Chapter Text
The grass was cool and wet under her feet. Leaves crumbled and twigs cracked, echoing through the forest air. She was running, running…her hair ripping through the air behind her and catching in the wind. Someone was calling her name, their voice filled with so much laughter and warmth.
“You can’t fly away from me. I know you will come back.”
She ignored him, even as her smile widened. Bells tinkled at her ankles as she quickened her pace, and the buzzing of insect wings vibrated against her back. Broken light trickled between the jeweled leaves, dotting the forest floor with shimmering gold.
“Catch me, Lu. Catch me.”
⌘
Darkness greeted Elain when she woke. Heavy, almost suffocating darkness, only made softer by the sunrise that simmered beneath the horizon. Outside her window, the River House garden and The Sidra beyond were still asleep in the twilight air: her flowers were indecipherable in the darkness, and the riverbank a churning, crooning mystery.
But the birds were wide awake. The cooing of doves filled the air, along with the happy, incessant chirping of black birds and thrushes. Elain listened to them as she stared up at the bed canopy, willing her body to wake.
Her dream sat under her skin still. It was like a bird fluttering at her rib cage, cooing and tweeting and struggling against the walls of her heart. She swore the image was embedded in her mind: the brilliant orange glow, the swaying leaves and creaking woods… The sky had been such a vibrant blue above the fiery canopy. She had never seen a sky that color, even in the Night Court’s fae beauty. Did the cold of the air make it seem brighter? Did the ruby and gold leaves bring out the brilliant hue? Gods… she doubted even a painter as wonderful as Feyre could have captured its vibrance.
Elain closed her eyes. It hadn’t been one of her visions, right? The dream had felt like her powers, with its strange heaviness. She always felt herself sinking deeper into her body, like an anchor dropping into the sea. But at the same time, she knew the dream was something different. It clung to her like a distant memory. An array of feelings stirred inside her body like a gentle wind: warmth, love, maybe even victory and determination. It had been a life of wildness and freedom, of a stubborn determination to be something more, to go somewhere else.
But it hadn’t been her life. Elain felt herself sink inward at the thought. Her life had always been sheltered and quiet, with loved ones constantly at her side and their words hanging heavy in her ears.
A dense weight tugged at her eyelashes as she stared up at her bed canopy. She could have easily fallen back into the warmth of her blankets, but she forced herself out of bed. After getting dressed in an outside dress and her muck boots, she crept out of her room and headed to the garden.
The sunrise was growing now: purple clouds flushed from the waking dawn and the air was delightfully cool: the epitome of springtime shifting into summer. Elain walked determinedly down the garden path, sending a group of anxious doves fluttering in alarm.
Get your tools, water the flowers , she told herself, following her usual checklist. A sunhat was not necessary so early in the morning, but she went past the compost bin to the garden shed and grabbed other tools that would be necessary for her tasks: a watering can and an apron.
The shed was dark when she entered, its frosted windows showing only a blur of indigo and violet. She maneuvered blindly until she found the shelves stuffed with her organized tools. Her tool kit sat on the center rack; she pulled it out and popped open the clasp, sounds sharp and loud in the quiet. But just as she lifted the lid—
Bells tinkling, a chorus of distant male laughter… leaves crunching under her bare feet…
The lid banged against the tool kit, rattling the metal tools.
The world was not a blur of indigo and lavender, but red, gold, stunning blue…
She squeezed her eyes shut. Focus on something else , she thought. Focus on anything else . Anything .
The light reached to her through the frosted glass windows of the shed, covering her with a blanket of lilac. The mourning doves cooed in the garden, their wings whistling as they took flight.
…the fluttering of wings against her back…
She gripped the tool box blindly, her nails digging in the wood. Gods… her visions hadn’t been this bad since she arrived to Night. Since she was up in the House of Wind. With time and desperation, she had learned how to shut them out: usually with several deep breaths, an empty room, and sometimes a quick nap if it was too bad.
But this vision—this dream , she corrected herself—was heavier and more alluring than she had experienced since The Cauldron.
…Broken light trickled between the jeweled leaves, dotting the forest floor with shimmering gold…
A wave of frustration made her clench her teeth. Gods, I’m going insane, aren’t I? It was just a dream. Just a dream.
Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming…she was always dreaming, always Seeing… always sinking down, down, an anchor into the sea…
After taking a deep, rattling breath, she focused on the scent of dirt and flora wrapped around her. Maybe after gardening and having breakfast, she could make a pie. The Spring Equinox had occurred a week ago, but the Summer Solstice was approaching, and she had an abundance of blueberries Feyre had brought her from a trip to Adriata. Yes, that would be her main activity today. Baking a blueberry pie to celebrate the return of summer. Simple chores, a quiet, unassuming life.
With several more deep breaths, she found her body settling again. Not enough to feel normal, but she hadn’t felt normal for a long time.
Get your tools, water the flowers , she reminded herself. Apron and watering can, apron and watering can…
With her hands shaking slightly, opened her tool kit again. A grass-stained apron was folded on the top, and the feeling of its soft, familiar fabric comforted her slightly. It was fairly clean despite a few grass stains near the knees, and she reminded herself to wash it later.
Little, menial tasks like washing clothes and watering her plants to keep herself busy throughout the day. That’s what she had to cling on to to feel somewhat insane, she scoffed to herself.
Just as she pulled the apron out of the tool kit, she caught sight of what sat underneath.
Gardening gloves sat on the bottom of her tool kit, its soft brown leather and stitching glowing in the rising sun.
The jolt of the bond was like a physical knife stabbing her chest. She slammed the wooden lid of the tool box closed, her hands suddenly shaking.
Gods, his scent was still on them. It had been two years, two years since he gave her those gloves, and the aroma of rich plums, cinnamon, and woodsmoke refused to fade. She could still smell it, even though the tool kit was now closed.
The bond that sat silently between her ribs writhed slightly, curling around her heart…
No . She threw her apron on, her fingers shaking at the ties. She didn’t need those gloves. She told herself that the second she had unwrapped the box in the warm solstice light. It was so shameful to bury them in the bottom of the box, to ignore their usefulness and charm…but she had to. She even avoided touching the soft leather, as if the feeling would evoke something she wanted to steer clear of.
With her apron on and a full watering can in her hand, Elain hurried out of the shed and went to work. Watering the flowers was always something she did in the morning, to give time for the roots to properly soak up the water without the worry of evaporation in the sun. She filled up a metal can with the spigot several times, going up and down the many rows to soak every inch of soil.
If only the Cauldron had made me into a Summer Fae , she thought as she filled the can for a third time. Having the power to conjure water would be significantly more helpful than blacking out from meaningless visions.
But she enjoyed her work in the garden and its monotonous tasks. Her garden was always a comfort, even if her magic grew too wild under her skin. Her dream still climbed up her spine, trying to feel its way back into the crook of her skull, but she only felt her aching arms and the air growing warm with the rising sun.
She felt nothing when she was working. Absolutely nothing at all.
Elain continued watering into the morning twilight, listening to the cooing of doves and the awakening nature. It would be a good day today, she assured herself, ignoring the heaviness of her eyelids. There was something to look forward to besides the rest of her routines. Not only would she make her pie, but she had new flowers to plant.
After putting away her watering can, she went back to the shed and brought out her newest collection of sprouts: Myrmidon jasmine from Day. Nesta and Cassian had brought a dozen back from their honeymoon in the Myrmidon mountains, and Elain had nearly squealed in delight when Nesta brought her to the shed to show her. The small clusters of creamy green leaves and dazzling white blooms seemed to glow in the lavender twilight, like their petals were imbued with magic.
“They looked so wonderful up in the mountains, Elain,” Nesta had told her, her face glowing with happiness as Cassian held the small of her waist. “They were like a galaxy of stars.”
Of course Nesta saw the beauty of Night in another court. This was her home, and every lovely thing reminded her of it. But as Elain carried out two of the Myrmidon jasmine to their designated row, she thought they were like little suns sitting in the leaves, with their petals curling out like rays of light.
Stars, suns…they were one in the same, weren’t they? Elain dug a hole for the sweet-smelling plant and placed it carefully in its new home. Their fresh beauty calmed something in her, and she swore the heaviness beneath her eyelids had lifted.
Just as she planted the last sapling, the first rays of the sunrise peeked over the horizon, lighting the world with a brilliant orange and gold. Its buttery warmth brushed at her skin, placing soothing kisses down her arms and the back of her neck and waking up her weary eyes.
