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dawneternal · 7 days

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The Benevolent | Eris x Healer OC | one

☁︎ summary: The Lady of Autumn hires a healer behind Beron's back. Sworn to secrecy, the healer helps Eris when he is punished by his father and forbidden to see a healer from their court. Eris did not expect to find himself growing attached. He comes to realize that he may know plenty about sacrifice, but he has a lot to learn about choosing to live for the ones you love.

☁︎ notes: let me know how you feel about the order of this chapter. I felt like it didn't read the same to have that last scene at the beginning, but if it's confusing I will change it:)

☁︎ warnings: descriptions of wounds and blood, talk of physical abuse, implied domestic violence

☁︎ word count: 2.8k

☁︎ AO3 Link // Masterlist

“Hurry,” Lady Edana hissed, a sound like pinching a candle flame. It echoed in the quiet, the only sound in the dark hallway.

The silence was so immense it seemed to roar. Every hall and passage was empty and utterly dark. Aya would have thought every court had secrets veiled by this hour between night and morning. But there was no sign of life in the Forest House.

And yet, Lady Edana led the way with a knife in her hand, poised to attack. It was not even a hunting knife or one of the jeweled daggers gifted to young boys of the court. Just a knife, likely stolen from the kitchens or even the dinner table. Aya had to wonder if it was the only weapon Lady Edana had access to.

To her credit, she held it like a fighter, blade pointed down and out so she could still strike if pinned. In her other hand she held her shoes, her stocking feet making no sound as she shuffled across the stone floor. Urgency radiated from her. If it were visible, it would have given her a corona. An aura of flames.

They came to another corner and the Lady tugged Aya against the wall before peering around the corner. She deemed it safe and pulled the healer after her. One last eerie hallway and then they stopped at a large wooden door. Lady Edana fished a chain of keys from its place tucked into her bodice and unlocked the door. It opened without a sound, like the hinges had been oiled or silenced with magic.

The lady snapped and the fae lights came to life in their sconces, revealing the heir of Autumn laying face down on a large bed, bleeding profusely into silk green sheets.

Aya had been warned of his condition but it still sent a jolt through her. He was so still, his red hair stark against pale skin and moss colored bedding. His mother tossed her knife onto the side table and knelt by the bed.

“Eris,” She whispered, her face nearly as pale as his, “Are you awake?”

“Mother,” He croaked. Something in Aya’s chest twisted at the utter brokenness of his voice. It hurt more than looking at the torn up flesh of his back.

“I brought a healer,” She said, beckoning to Aya.

“Mother,” He said again, reprimanding. Pleading.

“I will take care of everything.” She stepped back to let the healer take her place, disappearing into the washroom to fetch water. Eris’s eyes, surprisingly alert, locked onto Aya’s face. They roamed over her features, assessing.

“Worry not,” Aya whispered, unable to resist the urge to brush back a strand of copper hair. She understood the urgency now, as her gaze flickered to the blood pooling around his body.

His eyes softened at her touch, chin trembling like he was a thread away from shattering. So she took her hand away from his forehead, hovering it over his injuries instead. He flinched and she closed her eyes so he would not see the anger in them. The anger at whoever had done this. He needed tenderness and she would give it.

Aya reached into the spring of power within her and willed it to the surface. Willed it to pour from her fingertips into his being and soothe the pain. She urged the bleeding to slow to a stop, for his body to numb enough that she could clean his wounds before the true healing began. She felt his energy begin to pull away, lulled by sleep.

When she opened her eyes she saw that his own had closed, his breathing deep and even.

“You are as talented as the High Lord said,” Lady Edana whispered from beside her. She held a pitcher of water and an arm full of towels.

Aya stared at the mess, wondering where to begin. Even with all her doubts and wariness, she had not pictured an injury this severe when she accepted this position. She had known to expect the sneaking and the secrecy, but not to be led to Eris’s deathbed.

It did not help her uneasiness in the slightest when the lady said, as she mopped up her son’s blood, “Whatever we can’t get clean by morning, just throw into the fireplace. We’ll have to burn it all.”

It was a long moment before Aya said anything. Perhaps it was a risk to ask questions, but Eris’s blood coating her hands felt like justification enough.

“Why?” She murmured, keeping her eyes on the work before her. Lady Edana took her own time answering, lips pursed as she dabbed at the prince’s back.

“The High Lord forbade Eris from seeing a healer. It is part of his punishment.”

“So that is why the job was a secret,” Aya said quietly. They still avoided each other’s gaze.

“Yes.”

“What is the prince being punished for?” Another risky question, but Lady Edana seemed to think her questions were deserved, too. Or maybe she just wanted Aya to understand. From this perspective, dishonesty seemed to be built into the foundation of the Autumn Court.

“He visited the Winter Court without telling his father first. His father wanted to know why. And decided that Eris must be granted permission to leave the court borders.”

Aya clenched her jaw, looking back at the deep wounds on Eris’s back. No doubt from a whip or a belt. They would leave deep scars, and would have easily become infected without a healer. Though that seemed to be what Beron wanted. She decided not to ask what Eris was doing in the Winter Court.

“Beron will be called away first thing in the morning,” The Lady continued, “Not that he would have checked on Eris, anyways. But you will be long gone before he wakes, just in case.”

Aya wondered for a moment how Beron would know that Eris had obeyed his order not to see a healer. And she realized with a sick feeling in her stomach that he had likely left the enforcement of that order to Edana. The entire structure relied on their fear. They would do what he said because they had to, to protect themselves and each other. So what would happen to Lady Edana if Beron knew what she had done? What would happen to Aya?

She looked down at the ring on her forefinger, the blood on it glimmering like a ruby. She wondered how much Thesan had known any of this. It didn’t matter now, anyways, since she was bound to Edana by that golden ring. And looking at Eris, his brows furrowed and skin shining with sweat, she knew it was all for him.

How often was he destroyed this way? Torn apart in mind and body, forbidden from being put back together? Often enough for Aya to be paid a monthly salary. A very handsome one. But perhaps that part truly had been to make sure she wouldn’t change her mind.

As if she had a choice, now.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Upon returning to the Dawn Court, Aya headed straight for the throne room. She did not bother to change first, her clothes still covered in ash and blood. Her whole body was stiff from sleeping on the floor and heavy from how little rest she had managed to get.

The mammoth wooden doors opened before her, revealing Thesan and a few of his councilors lounging near the throne. Their easy laughter rose into the air, dancing with the cool breeze. The open archways of the throne room showed the pastel skies and fluffy clouds around them.

It was such a stark contrast to the last hours of her life, dimly lit and painted in the dark tones of the Autumn Court. It blew a puff of air into the fire burning in her chest.

Thesan’s brows rose as his gaze landed on her, jaw clenched and eyes blazing as she strode through the room.

“How much did you know about this job?” She demanded. The irreverence shook the High Lord more than her appearance. This was the way she spoke to her cousin, and not Thesan the High Lord. And never in front of others.

He asked the councilors for a moment, keeping his eyes on Aya as they scurried away. One dared to flash her a disdainful look and click his tongue. Aya ignored it.

“What was your question?” Thesan asked softly when they were alone.

“You told me this job would require discretion,” She said, her tone cooling a touch, “Did you know why?”

“Lady Edana requested a healer for personal matters,” He took a sip from his goblet, “I did not think it would be polite to inquire about the details.”

Aya shifted on her feet, her rage slowing to a halt. How delicate was this secret? Thesan could always be counted on for his discretion. But surely there were political implications that she didn’t know or understand. There always was, and figuring them out had never been one of her talents.

“Did you not ask the details before you accepted the job?” He pressed. His curiosity about the state of her clothes was rising into anxiety.

“I assumed the details. I thought maybe she was having age-related troubles. Or perhaps an affair.”

“And you were wrong,” Thesan prompted, “You are very troubled by whatever this secret is.”

“Yes,” Aya admitted, her shoulders drooping.

Thesan’s gaze flickered to the ring on her finger. If he was surprised to see it he did not let it show.

“You bound yourself to her?” His voice still smooth, collected.

“She said a physical contract would leave evidence.”

Thesan groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. He did not believe Edana to have particularly evil intentions, but she had played Aya like a piece in a game.

“Are you able to tell me this secret?” He sighed.

Aya considered the contract. It seemed that Thesan should be exempt from the secrecy. She would find out if she tried to say it out loud, anyways.

“Beron tortures his son for information,” Aya said, dropping her gaze to the marble floor. The heaviness of her body returned and she resisted the urge to let her wings rest on the ground.

“Lucien?” Thesan tilted his head to the side. He did not seem all that surprised.

“Eris,” She whispered, lifting her eyes to his. She knew he would see how haunted they were. Filled with imagery of her long night.

Thesan pursed his lips, his own eyes sparkling with anger. Many things clicked into place with this new information.

“And that is the secret?” He asked, “Beron mustn't know you heal Eris?”

“Yes,” She felt much smaller now, all of her fury laid out before Thesan, “He forbids him from seeing a healer. But he would have died if I wasn’t there.”

They did not speak of what this meant for Aya. The danger she would be in every time she stepped foot in the Autumn Court. It passed between them without words, the worry forming like storm clouds.

“I think I should speak to her,” Thesan rubbed his chin in thought.

“Please don-” Aya began, rushing forward to plead with him. He held up a hand to stop her.

“Worry not, little bird,” He soothed, “I will make sure you keep your job. I just want you to be safe. Now rest, I can see the weariness in your eyes.”

Her mind was far from settled, whirling with countless thoughts and worries. But Eris was well and her own safety was in Thesan’s hands now. That was enough. So she obeyed, gathering the energy to trudge back to her room and rest.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

“Thesan tells me you are looking for work experience outside of the Dawn Court,” Lady Edana took a sip of her tea, amber eyes locked on the girl in front of her.

The Lady of Autumn had requested to meet with Thesan’s best healer in training. In private, in a quiet place. Thesan did not see a good reason to deny her. And he knew that she worked hard to separate herself from her husband in any manner she could. He’d heard the whispered rumors and seen the bruises hiding just beneath the fine lace of her gowns. If he could help to enable her independence, he would.

“Yes, my Lady,” Aya nodded, resisting the urge to ring her hands, “It is the last requirement I need to complete my training.”

She was proud that Thesan had chosen her as the best of her class, but now she was nervous. Edana had come alone, save for one guard who loomed off to the side of the balcony. His eyes were fixed on the glass doors behind them, but Aya had no doubt he had been listening to the entire conversation. Which, up until then, had been all pleasantries and small talk. But now the Lady’s eyes were narrowed, her focus sharp. It sent a shiver through Aya’s feathers.

“There is a certain situation in my home that requires a healer with greater skill than my court can offer,” The Lady began, “And the position requires discretion. I cannot ensure that a healer from my court will not betray me.”

She paused, watching Aya and waiting for a reaction. Aya knew her brows had drawn together, but she willed all other emotion away.

“There are many distinguished healers in a court, my Lady,” Aya said slowly, “Surely you would want someone who has finished their training?”

“No one with a title,” Lady Edana pursed her lips.

Aya only nodded, feeling ever more confused. The lady’s secret was that salacious? Perhaps it would be wildly foolish to get wrapped up in this situation. But offers for work outside of the court did not come along very often for trainees. And Aya would be lying if she said she was not itching to experience something outside of the soft colors of Dawn.

“I would pay you a monthly salary,” The Lady tilted her head to the side, looking as if she knew exactly where the girl’s thoughts had gone, “You will receive the same amount no matter how many calls you receive in a month. Sometimes, I may call on you often. Other times I may not need your help for a long while.”

