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theladyofbloodshed · 1 year ago

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Neris Week - Day 4 - Love

High Lord Meeting from Eris’ POV (aka the first time he sees Nesta) - Majority of the text is word-for-word from ACOWAR including all of the events, but switched to Eris' POV rather than Feyre's.

There was just enough time to glimpse the polished, marble floor and the deep-cushioned oak chairs arranged in a circle that his father would recoil at. Delegates from Winter, Day, and Night had already assembled alongside Thesan’s number. They were gathered around the gem of the chamber; a reflection pool with pink and gold water lilies floating upon the dark water. The atmosphere was tense enough to be cut with a knife. Eris spotted Mor, thin-lipped and pale, refusing to glance their way as he filed in behind his parents. The Night Court had their hackles raised though they were not the only court which had stiffened at the arrival of Autumn. It was to be expected for a court in a state of perpetual decay.

They had come as allies, not enemies. Apparently. Hostility seeped from those gathered but Beron merely gave a brief glance to the high lords. Eris noticed his mother’s shoulders stiffen as her head swept through the room. No Lucien. That was the only reason why she had petitioned and begged to be allowed to attend the meeting. All of those nights pleading and needling at her husband, promising to behave and do whatever he wanted, for a son who was not here.

His brothers sneered which ruffled the feathers of the Peregryns and had one of the Summer Court princes baring his teeth in warning.

‘Enough,’ murmured Eris, pulling them back into line since Beron wasn’t about to do it. He needed today to go well. Needed to prove to the Night Court he was worth aligning with. He had heard rumours of the mortal sisters forced into the Cauldron; one had been blessed with foresight, the other was more complex. The world had shuddered when that one came out. Eris imagined something grotesque and wicked, warped by the might of the Cauldron.

Beron paused halfway through the room, surveying it again with his keen, brown eyes. Disgust had his top lip curling.

Rhysand stood. ‘It’s no surprise that you’re tardy, given that your own sons were too slow to catch my mate. I suppose it runs in the family. Mate—and High Lady.’

The female levelled a flat, bored stare in their direction. Eris met it with an amused, if not bland smile. He had known the instant that Feyre Archeron had crossed into his court thanks to his smoke hounds. It would have been too easy to drag her before his father. No, Eris had his eyes on a bigger prize. He could feel the burn of Cassian’s eyes on him. Eris deigned a glance at the Illyrian general and inclined his head in invitation, subtly patting his stomach. It was always too easy to push the general’s temper. To see how she’d react, Eris turned his amber eyes to Morrigan. A blank stare was his only response. Her white-hot anger writhed beneath the surface, but it had been her own blood who had driven the nails in, not him.

Thesan, as host, began once they had all seated. ‘Rhysand, you have called this meeting. Pushed us to gather sooner than we intended. Now would be the time to explain what is so urgent.’

Rhys blinked—slowly. ‘Surely the invading armies landing on our shores explain enough.’

‘So you have called us to do what, exactly?’ Helion challenged, bracing his forearms on his muscled, gleaming thighs. ‘Raise a unified army?’

Unification? Beron would rather see all of Prythian turn to ash than stand alongside the Day Court.

‘Among other things,’ Rhys said mildly. ‘We—'

Like a crack of lightning, vicious as a spring storm, Tamlin winnowed into the chamber itself. Now this meeting would be interesting, Eris thought. Never one for opulence, Tamlin did not bother with the landing balcony, or the escorts. He did not have an entourage. He had never needed one to assert his dominance; the size was enough and the brute force.

Absolute silence. Absolute stillness. Shields locked into place. He felt the soft hum of his father’s covering all of them. Tamlin was not to be underestimated. They'd chased naga from the border only to run them into Tamlin's claws where they were shredded like ribbons. Eris did not want to be on the receiving end of those. His clothes were too expensive.

Eris skimmed his eyes over the Night Court, tantalised with anticipation of the expected maelstrom headed their way. Rhysand appeared bored but Eris could see the tightness behind his expression, just as he used to wear when carrying out another of Amarantha’s more savage punishments. The ever-dramatic Morrigan made a show of her disgust, but it was the female beside her that Eris was more interested in. The cold caution on her face made her look as though she was made of ice, but there was a flame in her heart that flared. Eris felt his own chest go tight at the sight of her, the breath catching in his lungs on an inhale. Pale gold hair was drawn into a neat coronet to highlight the sharp planes of her elegant face. There was no mistaking the relationship to the high lady of the Night Court, but while the latter was more restless and freer, the sister seemed steadier. There was a sophistication to her; a trained stillness that ought to come from holding court. Her grey eyes flicked towards him, noticing the attention. For all the steady calm she displayed, those eyes churned like storm clouds barrelling his way. She was the riptide waiting to drown its victim and Eris would be happy to step into her path.