It should have comforted her. Her world seemed so much happier with all of this sunlight. Even the jasmine seemed to brighten, shining spots of white onto the freshly watered soil around them.
But another flash of ruby and gold made her flinch.
The grass was cool and wet under her feet. Leaves crumbled and twigs cracked, echoing through the forest air…
She closed her eyes, the watering can suddenly feeling impossibly heavy. That familiar, damning tug…this wretched, cursed magic… Gods, she was sick of this. Her visions were meaningless . Her dreams offered her nothing besides longing for something she didn’t need.
After setting down her can, Elain went back inside, leaving the warm light behind her.
⌘
“You can’t seriously be thinking about sending Elain to Spring .”
Elain was halfway to the kitchens when Feyre’s voice rang throughout the hall. She froze in her tracks.
Rhys seemed to have forgotten the silencing wards he usually cast on his office to ensure privacy during meetings, because her sister’s words were clear as air.
Rhysand’s voice was cool. “Calanami was a disaster this year, Feyre. If Tamlin’s magic fades any more then we’ll be even closer to losing Spring.”
“I’m not sure I see the problem with that.”
“If we lose Spring, then we’ll lose it to Beron, and he’ll be this much closer to gaining footing in the human lands. We do not want Beron to expand territory, Feyre.”
Rhysand’s voice was sharp, as if he was addressing an inferior instead of an equal. His High Lady. Elain’s lips pursed as she leaned up against the wall. She always kept her head down and tried to ignore the political conversations she was not invited into, but she always noticed how Rhys switched roles when it convenienced him. Not just with his mate, but with his brothers, his cousin…s ometimes he was more like a family member or friend, while other times he was something akin to a father figure.
Her sister scoffed. “So you want to offer Elain up to what? Participate in an impromptu Calanmai?”
“That’s not what I’m suggesting.”
“Then what are you suggesting? We don’t know what her powers are, and I still don’t think she has the constitution to train them.”
Elain pursed her lips. What a way to interrupt her carefully routine day; overhear her sister and brother-in-law discussing her and her constitution . Of course that was still Feyre’s idea of her: meek, simple, and far too innocent and scared to handle her powers, let alone the rest of Prythian.
She wished she could prove her wrong. Her body writhed and screamed to do something, to offer her family anything that would be useful . But her offer to scry for the Trove had been ignored and the task was instead forced on Nesta, despite her initial refusal. And now, self-doubt sat like a rock in her mind.
“You would be putting my sister at risk if you send her to Spring.”
“Lucien is stationed permanently in the capital, and I have some resemblance of faith towards him,” Rhysand answered carelessly.
Elain practically flinched at the sound of his name. Lucien . She pressed her hands into the wall to steady herself. Something akin to anger and defensiveness bubbled inside at Rhys’s sardonically coy remark, the feeling so unprecedented in the way it mixed with her confusion, longing, and frustration…
Lucien was stationed in Spring. She had no idea, though frankly she avoided any sort of conversation that would give her the slightest bit of information of his whereabouts and activities. None of it mattered to her. She told herself that over and over again: she didn’t care, it didn’t matter. He didn’t seem to care either.
“And besides, she is his mate,” Rhysand added. “He has already shown the lengths he’ll go to ensure her safety.”
Elain’s stomach dropped even further. Feyre seemed determined to argue, because Rhys sharply added, “We can continue to let her fiddle around in her garden and bake and hide from her mate. I know Cassian would greatly miss her baking. But her powers are wasted.”
“We don’t even know what her powers are. She’s nowhere near ready to leave and go to Spring, let alone go to another part of Night.”
“She offered to look for the Trove so I think she’s ready. And I think she would be significantly more useful in Spring than here.”
That was the only thing he seemed to care about. Usefulness . Her heart quickened with frustration, but she simply closed her eyes and pressed her back harder into the wall.
Maybe her sister was right. She had the ability to shut out her powers, yes, but what about if she had to use them? She collapsed in on herself when they became too overwhelming. And the thought of being in an unfamiliar, potentially dangerous Court…
There was silence. For a moment, Elain thought Rhysand had cast a silencing ward to finally block out any eavesdropping ears (such as her own), but then Feyre spoke, her voice barely audible.
“We can talk about it later. Not with her, for now, but…we need to figure this out.”
“Of course.”