“You need not pay me if you don’t use my services,” Aya frowned. Many healers in training took positions without pay.

“I was hoping the salary may make the strange requirements worth their while.”

She named the amount and watched Aya’s eyes widen.

“So you need a healer on call to help with private matters. And I must keep the job a secret?” Aya clarified.

That did not sound so suspicious when summed up concisely. Or perhaps the money had dulled the warning signs. She had never let Thesan spoil her just because they were related. She insisted on living in the healer’s dorms and earning her own living like the rest of her class.

“That is correct,” Edana nodded.

“And I would be under contract?” Aya asked. Another common facet of training positions.

“Three years. And it would be through an Autumn Court bargain, and not written,” She said, still watching with those bird-like eyes. She would fit well into Dawn with all of those avine features.

“Very well,” Aya said, “But I would like a written copy of what the bargain entails.”

Edana’s lips twitched up into a smile that Aya couldn’t quite decipher.

“I will write it up and send it your way,” The Lady stood from her chair, “It should be in your hands by this time tomorrow.”

Lady Edana held out her hand. Aya told herself later that she should have been clever enough to wait before shaking hands. She should read that bargain first and study the details. But she did not think of that.

When the magic snapped she let out a yelp and snatched her hand back. Her forefinger was adorned with a simple golden band. She tried to twist it but it did not move, as if it were now a part of her.

“What is this?” She asked, incredulous, turning her hand as she examined the ring.

“A symbol of our contract,” Edana said, straight-faced as ever, “It is a tradition similar to the tattoos in the Night Court.”

Aya stared at it, the pit in her stomach growing larger. How she would be scolded for her oversight. She was certain a version of herself from the future was watching this conversation and screaming at her for being so foolish.

As all of this raged in her mind, she missed the flash of guilt in Edana’s eyes, quickly overtaken by something else. Something too desperate to be sorry.

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azsazz · 2 years

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Yay I can finally share these! You guys are the first to know about the ACOTAR travel postcards I designed that are officially licensed by SJM! 💙

This was literally such a fun project and I started this on my cross-country road trip and I cranked them out so fast. I loved every second of this and I do have a few more ideas for other places in the ACOTAR universe too.

Which one is your favorite? 😏

I'm going to be putting these up on my Etsy shop if you are interested in purchasing a postcard of them (just waiting on them to arrive to me).

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acomar #acofas #azsazz #rhysand #feyre #cassian #nesta #elain #azriel #night court #day court #spring court #autumn court #dawn court #illyrian #winter court #summer court

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queercontrarian · 24 days

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High Lord Thesan of the Dawn Court

thesan is the prettiest high lord

thesan is the smartest high lord

thesan is the most competent high lord

#think about it #gay icon #feminist #anti fae racism anti xenophobia #underrated king #do you see that look #that's him judging his fellow high lords for doing a terrible fucking job #watch me lead the campaign for thesan as high king #tarquin can be his second #thesan #dawn court #acotar

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moonlightazriel · 7 months

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Fake it until you make it… /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: “hi! I hope you're having a great day. I love your writing so much! I was wondering if you might write an az x reader fic where the reader and he are kidnapped and stuff so they form a relationship to stay alive but then as they are freed Azriel acts all distant and stuff. idk just an idea?”

Warnings: A bit of angst, mentions of suicide and anxiety attack.

Word Count: 3K

Notes: Sorry this request took so long, but I change the storyline a bit and I love how it turned out.

Main Masterlist

Acting as the Spymaster was hard, but this was way harder, he held the female’s hand, even through the gloves he could feel how warm it was. He smiled, not very used to doing it in public, as they approached the table, Thesan smiled at them, but Azriel could feel how his mate, Caeda, would eye him, a hint of suspiciousness burned in his gaze.

“Thank you for having us, High Lord.” Her overly sweet voice sounded, and Azriel looked at her, her hair was in a bun, on the top of her head, and she wore a flowy skirt with a matching top, small jewellery adorned her ears and neck, her smooth skin smelled like vanilla.

If things were different, he could see himself falling for her, maybe asking her out, but being forced to act as her mate? He wondered how he was so blind to the obvious signals that something was wrong. He was sent to retrieve a very important artefact, the pendant would help Elain with her seer abilities, the task was simple, locate it, steal and take it back to the Night Court.

Things were too easy when he sneaked around the Dawn Court, the pendant was in between the High Lord’s personal belongings, and as he entered the safe that held the item, he was caught by her, Thesan’s personal guard. Azriel refused to answer why he was there, he refused to say anything, until she proposed to him.

“You stay here, posing as my mate, and I help you get the pendant.” He didn’t knew why she was helping him or how she knew why he was there, but Elain was his friend, and her visions were a disturbance for her, preventing her from sleep or even thinking coherently, she would just stay in a corner, watching a blank point in the wall and mumble random visions and prophecies.

So Azriel agreed, and now he was smiling to people and being shown around as Y/N’s mate, Thesan immediately welcomed him, suggesting a dinner together so he could learn about the two, and that’s what he was currently doing, sipping on his wine, chewing a piece of potato and pretending to be deeply in love with her.

“How was it?” Thesan asked, after swallowing a piece of roasted pig. “I can’t imagine being away from my mate like that.” Azriel nodded.

“It’s my personal hell, I miss her every day, sometimes I feel her scent lingering around me, and my heart almost breaks in my chest when I realise she’s not there.” He had read many romance novels, they were coming in hand for him, being useful now. “When I feel that wave in my chest, I know she misses me just as much.” He concluded and Thesan looked at them.

“That’s so beautiful, I’m so sorry things have to be this way.” He apologised and Y/N answered something before she changed the subject to random court duties.

He watched her as she talked, the way her lips moved, and the occasional scrunch of her nose, she would do this before she opened a smile, every time, without fail, when she smiled openly, like she was doing now as she listened to Caeda speak, a little dimple would appear in the corner of her mouth.

He was very observant, and in this past week he was able to learn so much about her as he slept on her couch. How she liked fresh coffee every morning, how she would look so serious doing her job, or how she would run to help someone whenever they needed. She had taken him to the city, he had seen her help so many people on the short walk around the street market, that he wondered how she wouldn’t get tired.

“Azriel, when do you plan to take my sister to meet your family?” Caeda asked and Azriel had to suppress the surprise on his face, he didn’t know they were siblings.

“Oh, as soon as she has some free time, you know she works a lot.” He hugged her side and she rested her head on his shoulder.

“I was actually planning on asking for some days off, to meet my brothers in law.” She joked, Azriel had to admit that she was a good actress, and an even better liar. The lies easily rolled off her tongue and he respected that.

“We can certainly take a look into that for you.” Thesan agreed and Caeda smirked to Azriel, something he didn’t like.

If they knew why he was truly there, he could be arrested and executed, or even worse, this could be a reason for the Dawn Court declaring war against Night, and after everything they’ve been through, they don’t need another war, especially one caused by him. So he held her in his arms as they said their goodbyes and followed her home.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“I’m working on it.” She sipped on her daily coffee, a shirt hanging on her body and nothing else, Azriel tried to avert his eyes from the exposed skin of her thighs but it was kinda hard. “I don’t know why it was open that day, but that safe is protected by ancient magic, not even Caeda enters there without Thesan.” Azriel nodded.

Another week had passed by and he was still stuck there, and as much as he hated to admit, she was getting closer and closer to him, and he was allowing it, they would spend a few hours together, have meals together, acting like a real couple was starting to mess with his head, and he didn’t liked that.

Sometimes as they read together, she would sit really close to him, once she fell asleep on his shoulder, and he allowed himself to run his fingers through her soft locks, enjoying the comfort of her presence, and the feeling of peace that invaded his wild heart.

“I’m trying Azriel, you just have to trust me.” She promised and he watched as she walked away to her bedroom, hips swaying and a hint of a lace undergarment underneath that damned shirt.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“You can’t do that!” Caeda spoke a little too loudly, and Y/N pushed her palm into his face, shutting his mouth.

“Do you want the whole castle to hear?” Her brother shoved her aside, and she hissed.

“No, but I won’t let you steal from Thesan.” He stomped his feet on the ground and she rolled her eyes.

“You were too young to remember Cae, how mom would walk around mumbling her visions, how they treated her like she was someone to be avoided, how they tried to get rid of her cuz being a seer is a curse. His friend needs help, and I’m willing to help.” Caeda looked at her, hurt laced his features as he remembered how people would look at their mom with disgust, choosing to walk away from her in fear.

“But why do that!? This could get you killed.” He protested once again, feeling the tears prick in the corner of his eyes, he couldn’t lose his sister.

“BECAUSE I COULDN’T HELP MOM!” She exploded, her voice echoing in the empty hallway. “She died because I couldn’t help her.”

“Y/N, it’s not your fault, no one blames you for that.” He tried to pull her close but she pushed him away, sending him stumbling backwards.

“Everyone did, including you.” She said, turning on her heels and winnowing away.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Azriel kept stirring the cake mixture as he heard a door closing with a loud noise, he was used to her winnowing home out of nowhere but something felt wrong, he could sense her distress from afar. Dropping everything he was doing, he walked to her door, knocking three times before he heard her sobs.

Worry filled him and he opened it, finding her curled in a corner, unable to breathe and crying, he felt desperate, as he kneeled down in front of her.

“Y/N, you have to breathe.” He begged but she ignored him, he grabbed her face, pulling her chin up and forcing her to look at him, her glassy eyes weren’t focused on him, on anything as the tears kept flowing and she gasped for air.

He scattered around his mind looking for something helpful, when he found it. Holding her face in between his hands, he pulled her close, kissing her lips, the salty taste of her tears filled his mouth, but she kissed him back, and slowly her breathing became even, and as he pulled apart, she was looking at him, breathing normally.

“How?” She asked, her voice raspy from crying.

“I read once that a kiss can make someone breathe better and go back to reality, when they’re distressed.” She watched him, her eyes slightly wide, and she took a deep breath.

She felt it, she grasped with her life to that thread, her heart pounding fast and head spinning, a voice inside her screamed the word “MATE!” to her, as soon as Azriel pulled away from her. She kept looking at him without knowing what to say! Should she tell him? Should she say anything at all?

“Do you want to talk?” He whispered and she nodded.

“I wanted to help you, help Elain, cuz my mom was also a seer.” She started and Azriel sat on the floor in front of her, massaging her hands, he didn’t care about his own, that brought him so much shame, at least not right now. “No one helped her, my father didn’t knew how, Caeda was a kid, and I was trying my best to get us going, she couldn’t work, and my father was underpaid for his services, so I had to go around and find any way to make money.”

“It must’ve been hard for you.” He said and she shook her head in agreement.

“It was, we tried to find potions or healers able to help her, we couldn’t count with the High Lord’s help cuz Thesan’s father wasn’t as good as him. People would cast her out, call her crazy, and treat her poorly for something she couldn’t control. One day, I was working in a rich family house, watching their kids and keeping the house organised. They paid well but they weren’t nice, so when I asked for the day off to take care of my mom, on a really bad episode, they refused.”

Azriel knew perfectly how she felt, it was how he felt all his life, trying to protect his mom from people who didn’t gave a fuck about them.

“So I went to work, but I didn’t know she was tired, she couldn’t take it anymore. I should’ve been there, I should have been watching her, but we also needed to eat. So she left the house, walked the whole day until she reached a beautiful ravine, and she jumped.” Azriel gasped in horror. “My father blamed me, and Caeda resented me for not being there. I still carry the way they would look at me in my memories, and this haunts me to this day, not being able to do anything.”