Thesan rose, his captain remaining seated beside him—albeit with a hand on his sword. ‘We were not expecting you, Tamlin.’ Thesan gestured with a slender hand toward his cringing attendants. ‘Fetch the High Lord a chair.’

He was more used to sleeping on floors as a beast, Eris thought. Tamlin did not tear his gaze from his runaway bride. His smile turned subdued—yet somehow more unnerving. More vicious. Eris knew the male well enough; enough to know that he could shred his enemies quicker than any spell could be cast. He wore his usual green tunic—no crown, no adornments.

Beron drawled, ‘I will admit, Tamlin, that I am surprised to see you here. Rumour claims your allegiance now lies elsewhere.’

He was feeling brave because Tamlin’s gaze had not moved from Feyre Archeron. It landed on her ring finger then the tattoo beneath the glittering, pale blue sleeve of her gown. Then it rose—right to that crown on her pretty, little head. Rhysand’s play thing, all dolled up for the show.

The attendants hauled over a chair—setting it between Autumn and Day. Alastar was smart enough not to physically recoil as Tamlin’s arm brushed against his own as he took the seat.

Helion waved a scar-flecked hand. ‘Let’s get on with it, then.’

Although Thesan cleared his throat, no one looked toward him.

‘It would seem congratulations are in order.’ Tamlin’s words were flat—flat and yet as sharp as his claws, currently hidden beneath his golden skin.

Rhysand only held his once-companion’s stare. Held it with a face like ice, and yet utter rage roiled beneath it. Cataclysmic rage, surging and writhing. This would be a fun day, Eris thought. Perhaps there was a bet to see who was most likely to draw first blood. His money was on the holier-than-thou Night Court who were always above any restrictions.

‘We can discuss the matter at hand later.’

Tamlin said calmly, ‘Don’t stop on my account.’

‘I’m not in the business of discussing our plans with enemies.’

A pissing contest between the high lords then, that was what it was to be.

‘No,’ Tamlin said with equal ease, ‘you’re just in the business of fucking them.’

Eris pressed his lips together to fight back a grin. Tamlin had never been one for subtlety. Despite the mounting tension, Eris found it all highly amusing. These fragile males and their egos. Tamlin had spent years in war bands; his words could be crass and brutal.

‘Seems a far less destructive alternative to war,’ replied Rhysand.

‘And yet here you are, having started it in the first place.’

Claws began to slide from Tamlin’s knuckles. Eris measured the space between himself and his mother – how quickly he could winnow her away if Tamlin leapt across the pool to rip out Rhysand’s throat. He wasn’t the only one calculating the space. Kallias had drifted a hand over to the arm of his new wife’s chair.

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

Feyre said quietly, ‘The sun was shining when I left you.’

This was better intel than any of their spies had managed. Perhaps they should make these meetings a regular thing.

Kallias asked, ‘Why are you here, Tamlin?’

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

‘You don’t get to rewrite the narrative,’ she breathed, colour dotting her cheeks. ‘You don’t get to spin this to your advantage.’

Tamlin only angled his head at Rhysand, a cruel glimmer that Eris was familiar with lightened his green eyes. ‘When you fuck her, have you ever noticed that little noise she makes right before she climaxes?’

A bit of a low blow, sharing bedroom habits. This was a war between two egotistical males, he supposed. Eris had no doubt that his father would be grinning.

It was the shadowsinger’s cold, deep voice that spoke. ‘Be careful how you speak about my High Lady.’

Surprise flashed in Tamlin’s eyes—then vanished. Vanished, swallowed by pure fury as he realised what that obscene tattoo coating her hand was for. ‘It was not enough to sit at my side, was it?’. A hateful smile curled his lips. ‘You once asked me if you’d be my High Lady, and when I said no …’ A low laugh. ‘Perhaps I underestimated you. Why serve in my court, when you could rule in his? They peddle tales of defending our land and peace. And yet she came to my lands and laid them bare for Hybern. She took my High Priestess and warped her mind—after she shattered her bones for spite. And if you are asking yourself what happened to that human girl who went Under the Mountain to save us … Look to the male sitting beside her. Ask what he stands to gain—what they stand to gain from this war, or lack of it. Would we fight Hybern, only to find ourselves with a Queen and King of Prythian? She’s proved her ambition—and you saw how he was more than happy to serve Amarantha to remain unscathed.’