The sound of footsteps approached the door. There was a metallic click, and the sharp turn of the door handle—
By the time her sister and her brother-in-law stepped into the hallway, Elain was already halfway up the stairs with her fists clutching her skirts.
⌘
Her feet brought her to the library instead of the kitchen. It was blissfully empty, but she found that Nuala and Cerridwen had set out breakfast tea on the coffee table between the couches: a bowl was filled to the brim with sugar cubes and the assortment of biscuits were still warm.
She sat in an armchair, her mind whirring with too many thoughts.
The River House library reminded her of the one in the House of Wind. Even the way the light bled through the curtains was reminiscent of the House’s broad windows and the dusty, sunstrewn air.
It reminded her of him . Their official meeting. Lucien .
The heaviness sank deeper into her skin, pulling her downward, downward…but she took a deep breath and forced her eyes to remain open. Her memory of her first few months in Night was blurred slightly with how heavy her depression had been, but that day…the day he came. She remembered it so well. She knew the exact same tea set had been between them, with the same lavender tea and tense air…his presence was a sharp, tangible thing, as if he was sitting across from her now.
Elain stared at the tea set, unable to pour herself a cup. Her shoulders and neck suddenly felt stiff and heavy, and she let out a sigh and reminded her body to relax.
Her body was foreign compared to her human one. And she hated it. She hated how she always felt like she sat so deep inside of her skin after the Cauldron, so uncomfortable with the new strangeness of her faw body. She tried her hardest to be normal around others, even as her magic writhed and grew and spiraled beneath her heart. There was an expectation that she should be fine with it. Feyre walked so confidently in her newly Made body, and Nesta learned to do the same. Though it had always been like this ever since she and her sisters had lived their human lives…she was the courteous, placid one, who was fine with everything that was thrown at her; Nesta was the clawed, beautiful creature their mother had raised her to be. That was what everyone expected, so they did not bother to change.
The strangeness inside her got worse after The Cauldron, and she felt like a creature in her own skin. So she stuck to what had always worked for her: complicitness. A kind nod and a bright smile, even as frustration built up in her chest so much that she felt close to bursting. And that frustration only grew. Her discontentment had been boiling out as little bursts of steam. And with Nesta last year… gods , she had been so complicit throughout it all, because it was easier to nod and agree and follow along when Feyre and Rhysand said what was right than to do anything else, including standing up for her sister who had always stood up for her.
Nesta and her fire had been dolled down and made into something useful . And Elain was continued to be given delicate smiles and spoken to in hushed voices as if any raised tone would send her to tears. And when she finally tried to stand up, when she finally voiced the thoughts she kept hidden, she was dismissed or looked down on. Or even worse: was called foolish or selfish.
She felt herself writhing against the world she was placed in, a worm helpless in the hands of a godlike beast.
Elain shifted in her seat, her eyes growing suddenly heavy. Sunlight trickled through the windows, dotting the wooden floor with a pale, shimmering gold.
She didn’t know if Rhysand and her sister came to a conclusion regarding her fate. It was obvious why Feyre hated the idea of her going to Spring. Maybe they might decide to send her to Illyria like they did with Nesta. That certainly fit the image Feyre envisioned for her family, and she would be kept far away from the past her sister despised. And Nesta, despite the painful journey, had found happiness.
Elain would yet again be shoved into a box that her family had created for her. And her body and mind writhed and fought against it.
But did she even want to go to Spring? How useful could she be, if all she had was a handful of new sprouts, a dirty apron, and powers she still was too afraid to even touch? She knew little about the Court and its current political climate, except for the news whispered between Rhysand and Feyre. Its gardens were in turmoil, its High Lord succumbing to his beast form…
And Lucien. He was there. Did he wish to avoid her so much that he chose to live in the furthest Court from her, with people who had lost their admiration for him?
Elain’s heart writhed at the thought, but she forced herself to take another breath. She had so many conflicting feelings: confusion and loneliness, trepidation, reluctancy, and intrigue… and pure lust for a male she didn’t even know. Her love for Grayson was long put out, and she tried to distract herself from the pain and heartbreak, only to find herself heartbroken yet again by Azriel. Years passed, and her confusion for the bond with Lucien remained, and the ravine between them grew wider and wider. And she couldn’t even begin to think about mending that gap between them if she still struggled to mend herself.
She knew she wanted to contribute something somewhere . She knew she wanted a life and a world beyond this… But she didn’t know what yet.