“How do you know about the pendant then?” Azriel dared to ask.

“When Caeda and Thesan met, they knew they’re mates, and they haven’t been separated since then, Caeda got me training and I became Thesan’s guard. In one of my studies I learned about it, and immediately knew where it was. When you finally told me about Elain, I understood. This is my redemption, the chance I have to prevent the same thing from happening again.” Azriel pulled her for a hug.

“Thank you for everything.” She nodded, and sought comfort in her mate’s embrace.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“Here you go.” She said, after another week, no explanation, no nothing, just the pendant hanging from her finger straight to his palm. He grabbed it and looked at her.

“Thank you very much.” She brushed him off.

“Just promise me you will write back.” He nodded, promising that he would, before he gathered his things and winnowed home.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Azriel watched as another letter appeared on his desk, destined to him, from her. He grabbed the envelope and discarded it on a pile of other unopened letters. He needed time to process everything that had happened.

Elain was better, the pendant held her visions back and made her slowly get back to her normal self, everyone was happy and back to their lives, but why did his heart yearn for something? For someone?

He would wake up in his own apartment, it lacked the smell of fresh coffee every morning, it lacked the subtle fragrance of her vanilla smell, it lacked the nice flowers hanging from the ceiling, it lacked the nice family photos where she smiled so brightly, it lacked her personal belongings around the space, and most importantly, it lacked her, resting her elbows on the countertop, with a damned shirt covering her perfect body, slightly tighter in the shape of her breasts and reaching the middle of her thighs, and that fucking little vision of her undergarment whenever she walked back to her room.

He missed her, a lot, but this could never work, he would rather let her forget about him, than feeding hopes of something more that would lead to more hurt and sadness in the end. So he shut those feelings for her and ignored that pull in his chest, not daring to dream of a life with her.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“I know what you did!” Thesan said, as he rose from his seat and headed to the door, inviting her in. They sat in the lounge area of his office, a soft breeze filled the room. He looked at her, really seeing her, the smile she always wore vanished, and she had bags under her eyes.

“I’m so sorry.” She didn’t see motives to try to deny, he knew and he would do whatever he wanted to her, he had that right as she stole from her own high lord.

“And I’m not mad, I didn’t know this pendant could do that, and if it’s helping someone, I’m glad it’s being used.” Thesan said and she looked at him, surprise marked her features. Thesan hadn’t seen her show another emotion other than sadness ever since a certain Shadowsinger went away. “But I need you to be honest with me, no more lies.”

“No more lies.” She agreed.

“Do you love him?” Thesan asked and she felt the tears gathering in her eyes and her chest heavy, exploring the thread between them, she nodded.

“He’s my mate, and ever since he went away, he pretends I don't exist. I sent letters and he didn't answer, I can’t simply go there without a reason.” She blurted and Thesan pulled a letter.

“Matters of the heart are a good reason to go to another court, go after him. I saw the way you looked at him, true love is so hard to find. Promise me that you will sort this out.” He begged, a stronger breeze filled the room.

“We just want you to be happy, my dear sister.” Caeda winnowed behind her, squeezing her shoulder, she turned around, hugging him with all the strength she had, then she hugged her High Lord.

“Thank you for this.” She winnowed home, preparing a small bag with some clothes and taking a long shower.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“Rhys, I’m here!” Azriel shouted as he entered the hallway leading to Rhysand’s office. He opened the doors but it wasn’t Rhys standing there waiting for him, it was Y/N. His heart almost burst out of his chest. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t answer my letters, I needed to see if you were alright.” She shifted her weight from one foot to another.

“Why do you care? It’s not like we’re really mates.” He said, and a strong pull in his chest made him flinch, like his own soul was disagreeing with him.

“That’s what you don’t get yet, we’re mates, and I will wait for you my whole life, but I don’t think I can’t wait for you like that anymore, I don’t want to be apart from you Azriel.” He looked at her in shock, was he her mate?

“Y/N, please. Don’t make this hard.” He pointed to both of them. “This won’t ever work, we’re from different courts and we can’t stay together without failing our respective duties.” His heart was splitting in two in his chest, he wanted to touch her so badly.

“Here.” She handed him an opened letter, he removed it from the envelope and read the words, but his brain couldn’t make sense of them.

“What is this?”

“My dispensation.” She smiled at him. “Thesan fired me from my job so I could be free to be with my mate!” Azriel swallowed harshly.

“And do you want that?” He approached her, his unsure hands pulled her close, and he breathed in her scent, his racing thoughts immediately gone quiet, this felt so right.

“I miss you every day, sometimes I feel your scent lingering around me, and my heart almost breaks in my chest when I realise you’re not here.” She repeated his words to him, and he pulled her to a kiss, all those confusing feelings finally vanished, giving space to the blooming love in his heart, love for her. “ I want to be with you, discover the wonders of our bond together, I want to be there when it snaps for you too. I want to love you and be loved by you.”

“It would be my honour to have you by my side, I don’t know when it will happen, but I know I’m ready to be with you.” He rested his forehead against hers.

“The bond can wait, but this can’t!” She looked at his eyes. “I love you Azriel.”

“And I love you Y/N.” He said back, kissing her with more passion than the first time. His hand sneaked to her ass. “Let’s go home, you’ve been driving me insane with that pretty ass for weeks, I need to have a taste.” He said, already starting to scent her arousal.

“We have all the time in the world, Shadowsinger.” She smirked at him. And he winnowed them home. Where they belonged.

#acotar #azriel shadowsinger #sarahjmaas #azriel #moonlightazriel #shadowsinger #azriel x reader #night court #azriel x y/n #velaris #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #dawn court #azriel x female!reader #elain acotar

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darkphilosophies · 9 months

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Prythian Haute Couture: Dawn Court

#acotar #dawn court #thesan acotar #haute couture #elie saab #fashion #acotar fandom #fashion tag #zuhair murad

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octobers-veryown · 4 months

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Hello @laxibbeb it's me! Your Secret Santa, revealed! Oh, you gave me so much inspiration with your answers and I want to thank you for the time you took to write them for me. This is the first time that I participate to the @acotargiftexchange and I felt the pressure a bit. But it's amazing when people create spaces where we can express ourselves, right? I have to say that from your first answer I got this silly little idea stuck in my mind that didn't leave my brain at all. So I decided to combine some things together. Elucien through the Courts? Say no more, I'm gonna make a whole journey for them. But how? You need to know that your lovely little Secret Santa can't cross two words together but has a small talent into visualizing concepts. So I said "Listen, what people usually do during trips?". They send postcards to their loved ones! And so here we are, with a carousel of postcards! Each one is unique for every Court and has some small messages inside! At the end, a small story came to me and I just realized it when I finished!

I really really hope you will appreciate your gift, I created a little tracklist too as you can see. <3

Please click on the pictures for a better quality and details because I know that Tumblr LOVES to make jokes. I really suggest the desktop mode!

TO THE SPRING COURT

TO THE SUMMER COURT

TO THE WINTER COURT

TO THE DAWN COURT

TO THE AUTUMN COURT

TO THE DAY COURT

Small surprise at the end with the Night Court involved ;)

Thank you so much for reading until here!

#elucien #acotar #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #acotar gift exchange #acotar secret santa 2023 #secret santa #acotar edit #acotar aesthetic #acotar courts #Winter court #Summer court #Night court #spring court #Day Court #dawn court

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nightcourtseer · 4 months

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III. Dawn

Read on A03

Summary: Azriel and Elain enjoy a much-needed respite in Dawn.

Dedicated to @santkazoya for the 2023 @acotargiftexchange

The streets of the city were near empty as flaring morning sun peaked over the hilltops to light the streets in gold-soaked cobblestone.

“Have you been here before?” Elain asked, tilting her head as she looked around while they walked.

“Once or twice,” Azriel replied with a smirk, and Elain looked over to make a face at him, barely restraining herself from quipping back a comment about his age.

As if he read her mind, Azriel laughed quietly and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“But this is the best visit yet, even under the circumstances.”

Elain tightened her hold around his arm.

They had given themselves one morning. One morning of rest, having arrived in Dawn late the previous night. Thesan had entertained them with a glittering dinner into the late hours of the evening, until Elain had made her excuses and Azriel escorted her back to her chambers.

Only, not much sleeping had occurred when they arrived.

The night had stretched on and Elain greeted the first sight of the morning sun through the kaleidoscope of colors contained in the stretch of Azriel’s wings as he pressed into her. She held him close as he slowly, luxuriously made love to her as if all of the time in the world was theirs.

Azriel could only marvel at her as the sun gilded the halo of Elain’s hair splayed beneath her as she came with a quiet cry. He knew no sunrise would ever compare to that one - there was no possibility that he could ever feel such a heartbreaking combination of elation and melancholy as when she pulled him closer still so that there was no distance between them as he reached his peak as well. Giving her everything he had as he burrowed his face into the warmth of her neck, feeling the race of her heartbeat beneath his own.

When they had finally untangled themselves, Azriel had pulled Elain into his chest so that they could watch the dark sky illuminate itself with pinks and oranges and lilacs.

“Sleep, or see the city?” he had asked as he lazily drifted up and down her arm with a scarred hand.

Elain pressed herself up to face him with a hand on his bare chest. The stark paleness of her skin in contract to the whorls of black ink.

“City,” she responded excitedly, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. Even though dark circles lined her eyes, and a pleasant soreness had settled in her limbs, she rushed to pull on a simple dress reticent of the rising sun itself before pushing Azriel out the door.

It was those same dark circles underneath both of their eyes that prompted Azriel to begin the search the streets for a specific kind of storefront.

“Let’s stop here for a few moments,” he said, gesturing to a small shop nestled in the middle of the quiet street - the only shop where a living thing seemed to stir, as its owner swept the fallen leaves out front. Winter had not yet fully arrived in the more southern solar court, the trees only just having shed the last of their brilliant colors.

Azriel was secretly thankful that no vibrant hues of Autumn dared trickle into the oasis that they had found in Dawn. Although that conversation, and the topic of its prince and the inevitable visit to his homeland, lurked on the horizon just beyond the shadows.

As Azriel steered them to the direction of the door that had been left wide open while its shopkeeper worked, Elain’s face flushed as she went to untable herself from Azriel’s arm. But Azriel only offered her shoulder a comforting squeeze.

“No one will question us here,” he murmured into her ear as he sensed her hesitation. “They say Day Court is for lovers, but there is no match to Dawn when it comes to privacy and discretion.”

Elain nodded, a sense of relief setting into her as she relaxed once more under the comforting weight of the Illyrian’s arm. There would be no need to hider here then - no need to shield herself with a different pair of eyes, or an unfamiliar set of locks.

“You’re open?” Azriel inquired as they approached. The middle aged fae nodded with a small smile, his dusty blonde hair curling over the nape of his neck. Elain tried not to gawk at the strange palor of his skin, and of the extra long and nimble fingers wrapped around the length of the broom. She knew there were lesser fae around, but she had rarely encountered many outside of her limited travels. Curiosity bit at her cheeks, but she stayed silent even as she wished to talk with the shopkeeper, to learn about his life.

There would be time, she reassured herself. This would not be their last visit to Dawn.

As Azriel led her inside the small shop, the comforting smells of home enveloped her - the scents of her own kitchen. Coffee and tea and spices cocooned her as she admired the rich decor of the patisserie.

Colorful glassware in a sunrise of pastel hues were displayed on glass shelves behind the counter, which was near overflowing with freshly-baked targs and pastries and quiche in a rainbow of jams and fruits and crusts.