An impassioned speech, but Tamlin had never been a wordsmith. A razor-sharp claw through Rhysand’s skull was a better avenue for his rage.

Rhys let out a dark laugh. ‘Well played, Tamlin. You’re learning.’

Ire contorted Tamlin’s face at the condescension. But he faced Kallias. ‘You asked why I’m here? I might ask the same of you.’ He jerked his chin at the High Lord of Winter, at Viviane—the few other members of their retinue who had remained silent. ‘You mean to tell me that after Under the Mountain, you can stomach working with him?’ A finger was flung in Rhysand’s direction.

He supposed Tamlin had a fair point. They had all been at the mercy of Rhysand’s tyranny for fifty years and he had certainly delighted in selecting members of the Autumn Court to enact his punishments on as if that might have bothered Beron. He cared little for his people, only saw them as possessions himself.

‘We came here to decide that for ourselves.’ The soft, silvery glow that had been emitting from the Lady of the Winter Court had dimmed somewhat under Morrigan’s scrutiny. Eris knew there was a bond there. An old one, rarely used, but strong. Did Morrigan know how many children died under Rhysand’s command? How much Winter Court blood soaked her cousin’s hands.

Rhysand said softly to them, to everyone, ‘I had no involvement in that. None.’

Kallias’s eyes flared like blue flame. ‘You stood beside her throne while the order was given.’

Eris remembered that day. It was near the end – although there had been no signs that the end was near. The guilt and horror had threatened to drown him. Worse was the relief that it was not their children. Not Autumn Court children. Another court would pay the debt for rebellion. Another court would bleed.

‘I tried to stop it.’

‘Tell that to the parents of the two dozen younglings she butchered,’ Kallias said, voice as cold as the season he owned. ‘That you tried.’

‘There is not one day that passes when I don’t remember it,’ he said to Kallias, to Viviane. To their companions. ‘Not one day.’

‘Remembering,’ Kallias said, ‘doesn’t bring them back, does it?’

‘No,’ Rhys said plainly. ‘No, it doesn’t. And I am now fighting to make sure it never happens again.’

Noble. Noble to say when he was stood on the winning side until the tide changed – as did his allegiance. It wasn’t his court which bled. It wasn’t the Night Court who prayed to the Mother that their children would be safe.

Viviane glanced between the two high lords. ‘I was not present Under the Mountain. But I would hear, High Lord, how you tried to—stop her.’ Pain tightened her face. She, too, had been unable to prevent it while she guarded her small slice of the territory. It was a miracle, really, she had survived unscathed without Amarantha – or Rhysand – finding her.

His father snorted, unable to suppress his comment. ‘Finally speechless, Rhysand?’

‘I believe you,’ said Feyre.

‘Says the woman,’ Beron countered, ‘who gave an innocent girl’s name in her stead—for Amarantha to butcher as well.’

That one had given Eris nightmares. The damn mortal female had locked eyes with him as she begged one of the fae to help. It still happened sometimes, even now. He’d wake in a cold sweat after dreaming he was back in that place with a young woman crying and begging for her life even as she bled out across the obsidian floor.

‘When your people rebelled… She was furious. She wanted you dead, Kallias.’ Viviane’s face drained of colour at Rhysand’s words. He went on, ‘I… convinced her that it would serve little purpose.’

‘Who knew,’ Beron mused, ‘that a cock could be so persuasive?’

That was too far, even Eris could acknowledge that. He did not fancy his father’s odds with the Night Court staring him down. He had no love for his father, but his mother didn’t deserve to be hurt in the crossfire.

‘Father.’ Eris’s voice was low with warning.

But Rhysand went on to Kallias, ‘She backed off the idea of killing you. Your rebels were dead—I convinced her it was enough. I thought it was the end of it.’ His breathing hitched slightly. ‘I only found out when you did. I think she viewed my defence of you as a warning sign—she didn’t tell me any of it. And she kept me … confined. I tried to break into the minds of the soldiers she sent, but her damper on my power was too strong to hold them—and it was already done. She … she sent a daemati with them. To …’ He faltered. Rhysand swallowed. ‘I think she wanted you to suspect me. To keep us from ever allying against her.’

