eris now. He can sleep once he finds what he needs. He just needs to hold it together until then.

Across the table Azriel’s gaze is a mix of subtle curiosity and not so subtle animosity. Eris wanted to say something to break the silence, to have simple small talk with his mate. But after centuries of wearing his mask of casual cruelty his silver tongue failed him. Eris could explain what happened with Mor. He should explain it. Cauldron knows that’s why Azriel hates Eris so much that he felt the need to make the bargain expressly clear about harm to come to Eris. He should have specified long term harm to others, but unless Azriel had some maniacal plan that ends in Eris causing harm to Lucien or his mother there isn’t anyone Eris cares enough for to protect them, well not anymore. Eris could thank his father for that recent development. There are his smoke hounds, but Azriel doesn’t feel like the animal harming type, and if he was Eris would reject the mate bond. There’s nothing Azriel could gain from hurting Eris’s mother, so the only person Eris failed to protect was Lucien, once again. Painful memories begin to resurface, and Eris tamped them down with the mental fortitude he used whenever his beast form threatened to rip free from him. Now was not the time to dwell on the past.

Eris leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over another, and eyed Azriel with a slight sly smile tugging at his lips. His wings were tucked in tight to his back, and his scarred fingers drummed on the table. How Azriel got those scars Eris had the faintest idea. He was pretty sure they were burn scars, although he wasn’t sure how he got them, nor did Eris believe Azriel would be forthcoming with any information about his scars if Eris asked. And Azriel’s shadows clung close to his wings whirling and swirling in lazy loops as though they were resting. Another unusuality, but perhaps it was due to the early hour Eris caught the shadow singer training at.

“Why?” The word was cold and short from Azriel’s mouth.

A brief glance to Azriel’s hazel eyes was all Eris spared before letting a full courtier’s smile bloom on his lips flashing his teeth. “You have been asking that a lot shadow singer. But I’m afraid you’ll need to be a bit more specific. I can imagine a great many things you wish to know and a great many more you are unaware you wish to know.”

A rustling of cloth was the only sound as Azriel shifted in his seat. “Such as what?” Azriel asked.

Eris glanced at his nails. He had a slight chip on his ring fingernail. He added filing his nails on to his growing and too large list of things he needed to deal with. “I don’t give information for free shadow singer. So perhaps a bargain.” Eris slid his amber eyes to Azriel’s, and it was contemplation that softened his gaze. Eris hadn’t scared him off yet. Good. “A question for a question. We’ll take turns asking each other questions. Specify you want an honest answer, and the other person will be compelled to answer the question truthfully and in its entirety. Then it’s the other person’s turn to ask a question.” Azriel’s face was contemplative and as a last incentive Eris added, “I’ll even let you go first.”

Several long moments passed with Azriel’s face tightened in contemplation, an expression that scrunched his nose in a way Eris found disarmingly adorable. Then Azriel broke the silence “Then it’s a bargain.”

Magic surged sharp and violent twisting in Eris’s gut, stronger than the bargain he made with Rhys but he was unable to stop the tattoo from forming and a solid black line about an inch thick only interrupted in the middle by the depiction of a baying hound under 3 stars, like the night court insignia with the hound replacing Ramiel, branded the back of Eris’s right hand. He didn’t see a matching tattoo on Az’s right hand, but the Night Court bargain tattoos were always disgustingly symbolic so who knew where Az’s tattoo ended up.

“Your turn,” Eris said, resting his hands on the table and glamouring his tattooed hand to look normal.

“Truthfully,” Azriel started, “Why did you leave Mor to die at the border of Autumn?”

Eris couldn’t push down the genuine smile from his face as a mix of relief and satisfaction swept through him. “I left Morrigan where she was because that’s what she wanted.” A complete and truthful answer.

Azriel’s face twisted flickering between outrage and anger before settling on confused trepidation. “Ask your question.”

Eris let out a thoughtful hum before saying, “No.” Azriel’s mouth opened but Eris added, before Az could say anything, “There aren’t any questions I want to ask you now shadow singer. But take this bit for free. There are more questions for you to ask about that ancient history with Morrigan.”

Azriel stood, his shadows shifting but remaining close. “Come on, Clotho gave the go ahead, but you are not to speak to or approach any of the priestesses unless they approach you first.”

Eris rose and gave Azriel a half bow, his long red hair sliding over his shoulders to hang in front of him. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Eris said before rising and following Azriel close to the library.