Steam still swirled around them inside of the large glass case, twisting like the drowsy shadows hidden away underneath the lavender skirts of Elain’s dress.

Small nooks and dark wooden bistro tables were scattered around the narrow space, and Azriel picked up a piece of newspaper off the edge of the countertop before guiding them to the front corner booth with the best view of the awakening street outside of the large window.

The booth was small, and Azriel carefully tucked himself in next to Elain, furling his wings carefully so as not to bump her as he returned a warm arm arounx her shoulder, unfolding that day’s paper in front of them.

Elain couldn’t help a small, sad smile from quirking at the corner of her lips as she sunk further into his side, curled into the side of his chest as she met his gaze.

“Is this alright?” He asked her, voice still slightly rough from the low moans and other sorts of desperate sounds that Elain had teased from him late into the night.

“I just wish it could always be like this,” Elain answered, turning her head to face put the window as she couldn’t bear to catch the glimmer of shared pain reflected back at her in the shadowsinger’s hazel eyes.

She knew he felt the same.

“The paper?” She asked curiously, trying to lift their moods once more when she turned back to him, scanning the printed ink that Azriel had opened in front of them.

“If you truly want to know the goings-on in any court,” Azriel surmised, brow furrowed as he scanned the headlines. “The best place to start is with its own citizens.”

Elain pressed closer to him still as she joined him in reading the latest that the Dawn Court had to offer.

But soon, the words began to swirl together and her eyes grew heavy. The lull of the comforting scents of home and the exhaustion from the night before intermingled until she felt an inevitable sense of drowsiness that blanketed her as warmly as Azriel’s wing.

Before long, the shop faded away into warm, sun-soaked dreams.

Elain’s mind drifted while she slept, with thankfully no nightmares to disturb her few moments of peaceful rest. All thoughts of Koschei and his soul pieces gone - all that occupied Elain’s mind was the sensation of Azriel’s warm shoulder beneath her head, the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat, the rustle of pages that reminded Elain so happily of so many days sat drinking tea in the garden while Azriel poured over reports.

The shop was quiet, save for the owner in the back humming quietly to himself. The clink of glassware like wind chimes, and the whistle of a kettle an accompanying flute.

Once, Elain could have sworn she felt the rumble of Azriel’s chest and the low, siren song of his voice. But not directed at her, it was not enough to rouse her from her light sleep.

It could have been minutes or hours before she stirred.

Elain woke to Azriel’s body curling around her protectively as his lips grazed her forehead. Elain mumbled something in discontentment until Azriel’s nose brushed against hers, pressing a barely there kiss to her lips as the angle of his body gave her privacy to wake.

“Coffee’s here,” he murmured into her ear, and the sensation was enough to send a shiver down Elain’s spine that fully woke her.

“I’m awake,” she grinned, her eyes still heavy as she fought sleep to come back to him.

“You say as such, but I have a hard time believing you when your eyes are still shut,” his voice lilted, amusement coloring his normally even tone.

She let out a small sigh as she forced her eyes to open fully, blinking away the harsh glare of the now-risen sun flooding the still-quiet shop.

The sight in front of her held her attention as she gaped at the spread that Azriel had clearly ordered when she dozed. About a dozen various delicacies were spread out before them, some she didn’t even recognize. And two cups of coffee in dark shades of purple glass sat waiting, steam rising and wafting the bitter, comforting scent of morning toward them.

“What is that?” Elain asked, scrunching her nose as she leaned closer to examine the cup in front of Azriel.

“Coffee,” he replied, confused and he turned to look at her. “Why?”

“That’s a cup of milk and sugar,” she cringed as he lifted the full cup to his lips.

“To each their own,” Azriel replied, his hazel eyes alight as he took a long, luxurious taste as Elain shuddered.

“Besides,” he added, mischief still ripe in his deep morning voice. He leaned closer, as if to whisper a secret in her ear as he let his lips brush the point of it. “I like sweet things, remember?”

A flash of a memory, a burst of desperation from Summer and a dark head pressed between her thighs. Elain flushed, willing her arousal to tamper so that it wouldn’t be detected by the shop owner pattering away in the kitchen.

“Don’t say such things when we’re so far from our suite,” Elain responded as smoothly as she could, tilting her head up to meet his churning gaze. Azriel’s own cheeks pinkened in a barely there blush as he willed his own body to calm its rising storm.

“What should we try first?” she asked, turning back to the spread in front of them. She marveled that such a place was still empty, even as the streets had slowly began to fill with more shop owners and meandering browsers. She had a sneaking suspicion that the male beside her might have something to do with the way that they still had the shop all to themselves.

“Everything,” Azriel laughed, tipping his head back as he reached for a place of pastry that was overflowing with fresh, fragrant berries. She marveled in the brightness in his eyes, the richness of his laugh that made her heartache and want to hear it again, and again, and again.

“Then let’s begin,” Elain responded with her own laugh, pressing a grateful kiss to his warm cheek. “I’m starving.”

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel #acotar fanfiction #pro elriel #elain x azriel #pro elain #elriel fanfiction #elriel fic #azriel shadowsinger #dawn #dawn court

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ladydevena · 12 days

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Can I just say, the fact that the high lords don’t all wear generic crowns in their colors, but it actually ties to their courts makes me happy?and they probably all have quite a few different themed ones?

Tamlin with his burnished gold laurel leaf crown at the wedding that was a courtly version of the calanmai crown he probably dawns each year? And his tithe crown is so suited to more strict moments with its representation of wealth and stability?

Tarquin with his silver cresting waves and blue gemstones for a casual night out on the town? As asymmetrically stunning as the very waters he connects his court to, the blues of the stones glinting with white and green and the depths of the very ocean hidden by the brash, crashing beauty created by the surface?

Helions spiked gold crown as vicious and pointed yet beautiful and picturesque as the suns rays? As warm in color as his skin yet simple and statement making in it power just like helion himself- not needing much adornment to radiate the strength, beauty and deadly power and wicked intelligence he holds?

Rhys has a raven feather crown which makes me wonder if previous highlords of night weren’t just serpentile like the creatures of the hewn city but dark winged and raven featured in some way? (And Feyres crown - complimentary to Rhys isn’t just a newly made item, it existed in tandem with his for previous ladies of night I’m assuming so it ties to the court that way as well?)

Autumn court with its mixture of Medieval English and conqueror era Spanish style in my head? With traditional red and green stones highlighted the most and silver and gold alike, crosses and points to their headwear? Very formal and structured, not just to denote their position, but to reinforce tradition, wealth, class structures, very inline with what I’d assume of the autumn courts viciousness mentioned in the books? Beautiful but vicious.

Winter court with near white shining metals, carved glass and crystal bases for ice diamonds; blue, gray, & frosty fogged stones? Dark blues and wicked gnarled features representing barren branches and shards of ice????

Dawn court with its sweeping elegance and love of beautiful embellishments and pension for color? The people are noted to be largely from Xian as noted by SJM and I always imagine dawn court to be a beautiful mix of Indian and Chinese culture, and the jewelry reflects it, beautifully Intrically carved warm toned metals that depict stories or symbolism entertwined with the culture? Stoned used abundantly yet they’re never garish? They only enhance and bring out the beauty of the crowns and reflect the cultures within the court itself?

(Like I’d love to dive deeper into it and maybe make or paint the crowns one day but that’s a different story)

That’s it that’s the post grammar be darned.

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mt-jupiter · 5 months

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i figured it would be fun to make little head-shots of what i imagine some of the acotar characters to look like ! starting with thesan because i absolutely adore him and really wish we could learn more about him + the dawn court as a whole ! 🧡

#thesan #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #thesan acotar #dawn court #high lord of the dawn court #fanart #acotar fanart #acowar #art #digital art

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dawneternal · 8 days

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Masterlist | The Benevolent

☁︎ Eris Vanserra x Dawn Court OC

☁︎ Summary: The Lady of Autumn hires a healer behind Beron's back. Sworn to secrecy, the healer helps Eris when he is punished by his father and forbidden to see a healer from their court. Eris did not expect to find himself growing attached. He comes to realize that he may know plenty about sacrifice, but he has a lot to learn about choosing to live for the ones you love.

☁︎ Warnings: descriptions of wounds and blood, talk of physical abuse, talk of domestic violence

☁︎ AO3 Link (coming soon)

☁︎ Other things:

- Aya moodboard

- my art of Aya

☁︎ one - bound

☁︎ two -

☁︎ three -

☁︎ four -

☁︎ five -

☁︎ six

☁︎ seven -

☁︎ eight -

☁︎ nine -

☁︎ ten -

☁︎ eleven -

☁︎ twelve -

☁︎ thirteen -

☁︎ fourteen -

☁︎ fifteen -

☁︎ bonus scene

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lorcandidlucienwill · 22 days

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A court of Elain Archeron 🥰: Autumn, Day, Winter, Spring, Dawn, Night, Summer

#elain archeron #pro elain archeron #acotar fashion #autumn court #spring court #dawn court #night court #summer court #winter court #day court

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norwigianbluefairy · 4 months

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The Wall.

So this is what the "Wall" looked like before it fell... Kinda awesome, actually.😳

#acotar #acowar #acofas #acomaf #acosaf #high fae #night court #autumn court #summer court #spring court #day court #dawn court #winter court #acotar the wall

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animezinglife · 2 months

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Opinion:

I know Sarah predominantly writes from the female POV, but I wouldn't be opposed to a little novella about Tarquin once the ACOTAR series has wrapped.

He's such a cute child of eighty and is already so done with all of the grown-ups' drama. It'd be cute to see him bopping around his court, lounging on the beach, being flirted with, etc.

I'd actually love several novellas from other courts, actually.

What's Briar up to these days in Winter?

What about the Lady of Autumn?

I'd love to know more about Thesan, too.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #tarquin #summer court #briar acotar #winter court #thesan #thesan acotar #dawn court

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eudaimonia83 · 4 months

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OMG OMG OMG IM ACTUALLY UPDATING

This is not a drill!!!

I know no one cares anymore, but I’m SO EXCITED bc I literally pulled this out of my brain about eight words at a time, for ten thousand+ words. It was excruciating.

CHAPTER 7 — LUCIEN

The wind was cold, blessedly cold, against his hot face.

Lucien felt as though the past few days had slid by in interrupted bursts of time, everything occurring too quickly before screeching to a halt where felt like he was stuck in honey, or a fish snagged on a hook. Either too much had happened, or not enough. The taut, tense meeting with Rhysand in the River House the morning after Solstice had started it all.

Well, no. His mind prickled, and he rubbed the back of his neck. He knew what had really sent him into a spin. Not court work or spycraft. Not even worrying about what had happened on the docks, which he had been so careful to try to conceal.

He opened his cloak to check that it was still there. The amber pin with its gold clasp and black lacquer etching, sitting pert against his tunic and protected by his coat, that drew his attention at all times of the day or night, wondering…how had she known?

He’d gotten used to the whole Solstice experience of being invited to the party but existing on its fringes, weathering Azriel’s cold glances and Cassian’s overbearing merriment, evading Amren’s keen stares, playing the dapper gentleman to Feyre because it was easy, how they’d first known each other. But she had taken him aside and given him this.

It was beautiful. He knew it as he trained his Fae eyes upon it, knew from his upbringing around treasures and artisans, knew it to be handmade of fine materials and worked with spells from time out of mind, that the jewelers and metallurgists had learned from the gods themselves, if you believed such things.