How convenient for Amarantha – and Rhysand – that there was another daemati in play all that time. One who had never stepped out of the shadows. Eris picked at his nails, bored by the tale being spun.

‘Where did she confine you?’ The question came from Viviane, her arms wrapped around her middle.

‘Her bedroom.’

‘Stories and words,’ Tamlin said, lounging in his chair. ‘Is there any proof?’

‘Proof—’ Cassian snarled, half rising in his seat, wings starting to flare because he could never quite manage those emotions.

‘No,’ Rhysand cut in as Morrigan blocked Cassian with an arm, forcing him to sit like an obedient hound. Rhysand added to Kallias, ‘But I swear it—upon my mate’s life.’

Tamlin rolled his eyes. Eris was not convinced either. He had seen enough schemes, enough masks, to know when one was not truly honest. It wasn’t Eris that Rhysand was trying to persuade. Whatever Kallias read in his face, his words, it was believed. He pinned Tamlin with a hard, blue stare as he asked again, ‘Why are you here, Tamlin?’

A muscle flickered in Tamlin’s jaw. ‘I am here to help you fight against Hybern.’

‘Bullshit,’ Cassian muttered. If the Illyrian learned to hold his tongue, amongst manners, he might not be as uncouth.

‘You will forgive us,’ Thesan interrupted gracefully, ‘if we are doubtful. And hesitant to share any plans.’

‘Even when I have information on Hybern’s movements?’

Silence. Tarquin, across the pool, watched and listened. For one young and inexperienced, it was the best option. Maybe they’d battle it out amongst themselves and he and Tarquin could rule a new Prythian.

Another sharp-toothed smile was offered by Tamlin. ‘Why do you think I invited them to the house? Into my lands? I once told you I would fight against tyranny, against that sort of evil. Did you think you were enough to turn me from that?’ His teeth shone white as bone at Feyre. ‘It was so easy for you to call me a monster, despite all I did for you, for your family.’ A sneer towards the beautiful sister, who was frowning with distaste. ‘Yet you witnessed all that he did Under the Mountain, and still spread your legs for him. Fitting, I suppose. He whored for Amarantha for decades. Why shouldn’t you be his whore in return?’

‘Watch your mouth,’ Mor snapped.

Tamlin ignored her wholly and waved a hand toward Rhysand’s wings. ‘I sometimes forget— what you are. Have the masks come off now, or is this another ploy?’

‘You’re beginning to become tedious, Tamlin,’ Helion said, propping his head on a hand. The low timbre of his voice had Beron stiffening. ‘Take your lovers’ spat elsewhere and let the rest of us discuss this war.’

‘You’d be all too happy for war, considering how well you made out in the last one.’

‘No one says war can’t be lucrative,’ Helion countered.

‘Enough,’ Kallias said. ‘We have our opinions on how the conflict with Hybern should be dealt with.’ Those glacial eyes hardened as he again took in Tamlin. ‘Are you here as an ally of Hybern or Prythian?’

The mocking, hateful gleam faded into granite resolve. ‘I stand against Hybern.’

‘Prove it,’ Helion goaded.

Tamlin lifted his hand, and a stack of papers appeared on the little table beside his chair. ‘Charts of armies, ammunition, caches of faebane … Everything carefully gleaned these months.’

That was priceless intel. Autumn was already exposed to Hybern sweeping in from Spring and Summer; they needed that information.

‘Noble as it sounds,’ Helion went on, ‘who is to say that information is correct—or that you aren’t Hybern’s agent, trying to mislead us?’

‘Who is to say that Rhysand and his cronies are not agents of Hybern, all of this a ruse to get you to yield without realizing it?’

The gorgeous female carved from marble murmured, ‘You can’t be serious.’

‘If we need to ally against Hybern,’ Thesan said, ‘you are doing a good job of convincing us not to band together, Tamlin.’

‘I am simply warning you that they might present the guise of honesty and friendship, but the fact remains that he warmed Amarantha’s bed for fifty years, and only worked against her when it seemed the tide was turning. I’m warning you that while he claims his own city was attacked by Hybern, they made off remarkably well—as if they’d been anticipating it. Don’t think he wouldn’t sacrifice a few buildings and lesser faeries to lure you into an alliance, into thinking you had a common enemy. Why is it that only the Night Court got word about the attack on Adriata—and were the only ones to arrive in time to play saviour?’