But how could she have known that this…that the hyraeths…that they were a part of his heart as much as the blood vessels and the beat and the muscle?

Lucien ascended the stairs to his Velaris apartment slowly, trying to let the rhythm of the climb clear his head. His place was the second floor of a majestic stone house that had long since been divided into multiple residences. It had loud hallways and several families with multiple children, all coming and going at all the times of day; which was why he had chosen it. In a secret city, he wanted as anonymous an existence as he could maintain. No one asking or noticing or seeing if he’d come or gone or stayed.

The door creaked as he leaned into it, opening into the narrow entry hall. He’d managed to get some furnishings before he’d been shipped back to Spring and then the human lands, though the floors were still bare and the kitchen still empty. There was a massive oak wardrobe from Dawn, complete with intricate locking mechanisms to keep papers and valuables secure, all warm with inlaid wood in the design of the rising sun; wide couches and ottomans in buttery soft leather from Summer, dyed the rich teal of the ocean; deep gold wool blankets with patterns of scarlet leaves from Autumn, folded neatly on the arm of the sofa. It was there that Lucien sat, facing the windows, still lost in thought. Remembering.

The bright light of a hyraeth glittering just out of reach. Two hands reaching up to scoop it out of the air, to show him as it lit the cocoon of her hands like the flame of a candle. No, brighter. Like a tiny star flickering with exhaustion between her fingers. Setting it on a thread with its fellows, to rest and to feed until they mated in the massive grove. Staring up over his head at a great tent of them with the hemlock trunk at its center, glittering and undulating in the wind, sparkling bravely against the darkness. And how grief had welled up in his chest as they died, falling in golden drips to the ground as their lives came to an end. Her voice, gentle and warm, thrilling him with every word: I’d protect them all until I died. It’s my mission and my purpose. A flash of copper, bright across his vision, peering between the fuzz of pine needles on branches, lit from behind by two brown eyes dusted with flecks of gold…

He jolted back to the present with a sigh. It would do no good. It had never done any good to let his mind wander back to those days, halcyon and gleaming and studded with the fluttering, rippling light of the hyraeths…before everything had gone so terribly, terribly wrong.

He leaned forward, letting his head hang until his braids touched his knees. Those days were gone, and he was here in this cold court, and he had questions to answer.

Questions.

A new voice, echoing soft in his ears, hollow with despair: I have more questions than when I started, Lucien…

Elain. Anxious and mysterious and torn.

He shook his head and got up, pacing down the hall to the kitchen, where a solitary bottle of Velaris whiskey sat half-finished on the counter. Lucien poured it into a glass and took a sip. It was bitter on his tongue, not smooth and sweet like the Autumn whiskey he’d grown up drinking, but it had that hint of smoke that he craved, and the bite of the alcohol pulled him into focus. She was researching — he knew Gwyn and Clotho had allowed her to go to the library. But would she find what she needed if she couldn’t tell them what she was looking for?

She found what would touch my heart, somehow. Even though I didn’t tell her.

Maybe he could do her that favor. Be her research assistant, even from a distance. Answer some of the questions that tore at her heart.

Two brains are better than one, he could almost hear another sarcastic voice teasing.

Yes. Maybe there. Maybe she could point me to the right scholar, the right library, the right court…

He tossed back the contents of the glass, winced at the burn, and wiped his mouth. It wasn’t too far to winnow. And no one would miss him if he was gone for one night, to see an old friend.

Lucien seized a clean tunic and breeches out of the wardrobe and stuffed them into his shoulder bag before strapping on his knife and pulling his cloak around him.

He left the little hyraeth pin snug against his chest. It wouldn’t do to leave it. It was too valuable to sit rotting in this apartment while he was away.

Happy Solstice, Lucien…

He felt the echo of her fingers on his collarbones as the winnow opened and he spun into nothingness, and out again.

——————

As always, the first thing he noticed was the light. The rosy gold glow spilled across his shoulders at a low angle, stretching his shadow to twice his own height. And the plaster of the houses took that light and turned it into a gentle yellow, so soft it almost looked spreadable.

Dawn.

Dawn was one of Lucien’s favorite courts to visit, for as long as he could remember, if only to see the pink clouds scudding across the sky. It was the loveliest sky in Prythian, even eclipsing the magnificent stars of Night, because the sun was always peeking gently around the horizon, as though you might catch it in mischief. And the city of Eós was stirring awake like a cat, stretching languidly in the early light. Bakeries bustled behind closed doors, brimming with the buttery smells of kouign-amann, and the caramel of burnt sugar. The multiple workshops and tinkerers’ houses were rustling to life. And on the hill at the center of the city, the great Sky Mirror, a huge lake ringed with a massive and ornate glass frame, would catch the rising sun and amplify it as it ascended, sending brilliance bursting into each home.

He was steps away from the house he was heading to. The roads here were yellow slate blocks, pushed vertically into the ground so only a narrow edge showed, and clustered into intricate patterns and geometric mosaics. His bootheels thudded against it. You could never hide your approach in Dawn; even the ground would announce your presence. He noticed a little mechanical owl scuttle up the branches of a small tree. Someone’s alarm system, he had no doubt. In this society filled with tinkerers and engineers, there was always some new gadget out for testing, some new fusion of alchemy with physical science to achieve a new goal. There were fewer libraries here than in Day, but far more workshops and experiments proceeding into the final phases, all with the backing of the High Lord and his councilors.

And as he came around the corner, he ran almost headlong into the woman he’d come to see.

She was tall and slender, angular, even though her shoulders sloped from leaning forward over books, endless mock-ups, and prototypes. Her dark hair escaped in tendrils from the cursory braid she’d thrown it into, and her tunic was covered with an oil-stained apron. She’d been in her workshop then. And on her shoulder, blinking its bright brass eyes, was the little owl. He heard the hiss of a gear as it hopped once and took flight.

She was staring at him, face blank. Her eyes were dark and troubled, her face more lined than when he’d last seen her.

“Nuan.” He stepped closer.

She drew herself up, almost as tall as he was, and brushed stray hair out of her face with a brusqueness indicative of irritation. She was working on something. I interrupted. He gathered himself to apologize, but she cut him off before he even began.

“Lucien,” she said, her voice rich and sorrowful. It was always how she greeted him. Just his name, just an acknowledgement of his presence. It said more than she probably even meant it to. It brought back so many memories, all in a rush: her, tight with anger, fixing a metal tendon on her mechanical arm, growing more and more frustrated as the metal refused to stretch to give her more freedom of movement; her, shrinking away as Tamlin melted back from beast to fae, begging her for help and offering to shield her from Amarantha in return; her, refusing protection, standing straight and gaunt, fully expecting the attor or Rhysand to come steal her away for torture in the darkest spaces Under the Mountain; him, gore crusted on his face, eye searing with pain and bubbling dark blood whenever he talked or moved, croaking out “please…I’ve been so stupid,” when she finally stepped closer and those cold golden fingers reached for his face.

She had forgiven him his foolishness, at once and fully. It was the strangest and most complicated friendship he had in the entire continent. And yet it was also the simplest, in its way. She was the only one who was scarred as he was, the only one for whom she’d agreed to tinker a new body part, despite hundreds writing her asking for her help, despite generals and barons and lords offering her wild sums of money and gifts if she could but rebuild their armies, their warriors, their friends. She had said no to all of it, shut the workshop doors firmly, taken up study in other fields of science and engineering.

Except for once. Except to help him. He had never known how to thank her for that, and she had never given any reason why she’d said yes.

Now, standing before her as the pink rays played on the horizon, he knew he was coming to take advantage of her yet again. And yet he loved her fiercely. It was a truth that welled guilt inside him anytime he thought about it too long — how many people had sacrificed how much to take in his prodigal ass. To care for him. To love him. How would he ever return that favor?

“Hello.” He reached out his hand, hoping she’d take it. “It’s been a…long time.”

“Yes,” she said, sharply. He frowned in confusion, and caught her expression as she looked hard to the side, and gestured to the wall lining the street he’d come down. She pointed silently, and the stones of the wall began to roll in their mortared settings, rumbling apart to reveal a narrow doorway. She pushed him through it with a hand on his head, still saying nothing; they emerged in a little courtyard, where the grass grew a bit too long and the main features were the lopsided shapes of unfinished contraptions, like some sort of half-built sculpture garden. Prototypes, built in wood and brass and leather. Skeletons that would not deteriorate, but would grow into…what exactly? He stared at the wooden outline of a person, arms akimbo. The frame of a wing extended behind it, and thin leather oiled to near-transparency stretched across delicate wooden bones and joints. Tiny brass wires fanned out across the leather from the wooden joints, labeled with little tags that fluttered in the breeze.

He spoke without turning around, knowing she was behind him with her arms crossed, the gleam of her golden wrist bright behind her work gloves. “Are you teaching this little wooden pixie how to fly?”

Her face was closed tight. “Something like that. What are you doing here, Lucien?”

Not going to go the way he had planned, then.

“I came to see you. It’s been too long and I love the Dawn sky.” He smiled disarmingly.

She raised her eyebrow. “Yes, and? You don’t go anywhere without the behest of the High Lord of the Night Court these days, and even then, you never came to see me unless you wanted something.”

He faltered.

She barked a laugh. “Twas ever thus, I suppose. Be honest, lost little prince. What are you looking for? The Faebane antidote wasn’t enough for the King Under the Mountain? Because you can go back and tell him all his jeweled dragon hoard isn’t enough, I won’t be on his payroll.”

“I’m not here because of Rhysand,” he objected. It was a reasonable thing for her to assume, but it still stung, worse here than even in Spring, since it meant that his wretched position in the Night Court’s employ had attached firmly to his reputation. “I really did come to see you.”

“Bullshit.” She squared her shoulders, but her jawline weakened ever so slightly. At least she would listen.

“What is it you’re working on?” he asked, hoping to steer the conversation by asking her about herself. Nuan was private, but she had passions, and her intellect was sharp and expansive enough that with a little prodding, she would overflow with enough detail to spin the heads of anyone but the Scholars’ High Council in the Day Court.

“Don’t con me,” she snapped. “I’m tracing nerves and micro vessels in skin and connective tissues, and trying to mimic their function, if you must know. And does that make any sense to you?”

“No.”

“I wouldn’t think so.” Pride swelled in her voice. “So why did you come? You know that travel safety all over Prythian is worse than it was before Hybern invaded, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“And traipsing around hither and thither is the best way to run into something, or someone, unsavory?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“And you still came here unannounced.”

“It was important.”

“To whom?”

“To me.” It was out of his mouth before he could think better of it. “Not to anyone else. If Rhysand knew I was here he’d think about it for all of two seconds and then move on to his mate.”

She snorted derisively. “He’s a fanatic about that female.”

“He’s become increasingly short-sighted,” Lucien said, anger welling up in him anew, despite all the dozens of times he’d exhausted himself trying to suppress it. “Nothing matters to him besides Velaris and Feyre, and maybe his son, now. Before he was just a blackguard with too much power. But now, whatever we tell him of uncomfortable truths gets lost before it even reaches his thoughts.” He thought of their meeting, in the great office with the mountains in the background, trying to impress upon the High Lord the suffering of the humans; and how when he hadn’t been distracted, he’d been annoyed just to bring up the subject.

“Through love all is possible,” she intoned solemnly. “So. Perhaps the rest of his court can finally flourish while he focuses his black gaze exclusively on Feyre. They’ve certainly been waiting long enough.”

“I doubt it.”

“Is she properly recovered from her birthing yet?”

How she’d heard of that debacle, he had no idea. “Yes. Thanks to her sister.”