‘They received word,’ Varian cut in coolly, ‘because I warned them of it.’

An interesting development. Now, what business would a prince of the Summer Court have with the Night Court? Especially as Eris had heard a whisper on the wind that blood rubies had been sent north. Tarquin whipped his head to his cousin, brows high with surprise.

‘Perhaps you’re working with them, too,’ Tamlin said to the Prince of Adriata. ‘You’re next in line, after all.’

‘You’re insane,’ breathed Feyre to Tamlin as Varian bared his teeth. ‘Do you hear what you’re saying?’ A trembling finger pointed towards her sister. ‘Hybern turned my sisters into Fae—after your bitch of a priestess sold them out!’

It was true then, the rumour carried on wings. Two mortal women went into the Cauldron and a pair of high fae emerged, one beautiful, one terrible. Eris surveyed the female again. Her spiked ears were hidden amongst the soft threads of her hair. She was more than high fae. He could not explain it. Her eyes were different; a never-ending grey that spelled the end of worlds. The elegance of her face would not be out of place in an ancient tale. It was one that could spark wars; a face that males would die for. Her attention flickered to him again, eyeing him warily like a predator deciding whether he was worth the chase.

‘Perhaps Ianthe’s mind was already in Rhysand’s thrall. And what a tragedy to remain young and beautiful. You’re a good actress—I’m sure the trait runs in the family.’

The female, Nesta, let out a low laugh. Hatred simmered in her expression. ‘If you want someone to blame for all of this,’ she said to Tamlin, ‘perhaps you should first look in the mirror.’

Tamlin snarled at her. Cassian snarled right back, ‘Watch it.’

Oh. The brute had set his sights on this one then. She was too good for a bastard like him. Tamlin looked between the pair —his gaze lingering on Cassian’s wings, tucked in behind him. Snorted. ‘Seems like other preferences run in the Archeron family, too.’

Surely this beauty wouldn’t truly sully herself with a male like Cassian? He had no love for Illyrians but surely a shadow singing one was better than the average, grunting one.

‘What do you want? An apology? For me to crawl back into your bed and play nice, little wife?’

‘Why should I want spoiled goods returned to me?’ Tamlin growled, ‘The moment you let him fuck you like an—’

One heartbeat, the poisoned words were spewing from his mouth—where fangs lengthened. Then they stopped. Tamlin’s mouth simply stopped emitting sounds. He shut his mouth, opened it—tried again. No sound, not even a snarl, came out. There was no smile on Rhysand’s face, not a glint of that irreverent amusement as he rested his head against the back of his chair.

‘The gasping-fish look is a good one for you, Tamlin.’

The others, who had been watching with disdain and amusement and boredom, now turned to Rhysand. Now possessed a shadow of fear in their eyes as they realized who and what, exactly, sat amongst them.

‘If you want proof that we are not scheming with Hybern, consider the fact that it would be far less time-consuming to slice into your minds and make you do my bidding.’

Only his damn father was stupid enough to scoff and draw attention to themselves. Eris angled his chair, ensuring he would take a blow from Rhysand rather than his mother.

‘Yet here I am,’ Rhysand went on, not deigning to give Beron a glance of acknowledgment. ‘Here we all are.’

Absolute silence. Then Tarquin, silent and watchful, cleared his throat. ‘Despite Varian’s unsanctioned warning…’ A glare at his cousin, who didn’t so much as look sorry about it, ‘You were the only ones who came to help. The only ones. And yet you asked for nothing in return. Why?’

Rhys’s voice was a bit hoarse as he asked, ‘Isn’t that what friends do?’ A subtle, quiet offer.

‘I rescind the blood rubies. Let there be no debts between us.’

How terribly boring.

‘Don’t expect Amren to return hers,’ Cassian muttered. ‘She’s grown attached to it.’

Rhysand turned to Tamlin. Were they enemies or allies now? Eris couldn’t tell. He doubted they would never see eye to eye again. Rhysand dipped his head. ‘I believe you. That you will fight for Prythian. War is upon us. I have no interest in wasting energy arguing amongst ourselves.’