“Which sister?”

He frowned. “Nesta. Why?”

“Because Rhysand’s not the only one obsessed with an Archeron.” She gave him a pointed glance, then turned and stalked into the house, calling back over her shoulder. “Come in. If we must talk politics, at least let’s not do it in the cold.”

He crossed beneath the threshold, and the little brass owl chirped and whirred. His eye spun in response, for all the world as though it were saying hello.

The kitchen was cluttered but warm, lined with terracotta tiles and yellow slate in the exact same hue as the street paving stones. The fire caught all the gold and russet and played with it merrily, casting the whole room with golden light. Nuan crossed to the open hearth and filled a giant teakettle, then dropped in a handful of leaves that smelled of ginger and pear. She added cardamom as the steam began to rise, then placed the lid back and turned around.

“Well. Since you’re not here in an official capacity, then, can I ask you how you are?”

“I’m well,” he responded automatically.

“Of course you are,” she agreed. “Angry at Rhysand, who pays your salary…living in exile with humans and pleading their cause to the mighty to no avail…let’s hope that mate of yours has warmed to you, else you’d understandably be tense as a cat amongst the pixies.”

Lucien smiled. Nuan always did this. Despite her sharp tongue, which she wielded with even more accuracy than Nesta Archeron, she had a way of making anyone feel protected — provided they were under her wing. It was the difference between being in a dragon’s nest, among the eggs, or facing it head-on. “I missed you,” he admitted.

She finally grinned at him, her dark eyes crinkling at the edges. “I’m sure you did. So much you couldn’t even send a letter. Paralyzed by nostalgia for my cluttered workshop and my dusty company.”

He laughed helplessly and shrugged, accepted the tea mug she held out, and then collapsed into a chair, leaning back on two of its wooden legs so that it tilted against the wall. A little circular brass brush buzzed officiously under his feet, cleaning up dust and crumbs. “I started writing many times. I just…never finished.” He took a deep draught of the tea, which was hot but not scalding, and tasted refreshingly sharp from the ginger.

She cocked her eyebrow at him and curled her fingers around her own cup. “I know you’re wanted by everyone in all seven courts and at least two foreign kingdoms, but spare a thought for your old friends occasionally.”

“I think about you all the time,” he protested. “Especially when I’m talking to Vassa.”

“The human queen?”

“She has your tenacity.” Lucien always found describing Vassa to the Fae difficult, but Nuan nodded with a slightly faraway look in her eyes. “She wants to know everything; asks incessant questions, doesn’t relinquish conversation until she’s satisfied I’ve told her everything I know. And even then I’m not certain she believes me. I can imagine her holding out through all the mess that the human lands are going through now. Trying to understand things, to find solutions.”

Tendrils of Nuan’s dark hair slipped over her shoulder as a ribbon of steam rose from the cup. “She could do good things for her people. If the curse can be broken…”

“It seems not.”

She gestured in the air, a weary acknowledgement of the difficulty of the task. “Perhaps broken is the wrong word. Perhaps we’re thinking about it in the wrong way. Advancement in science and engineering and innovation is, after all, most often a shift not in knowledge but in perspective. I hope that’s also true for magic.”

He raised his eyebrows and felt his scar pull as the golden eye, excited by the presence of its creator, whizzed beneath the eyelid. “Exactly why I said she reminds me of you.”

“Stubborn.”

“Smart,” he countered. “And of course unwilling to let anyone else win an argument.”

The whites of her eyes flashed as she rolled them, but the laugh that jumped from her was genuine. “At least you didn’t call me resilient,” she shot back, a note of bitterness in her amusement. “The worst word, I think. When no one sees you except for how you’ve been hurt.” She flexed her golden fingers. “Speaking of wounds, how is yours?”

He pointed to the eye. “This? Unsightly as ever, but no worse.”

She squinted over the rim of her cup. “I meant more invisible ones. You came from Night, didn’t you?” Her nostrils flared as she scented. “You smell of Velaris…all river-water and cold air.”

Damn her. He’d been wondering how to elegantly bring up the questions he came here to ask, but as usual, she’d arrived at the heart of the matter with the precision of a scalpel. “I did.”

He’d tried to keep his tone neutral, but something must have changed in his face. She gazed at him sharply for a moment, then reached out a hand, palm up. “Let me see the eye.”

“Why?”

“I’ll give it a tune-up,” she said briskly. “Check the gears, adjust the spells. While you tell me what you went back to that awful city for.”

Lucien hesitated and then, cringing slightly at the sensation, pulled down his lower eyelid and stuck his finger and thumb into the socket, bracketing the golden eye between his fingers. He hated the sucking pull of removing it…it was remarkably close to how it had felt to have the real eye gouged out, which came rushing back with revulsion whenever he touched it, although with less pain. He swallowed hard and tugged. It came loose after a moment’s resistance and whizzed in his fingers, sounding — though he knew this was idiotic — a bit irritated.

Nuan grinned as he handed it to her, and set it down into a soft cloth on the workshop table. “I like how it likes you,” she said, pushing her sleeves up. Her arm gleamed dully as it caught the light. “One of my best creations. Hello, little thing,” she crooned at it, tilting it back and forth, peering acutely at its shimmering surface. There were minuscule etchings on it that fired as she examined it. It rolled over of its own accord and she chuckled. “You’re a proper little rascal. Has Lucien taught you, shown you all manner of things you shouldn’t know? I don’t doubt it.”

Lucien squinted, limited to half his field of vision. “It’s an eye. What shouldn’t it know?”

She gave him a dirty look. “Just trying to acknowledge all the hot spots you’ve gotten into.”

“Most of them weren’t even mine,” he objected. “Except the times I mouthed off.”

“Oh yes, except for those rare instances.” Her sarcasm dripped like nectar, and he rolled his natural eye with a helpless chuff of a laugh.

“I can’t keep quiet. Never have. Likely I never will, at this point.”

But Nuan was no longer listening; she had put on her magnifying spectacles, which cartoonishly enlarged her eyes so she looked remarkably like her little brass owl sentinel, and she was staring at the orb of the eye with a tiny line forming between her brows, shifting into a perplexed expression.

“What is it?” The back of Lucien’s neck prickled.

It took her a moment to answer, holding the eye as though gauging its weight. “It’s odd,” she finally said, tilting her head to the side and elevating the eye so the shop faelight descended from overhead to cover the table in a brilliant cone. “It’s as if — as if it became unbalanced. Like all the charms in it are stuck on one side. Have you noticed any change in the way it functions? The way you see? The things you can see?”

He shook his head, dumbfounded. “It’s been normal, but…”

“But?”

“Well…” He had wanted to talk about this, to ask her opinion, so why did it suddenly feel illicit? Dangerous? “There was an incident. Recently.”

She put the eye down and lifted off her spectacles, watching him with crescent eyebrows.

“I encountered magic I’d never seen before. Never heard of.”

“Where?” A crisp, precise question. The answer was more troublesome.

“It was by the docks in Velaris. A strange place…sort of a squatter’s nest. But made of boats. Anchored to trash and refuse.” He took in a breath to slow his heart, which had begun to race. “I think the people there had odd abilities. Or some of them did. I noticed that my eye was moving oddly, like it was sticky. Or like it was pulled towards this female with the strange powers.”

“What in the name of the Mother and her Cauldron were you doing in a place like that?” Nuan demanded. He bristled; it was the sort of tone his mother might have adopted to berate him for staying out all night.

“I didn’t intend to visit, I just…ended up there. I winnowed in.”

“Blindly?”

He nodded. “I was looking for Elain.”

Surprise bled over her so quickly it altered the entire shape of her face: everything went round, from eyes to mouth.

“Before you ask, I didn’t know why she was there, but…she pulled on the bond. So I went. And she was being chased by this female. A Lesser Fae, I believe, but with deep and strange powers.”

“Of what sort?”

“I don’t know,” Lucien admitted. “She told Elain she was a witch, trained in folk lore and legend.”

“How did you get away?” Nuan demanded. Her fingers were rigid against the work table; if she held it any tighter, it might have permanent imprints of her nails.

He ran a hand over his face — how to tell the rest of that night simply, without sacrificing accuracy? He settled on a half-truth, at least for the moment. “I shot her with a Faebane arrow.”

Nuan brought up the eye again, turning it, and picked up a tiny, narrow screwdriver from the table. She blew on the eye and traced one of its etchings with the tool, painstakingly drawing the pointed edge along the surface. It hummed, then hissed and split open along a near-invisible line. Inside, a multitude of tiny gears whirred and spun — and indeed, all of them were clustered along one side, instead of being evenly spaced in the center. She stared at it, open like an egg cradled in her two hands. “A witch, she said? Elain said she called herself that?”

Lucien shrugged. “I assumed she was being dramatic. For effect.” Everyone knew witches were only creatures of legend. They had vanished from Prythian before even the creation of the Middle, when the Daglan ruled the lands and goblins and strigoi preyed on High and Lesser Fae alike.

When Nuan spoke again, her voice was low and tremulous. “The charms on my tinkering are nearly ironclad, Lucien. On any tinkering, as a condition, a quality control of its manufacture. Only a powerful force — an elemental force, like a current — could affect its material this way. It is built to respond only to you, and your ideas, your brain, your commands. To resist influence by anyone else, so no one can co-opt its use. As its builder, I will always have a small degree of control over it, but it is supposed to function as if it were a part of your own body. To see it like this is —“

“Strange?”

“Concerning.” She picked up the screwdriver and slowly, painstakingly began loosening the gears and moving them in the tiny orb, stationing them back where they were meant to be. “Witches. Hmm.”

“It was nonsense. Just a way to shield herself from telling Elain the truth about her powers, I’m sure. Witches are gone from Prythian,” Lucien said. He was suddenly tired. Half of his vision gone pounded his head into a dull throbbing ache.

“Well,” Nuan said absently, applying a minute drop of amber oil to the gears and nudging them with the point of her stylus, spinning them faster. “That’s very possible. Even after they disappeared their abilities stayed legendary, all over Prythian. To this day. In some tribes it’s almost like invoking a monster to call down the witches. Even to mention them. There’s at least one tribe in the foothills near Under the Mountain who tell a folk tale that Amarantha came to Prythian because someone made the mistake of calling upon the Morgana, the darkest of the witches from their lore.”

“How do you know so much about them?” Lucien asked.

“I don’t,” she said, matter-of-fact as she extracted a tiny gear from the eye and elevated it into the air, where it rotated idly. She lifted another tool that looked like a tiny golden pin, looping it as though writing, and as she did, more tiny golden marks appeared on the surface of the metal. “But no one ever really did. The only thing that was ever clear about their magic was their ability to take it from others — which of course made people fear them deeply. They were strange, wild creatures, preying where gifts were plentiful. But they had a place in the natural order; a way to keep things in check. To keep a truce between the powerful.” She snorted derisively as she inscribed more golden writing on the tiny gear in marks so small they were almost invisible. “It fits that Dawn would be a place their influence and legend would stay alive. We have always been the interim, the balance between the stronger solar courts, ever since Dusk disappeared into memory. The bright, blessed Day, and the dark, looming Night. Each of whom could roll over in their sleep and crush us without a second thought. Equilibrium is in our interest here. But who knows what price we might have to pay to get it?”

She looked up at him and blinked, her eyes huge behind the spectacles, and after a moment of silence, burst out into peals of laughter. “Oh, Cauldron boil me. Close your mouth, Lucien, you look like you’ve been hit in the back of the head. It’s my privilege to wander in thought a bit.” She flung the cloth at him, hitting him in the face; he scrabbled, tilting backward in his chair as the cloth covered his eyes.