Beron said, ‘You may be inclined to believe him, Rhysand, but as someone who shares a border with his court, I am not so easily swayed.’ A wry look. ‘Perhaps my errant son can clarify. Pray, where is he?’

Beside him, his mother sat straighter in her seat, hope lifting her. Just one glimpse of Lucien. That was all she wanted. All she ever asked for. I just want to see my son while he still lives.

The curt reply from Feyre was, ‘Helping to guard our city.’

Although his brother could wield a blade as good as any, Lucien had spent his patrols charming females, singing to their mothers or slipping away from their fathers. His life in Spring had been no different. But, perhaps, if a mate had been created by the Cauldron for him, Lucien might have turned over a new leaf. Eris snorted and surveyed Nesta, who stared back at him with steel in her face. He liked this one. He fancied testing her mettle.

‘Pity you didn’t bring the other sister. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty.’

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

An unnecessary jab from a female who still clung to the past like a shield so she never had to face the truth. Eris’s mouth curled into a smile at the words, the careful game of pretending that they had not seen each other in years still in play. ‘Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.’

The wood shattered beneath him. His head met the floor with an agonising intimacy as scarred hands wrapped around his throat. A wall of blue was in his blurred vision as the Night Court’s shadowsinger unleased his wrath on Eris.

A knee pressed into Eris’s gut. It was the silence that unnerved Eris most. Not wholly the shadowsinger but the entire room had fell into quiet.

His vision began blotting as he choked for breath. A blur of orange met the blue shield but could not manage against the writhing shadows.

Azriel stopped.

The high lady was there, a hand against the shield. Eris gasped for air as those scarred hands loosened. She extended a hand to him, but the rest of the room was revulsed. Mor, the female that Azriel wished was his, had gone pale and shaky. Eris hid his gloat.

‘Come sit beside me,’ the high lady crooned like Azriel was nothing more than a child.

The shadowsinger leaned in towards Eris as he sucked in breaths. His voice was low enough for only for Eris to catch it. ‘Your father will be interested to know about your alliance with us. Yours and your mother’s.’

He wouldn’t. Azriel wouldn’t implicate his mother in a plot that had nothing to do with her. The shadows around them lightened to sunshine but Eris was sick to his core. It wasn’t only his life on the line by gambling with the Night Court. His mother would be an unwilling pawn in their blackmail. Lucien’s life balanced against hers.

Beron struck—only for his fire to bounce off a hard barrier.

A smug look was plastered on Feyre’s face. ‘That’s twice now we’ve handed you your asses. I’d think you’d be sick of the humiliation.’

Helion laughed at the comment. As Eris expected, Mor had recoiled from Azriel. She looked as if she’d like nothing better than to be away from this room, from him.

Feyre took a deliberately slow walk to the table to fill a glass of wine for the feral one. ‘They are my family,’ she said, handing Azriel the wine. She met Eris’ gaze. ‘I don’t care if we are allies in this war. If you insult my friend again, I won’t stop him the next time.’

With his mother’s neck at the mercy of the Night Court, Eris straightened the lapels of his jacket. ‘Apologies, Morrigan.’

Thesan rubbed his temples. ‘This does not bode well.’

But Helion smirked at his retinue, crossing an ankle over a knee and flashing those powerful, sleek thighs. ‘Looks like you owe me ten gold marks.’

Helion waved a hand, and the stacks of papers Tamlin had compiled drifted over to him on a phantom wind. With a snap of his fingers—scar-flecked from swordplay—other stacks appeared before every chair in the room. ‘Replicas,’ he said without looking up as he leafed through the documents. A handy trick—for a male whose trove was not in gold, but in knowledge. No one made any move to touch the papers. Helion clicked his tongue. ‘If all of this is true,’ he announced, Tamlin snarling at the haughty tone, ‘then I’d suggest two things: first, destroying Hybern’s caches of faebane. We won’t last long if they’ve made them into so many versatile weapons. It’s worth the risk to destroy them.’

Kallias arched a brow. ‘How would you suggest we do that?’

‘We’ll handle it,’ Tarquin offered. Varian nodded. ‘We owe them for Adriata.’

Thesan said, ‘There is no need.’ The High Lord of Dawn folded his hands in his lap. ‘A master tinkerer of mine has been waiting for the past several hours. I would like for her to now join us.’