She continued, as he tossed the cloth onto the floor in annoyance. “It was often said by the early masters of magic that balance is as important as power. Like calls to like, yes, but without an opposing force it will bring chaos eventually. So perhaps the witches’ essential balancing function could be preserved somehow, in the greater scheme of things. There was a group of Lesser Fae who they thought might have descended from the witches, in theory. Although that can’t really be proved. Perhaps their powers merely grew to match those of the ancient witches. A sort of convergent evolutionary mechanism.”

Lucien felt cold trickling over his skin. “Which Lesser Fae were these?”

She tilted her head, pensive, fitting the tiny gear back into the eye and sliding it along its axle, only a hairsbreadth in diameter. It glowed, surprisingly bright, and began to rotate. She nodded in satisfaction. “They didn’t have a name, or a tribe. They were united only by magical ability. And of course that made them outcasts from the communities most Lesser Fae hold sacred. Transients, migratory; eking out a living at the borders of societies. They took over sections where magic could be siphoned away from settlements without notice being attracted, and could quickly move on before danger could come to them…which sounds exactly like the place you were just describing.” She gave him a pointed look. “I’ve heard them called many things, mostly derisive. Squatters. Schemers. Mostly they’ve been referred to as skimmers — an interesting word for what they can do.”

Take magic that wasn’t theirs…and wield it? Lucien raced to keep his thoughts logical. “Skimming? As in, taking some off the top…like clotted cream off milk, or fat off bone broth?”

Nuan nodded absently, absorbed in reconnecting the two halves of the magical eye, touching it with her tiny stylus and leaving glowing pinpoints behind, bright and bold as if the metal were molten. “Yes. And making a life from that. It’s really remarkable, you know…” she fastened it back together and gave it a gentle squeeze and a pat, and a final murmur to seal the charm. “…how they’ve managed to survive, if they truly are descendants of the witches. All these centuries, across all the courts.”

“And you think these people might have lived in Velaris? In the court that not even Amarantha could penetrate?”

She shrugged. “Don’t discount the magic of the Lesser Fae. They are not weak. They have the greatest wellspring of abilities in all of Prythian, though it’s not concentrated into individuals the way it is for High Fae. And these people can draw magic towards them; drain it out of those who wield their acquired powers. It’s not well documented, so who knows the full extent of what they could do? But it’s possible, especially in groups, that they could cross the borders of the courts. And if she was trying to frighten your mate, perhaps calling herself a witch would’ve done the trick.”

Lucien wanted to object, that Elain had likely no idea about witches beyond fireside folk tales, but something she had said surfaced, a drifting tangle of flotsam, tugging at his heart, silencing him.

Alive…but not in a way that you are, or I am. Like something that normally wouldn’t be able to talk. And it was angry.

Maybe it was part of the witch’s magic.

Old, and strong, and alive.

What had she spoken to, beneath the waters of the Sidra?

Who had she spoken to in the bobbing boats, before her fear had called him and he had come running in panic?

Nuan was talking to him again, breaking through the flailing of his worried mind.

“What?”

She let out a sigh of impatience. “I was asking if you’d talked to her about it at all. To Elain.” She offered him the eye in an outstretched hand, neatly pinched between finger and thumb. “Here you are, you rake. Good as new.”

He shook his head, and took the eye back, holding the socket open and pulling his scarred lower lid down to fit it inside. It resisted for a moment but then popped back into place, spun as though in indignation, and with a whirr resumed its function. His sight through it was cleaner, more balanced. Perhaps it had been blurred or distorted and he just hadn’t noticed.

“You haven’t?” She looked properly scandalized now, as though he’d admitted to sexual relations with a naga or something.

“It’s been a few days, and I haven’t seen her…”

“A few days since what?”

“Solstice. When she gave me this,” he said, pulling back his jacket so she could see the pin on his lapel.

Her eyes widened. “Does she know? About Jes?”

“Not unless she heard it from someone else. Her sister is a mind-reader, after all.” The words tasted bitter to him. It would be too disappointing, too crushing, to know that Feyre had whispered the contents of his mind to his mate. When he couldn’t even tell her the simplest thing: how much her regard bloomed him like one of her flowers under the noon sun.

Nuan tapped her fingers on the desk. “Perhaps she would prefer hearing it from you, even if the High Lady did tell her something.” She swiped her cloth over the surface, cleaning dust away so the wood gleamed under the bright light. “Maybe that’s her way of telling you that.”

He tried to grin, but it died on his face. “How would you know?”

She chuffed in exasperation. “How would you not know?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ve bedded how many Fae over the past few centuries, and you still know nothing about women.”

“I know some things.” He waggled his eyebrows at her and she smiled, but shook her head.

“You’re an idiot, Lucien. You won’t maintain contact. You won’t let her into your thoughts. You won’t ask her about her own.”

“I was giving her room…”

“Well, that’s nice, isn’t it. Maybe that was fine before. But now she’s speaking to you and giving you gifts. Making overtures. Can’t you at least write her a thank-you note?”

He thought about it for a moment. His words had failed him with Elain, time and again, when normally they flowed as easily as water with the direction of conversation. He’d never had trouble flirting; except with her. The words had faded into silence or been too weak to express what he truly thought.

Maybe writing would be better.

“Maybe I will, if I can find paper and pen,” he said, half to himself.

Nuan snapped her fingers in his face and pointed to a pen lying on the table top within arms’ reach. “Sometimes I fear you’ve lost your marbles, Lucien.” She opened a stone crock on the long counter by the window and pulled out some bread, slathering it with butter and a slice of honeycomb. With a wiggle of her fingers the massive mug filled with tea again and thumped unsteadily next to him. “Well. I have work to do and you have a mate to woo. It’ll be good practice for writing me letters, too.” She winked at him. “Tell her what you thought. What you felt. How you can’t stop thinking about her enough that you went to Dawn to ask your friend how to talk to her, for fuck’s sake.”

He burst out laughing. “Drown me in the Cauldron. I hope one day I can badger you about writing love letters to someone.”

Her face fell abruptly, settling back into lines he hadn’t noticed before. Her shoulders wilted into a slope. She looked like she had just picked up a massive, unyielding piece of stone.

“Nuan…” he extended a hand to her, getting up from the desk. “Nuan, I’m sorry…”

She shook her head firmly, but her voice, so arch and confident moments before, seemed to have dried up. She picked up the mug and took a long sip of the steaming tea, then held it tightly near her nose, breathing in the fragrant vapor, eyes closed. Lucien stood close, watching her, waiting. Helplessness solidifying in his veins. Tears shimmered in the corners of her eyes.

“Can I help?” he asked, heartbroken to see her suddenly in the grip of obvious pain.

She shook her head swiftly, then opened her eyes. “I’m well.”

“But —“

“I want you to know something, though,” she said, and there was a rigidity to her tone, an iron that he’d never heard before. “I love you and I’ll protect you to the bitter end, Lucien. But I want you to know that there was — is — a cost. You might never see it. I hope you never do. But be aware: there were lots of people who sacrificed for you without even knowing you.”

“Who was it?” He would make it up to her. Somehow.

“No. No, you don’t need to know that.” Her face cracked into a broken, small smile. “Just that they loved me. And because they loved me, they loved you. Even through Autumn vengeance, which never was selective enough to fall only on the target of their ire. Lord Beron casts a wide net. And I will not be silent about my own pain or theirs, not while I have breath. We loved you, and we shielded you, and that hurt us.”

His eyes widened. “My father came after you?”

She didn’t answer, just stared at the table. He didn’t know what to make of this. He had left Autumn, fled their cruel court with their murderous customs, would never go back or try to threaten the crown or the succession. Why would his father continue to pursue him across borders, come for his friends?

Maybe Beron didn’t need a reason. Thinking of the blood spreading under vibrant copper curls, dark eyes filming over with death, he knew that to be true. One more thing for the Vanserras to answer for. A dark bubble in his heart.

“Lucien?”

He reached out and took her hand.

“Just promise me that one day, when it matters, you’ll be better than all of them.”

“I…”

“Not just for yourself, but everyone else too.” Her dark eyes locked with his.

There was a lump in his throat. He squeezed her hand, and light glowed around their grip.

“I promise,” he said, gently, not knowing what she really meant, but feeling that this would help, that his word — which, so help him, he’d keep — would balm the hurt of her unspoken loss.

“Thank you.” She swiped roughly at her eyes. “Fuck…this anemometer isn’t going to build itself.” She bustled away, picking up a weight of bright copper and heading to the giant crucible in the back garden. Moments later he heard the crackle of flame stir to life beneath it.

He sat, pulling the paper towards him. Waited a moment, thinking.

Tell her what you thought. What you felt.

He bent over the paper, quill pen whispering.

—————-

He struggled with the letter all day, writing and tearing it up, balling the pieces into clumps and setting them alight with his fire until Nuan told him if he burned her workshop down, she’d never speak to him again. Finally, he had written something he felt was appropriate, although it came off too stilted. Just like when I speak to her, he thought grimly.

Elain, he had begun, simply. He had wondered if Dear Elain would be better, but the familiarity slickened his palms with sweat. What if she wasn’t ready to hear endearments from him?

He told her of the skimmers, and that they might be more powerful than he or she had suspected. I’m visiting the Dawn Court and came across some information I thought might be of interest…

But that wouldn’t do. What if Rhysand decided to open and read it? Or Nuala, or Cerridwen, or even Feyre, who was nosy enough for a whole squadron of spies?

He decided to bury it further in the text.

Elain — I wanted to pass along my thanks…

Fuck, no, that wasn’t right either. He wasn’t a schoolboy writing to a distant cousin.

“Stop sighing,” Nuan called in irritation from the next room, where her dinner sat forgotten as she worked on calculations for the winged harness in the courtyard. “If you can’t tell her in simple words how you feel, it won’t be worth saying at all.”

The hours spun away. Nuan went to bed finally, and he was alone in the kitchen with the faelight, and the little brass owl, whose eyes half-closed as the darkness fell like a shroud. He took the pen and paper over to the bed Nuan had made up on the wide sofa, sitting down on the clean sheets and trying to relax.

Elain — I feel badly that I left without thanking you properly for your gift on Solstice. You must think me very rude.

He breathed deeply, remembering how his stomach had knotted at the sight of the little hyraeth pin. He touched it absently at his lapel while he thought. It gleamed softly in the faelight, the lacquer shimmering along the amber surface.

I didn’t expect to receive a gift at all, and so I was taken aback, but further, I didn’t expect you to remind me so much of my past. It was so kind of you, it overwhelmed me. I knew a girl once who was a Guardian of the groves where the hyraeths live, you see — and our time together ended in tragedy.

Don’t end on the sad note, he thought desperately. Don’t let her think it grieved me…

But the words were finally flowing. He scrawled them as they came, unbound like the waves of dark that came with twilight.

But you made me think of her with less sadness. And you made me feel welcome in a place that has always challenged my ability to adapt. I don’t know if you meant it this way, but…

Tell her how you feel.

…you made me feel at home. Thank you, Blossom, from the bottom of this wicked heart.

I’ve been trying to think of a way to repay your kindness. Perhaps, in lieu of flowers or trinkets, a secret will do?

He flipped the page over and told her what he had learned of the skimmers, adding at the end, perhaps this could guide your research going forward, as you investigate your abilities and the promise you made that night. Although may I suggest avoiding consorting with witches? Or at the very least, staying away from the docks in future? I don’t know if MY nerves could handle it, although I’m sure yours could. You’re made of sterner stuff, after all. You have that Archeron iron.

He sat for a moment, eyes growing heavy. The faelight, hovering near his head, dimmed thoughtfully. He struggled to keep his eyes open, to write one more line…

I would like to come see you once I get back…

But sleep was weighing him down, dragging at his limbs…

…and hear what you make of all this…if you’d like to see me…

…Elain…

…Blossom…

But it was no good fighting it any longer.

Lucien was enveloped and swimming in darkness, struggling against the weight of it. It was formless. Depthless. He knew it well; and yet it frightened him. He’d been here before, so many times. Sleeping endlessly after his eye had been torn out, as his face slowly knit back together around the golden orb that replaced his natural eye. The pain of it ebbing and flowing, screaming into him when his face scrunched as he wept, receding to a dull throb as he sank again into despondency. Surfacing to see Tam sitting on the floor by his bed, fast asleep…but always, always pulling back down into darkness. Hearing the echoes of screams…his own…Jesminda’s…his mother’s…they all faded into the cottony silence of nothingness. Perhaps his own heartbeat would fade, eventually. He had hoped for that sometimes.

But now, the darkness wasn’t truly endless. It was forming into something. At first it was just a feeling, like the walls of a room enclosing a discrete space, and then it was actual sensation. The shift of the pile of a rug under his feet. The stiffness, slight creak of his leather boots against his shins and feet. The hum and chatter of voices in an adjacent room, broken by laughter. And then there was light. Golden, pooling light from a lamp, flooding the room with a gentle glow.

The River House.

He recognized the high ceilings, the open beams, the oak paneled walls. The playful spin of faelights from the recesses of the ceiling, giving a low glow to even darkened rooms.

And then a sweet voice. Melodious, if slightly tremulous. Nervous. Reaching as if across a long distance. But instead of just hearing babble, like the voices from the room close by, it formed into actual words.

“It made me think that you might someday find a place for your heart to rest.” A pause. “Unfathomable as that may be now.”

It was her. Dressed in shimmering lilac, with that little plum fur-lined jacket accentuating her waist, her long neck, her slender arms. Winter roses at her breast, where he had tried — and failed, spectacularly — not to look, at the pink edges against the swell of her flushed skin. She looked like an early summer day given a Fae form, here in the tightest grip of winter and dark. And in his hand, a tiny, glowing pin of bright amber, fashioned into wings that caught and refracted the light. His vision blurred with tears.

“How did you know?” he asked, the question that had bruised his heart for days.

She shifted, twisting her hands. “Know what?”

“This…” he gestured with it. “That I missed this. That I needed it.”

Her eyebrows creased into a worried expression. “I didn’t. But I read about the hyraeths, and it…it caught my mind. Reminded me of you.”

“I…” he swallowed. “It reminds me of my past. Good and…and bad things. My last day in Autumn, many years ago.” He thought about what he had written to her in that stumbling letter. What he had seen, that last day. The great hemlocks, blasted by fire. The Guardians, scorched and burned to dry husks. The hyraeths, dead in golden droplets on the ground, their wings stilled and dulled with death. And the darkness of her blood soaking the moss, congealing on the roots of the trees, which embraced her crumpled body like the hands of a mother…

“Yes,” she said, eagerly. “I wondered if perhaps you might want something to remind you of home.”

Yes. I did…but those memories are caught in pain, like blackberries grown with thorns, and you didn’t know that part. But oh, how sweet and tender it was that you tried. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. “I don’t have a home anymore,” he said, his voice catching on the words.

“Perhaps you will, one day,” she said, and he saw her throat squeeze. “And then you can put down some of the weight you carry.”

He faltered, but continued, hoping to show her how much it meant that she had thought of him this way. “I think you understood me, Blossom. Better than you realized, perhaps. Thank you.”

He could feel the warmth radiating from her, this close. Closer than she’d ever been before…

She reached out and pointed at the pin. “May I?”

He handed it to her immediately. “By all means. Please.”

She fixed it to his lapel and fastened the clasp, then straightened it slightly, like a flower in a buttonhole. Both of her hands rested against his chest, the warmth bleeding through the fabric of his shirt. He knew it would end, the sweet drug of her touch…but she left her hands there, then flattened them so her palms faced down. He could feel the outline of every finger.

Her brown eyes stared into his. He had the sense that there were worlds behind them. For a moment, they were utterly silent.

“This is a dream,” he whispered.

She nodded, her gaze traveling down his neck to where the collar met the lapel of his jacket. The place where his collarbone dipped. He wasn’t sure what she was looking at, but then he heard a gentle hiss of breath, and realized she was scenting him. This former human girl, proper and shy, using her Fae senses to listen to him with not just those soft, pointed ears, but with her body. A dream indeed. So if she was indulging her Faeness, perhaps he could, too? It would be a bold step…if he was reckless enough to take it…

“Then…” — he couldn’t believe he might actually say it, might actually do this mad, presumptuous thing — “then can I…kiss you?”

Her eyes swept up to meet his again, the lashes surrounding them dark and fuzzy — almost as if her face was out of focus, except for her eyes. They were clear, and deep enough to drown in. “Did you want to? Is that why we’re back here? In the parlor, with the party next door?”

“Yes,” he whispered. “…so, so much.”

Her fingers tightened against the lapel of his jacket. Even closer than before. “It is only a dream, isn’t it?” she said, softly, half to herself.

“Yes…”

The tiniest of smiles, the barest twitch of those beautiful lips. “I wish you would.”

And their lips met, so gently, that even as they shared breath he wondered how this could be real, and at the same time how it couldn’t be real. Her lips were so soft and warm beneath his, the whisper of a touch — and the tightness in his chest grew to nigh-unbearable tension as the bond behind his ribs squeezed, trying its hardest to pull them together. He was breathless.

It was Elain who leaned forward, and increased their contact as she tilted her head up, pressing more firmly against him. The kiss broke briefly as they adjusted their stance; she slipped closer, her feet between his, standing on tiptoes, and gripped his lapels in her hands, drawing his face down to hers, where their lips could meet and caress, sliding over one another to fit together. He hesitantly put his hands underneath her jawbone, so delicate, and pulled her into him; she lost her balance a bit and tipped forward, and he caught her around her waist. They stared into each other’s eyes, and something ignited in the depths. He fancied he could see it, like the flare of a match or the flicker of a candle, and he plunged after it, chased it down, down, into another kiss and then another, growing clumsy as he became more ardent. Her mouth opened, her tongue shy against his, one arm winding around his neck as her other hand stroked his cheek and gentled him, bringing their mouths together with a tenderness that ached in his lungs, in every breath he drew.

They broke apart, breaths serrated and hands shaking; but she held on to him tightly, pulling herself into his embrace. He didn’t want to lose any of the warmth between them, or the urgent flare of her scent, the intoxicating sweetness of summer flowers.

“They might see us,” she whispered. He felt a possessiveness flare in his gut; he would strike, stab, fight to keep this moment sacrosanct, just between the two of them.

“Who?” he strained. But as soon as he asked, he knew what she meant, and immediately felt the darkness starting to gather, talons gleaming, like it might contain a million interested eyes and ears.

“Let’s go somewhere else,” she murmured, her nose gliding against his. “Somewhere we can really be alone.”

She stepped back and seized his hand, drawing him on toward the sweeping staircase; but it seemed more open than before, the ceiling receding upwards until it was almost gone into a great vault. The bannister became rougher and more knobby under his hand, like the trunk of a tree, and he felt like if he looked back, nothing of the River House would be there anymore.

She stopped in front of a door, wound about with vines that stirred in an invisible breeze, and ducked inside, pulling him with her.

“Where are we?” he breathed, conscious of the vines, heavy with glossy leaves and flowers — and wicked, long thorns — crowding into the space left by the door.

“My place,” she answered, and walked to the window. “My secret.” She pulled the curtain back, and the room filled with bright light. When his eyes adjusted, he saw the air filled with flowers and birds and butterflies, drifting lazily around pillars of knotted vines and trunks. Fields of billowing grasses, bright-green against the sun. White cliffs, in the distance. Riotous flowering plants everywhere he looked.

“It’s safe here. Sunny. Bright. I made it myself. I wanted a place that no one could see but me. I would come here when everything seemed dark and I thought I would never feel happy again.” She took a breath. “I liked resting here.” She seemed a little fluttery herself, a little shaky, just like the tremulous wings of the butterflies. “If you don’t like it we can go somewhere else…”

“I love it,” he interrupted, heart swelling painfully inside him. “You gave yourself a garden to grow in.”

She smiled, and a ray of sun touched her face, and he stepped forward and kissed those warm lips, hands sliding into her hair; they stood, swaying in the breeze, light with a heady buzz of joy. He wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her up, and turned around, looking for an open spot to set her down, to kiss her and touch her, to find out if her skin was as silken and sweet against his lips as he had imagined so many times. She held him tight, her face snug against his neck. He plunked her down onto a little sward of long grass that bent into a plush mattress, and he swore he heard a distant silvery giggle. Vines swam around them, growing to shield them, forming a loose lattice that the light could peek through. It laced over her flushed face. He slid his hand from her ankle to her knee, pushing her skirt up so he could grip her leg, bringing it up into a cradle that circled him with heat beating out of her skin. She cradled his face, staring at him, and he pressed against her, her legs locking around him to keep him close. He stroked her curls back from her neck, dragged his fingers over her throat as her eyes fluttered closed.

“Do you know what I can’t stop thinking of?” he murmured against her pulse, which raced as he spoke. “Not that you’re beautiful…” Her eyes snapped open, almost indignantly, and he felt a smile lift his lips. “You are, of course. Stunning. But you’re also…delicious.” He inhaled slowly, feeling her scent flood his nose and mouth. “I crave your…sweetness. It’s in my blood, my brain, my body…” he ground against her, relishing the little gasp she let out. “…and I want that taste, of you, in my mouth so badly, I almost go fucking mad.” He pulled the roses from her bodice and cast them aside, the soft swells of her breasts heaving as he slid his fingers under the hem of the little jacket. He was desperate to touch and also to extend, so that it would never end…

But what was that bite of cold that chilled the back of his neck?

Her fingers tightened, nails digging into his skin. “What’s happening?” She sounded so sad. It wrenched his heart, which wrenched at the bond in turn. “It’s never cold in here.”

He could feel cool fabric — sheets — under his hands, and fought the sensation. No, no. He wanted her skin, that warm softness…to stay here until everything else was forgotten, to drown in her and awake with hope renewed…

“I think I’m…waking up,” he gasped.

“No.” It came out as a sob. “No, Lucien. Don’t go.”

“Fuck,” he croaked, but he could sense himself slipping away, a sensation as acute and unstoppable as if he were physically sliding down a steep incline.

“Wait…”

“I’ll come back,” he promised, leaning against her for one more kiss, one more taste of her sweet breath. “I swear it, Blossom, if you’ll let me in, I’ll meet you here. Call me from your dreams, and I’ll come.” He could hear his voice echoing. Was he saying it aloud?

He didn’t hear if she said anything in response; he was awake, sitting upright in sweat-cooled sheets in Nuan’s house, darkness enveloping the entire room.

The tears that came were searing and salty, flooding through him so fast and fully that they could have been the Sidra cresting to catch him under the mad wave that had chased him onto its banks that night that he and Elain had saved each other. They felt like heart’s blood, benediction and loss. Falling into a void like the great encircling river of the creation myth.

He wept enough to fill it with a sea of sorrow.

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