Before anyone could reply, a High Fae female appeared at the edge of the circle. She bowed quickly, displaying her light brown skin and long, silken black hair. She wore clothes similar to Thesan’s, but her sleeves had been rolled up to the forearms, the tunic unbuttoned to her chest to show a golden hand. It clicked and whirred quietly, drawing the eye of every immortal in the room as she faced her High Lord. Thesan smiled in warm welcome.

‘My Lord.’

Thesan gestured to the female standing tall before the assembled group. ‘Nuan is one of my most skilled craftspeople.’

Rhysand leaned back in his seat, brows rising with recognition at the name, and jerked his chin towards them. ‘You might know her as the person responsible for granting your … errant son, as you called him, the ability to use his left eye after Amarantha removed it.’

Nuan nodded once in confirmation, her lips pressing into a thin line as she took in the Autumn Court delegate. They weren’t the ones who caused it, Eris thought bitterly. That had been Tamlin sending his emissary into the lion’s den and expecting Lucien not to argue back. His little brother had never learnt to tame his tongue in matters of love or war.

‘And what has this to do with the faebane?’ Helion demanded.

Nuan turned, her dark hair slipping over a shoulder as she studied Helion. And did not seem impressed. ‘Because I found a solution for it.’

Thesan waved a hand. ‘We heard rumours of faebane being used in this war—used in the attack on your city, Rhysand. We thought to look into the issue before it became a deadly weakness for all of us.’ He nodded to Nuan. ‘Beyond her unparalleled tinkering, she is a skilled alchemist.’

Nuan crossed her arms, the sun glinting off her metal hand. ‘Thanks to samples attained after the attack in Velaris, I was able to create an … antidote, of sorts.’

‘How did you get those samples?’ Cassian demanded.

A flush crept over Nuan’s cheeks. ‘I—heard the rumours and assumed Lucien Vanserra would be residing there after … what happened.’ She still didn’t look at Tamlin, who remained silent and brooding. ‘I managed to contact him a few days ago—asked him to send samples. He did—and did not tell you,’ she added quickly to Rhysand, ‘because he did not want to raise your hopes. Not until I’d found a solution.’

Always so clever and ahead of the curve, that Lucien, the clever fox. He had kept Eris on his toes when they were younger. Their chess games would last for hours with only a handful of pieces even moved across the board.

Nuan went on, ‘The Mother has provided us with everything we need on this earth. So it has been a matter of finding what, exactly, she gave us in Prythian to combat a material from Hybern capable of wiping out our powers.’

Helion shifted with impatience, that glistening, white fabric slipping over his muscled chest. Thesan read that impatience, too, and said, ‘Nuan has been able to quickly create a powder for us to ingest in drink, food, however you please. It grants immunity from the faebane. I already have workers in three of my cities manufacturing as much of it as possible to hand out to our unified armies.’

Tarquin asked, ‘But what of physical objects made from faebane? They possessed gauntlets at the battle to smash through shields.’ He jerked his chin towards Rhysand. ‘And when they attacked your own city.’

‘Against that,’ Nuan said, ‘you only have your wits to protect you.’ She did not break Tarquin’s stare, and he straightened, as if surprised she did so. ‘The compound I’ve made will only protect you —your powers—from being rendered void by the faebane. Perhaps if you are pierced with a weapon tipped in faebane, having the compound in your system will negate its impact.’

Quiet fell. Beron said, ‘And we are supposed to trust you’—a look at Thesan, then at Nuan—'with this …substance we’re to blindly ingest.’

Eris’ toes curled in his shoes, bracing himself for whatever would spew from his father’s lips next. He did his best not to grimace.

‘Would you rather face Hybern without any power?’ Thesan demanded. ‘My master alchemists and tinkerers are no fools.’

‘No,’ Beron said, frowning, ‘but where did she come from? Who are you?’

The others assembled weren’t old enough to remember little beyond the war five centuries ago. Beron’s memories ran deeper. The war had been brewing for a long time with small battles, ambushes and assassinations. He had only spoken of it a handful of times to Eris as though the words had fought their way to the surface. Beron had only been a boy of eleven years when his own father was betrayed and taken to the Continent. They only knew he had been murdered when the magic transferred to Beron. Then, his tar-dipped head was delivered to the boy high lord days later.

‘I am the daughter of two High Fae from Xian, who moved here to give their children a better life, if that is what you are demanding to know,’ Nuan answered tightly.

Helion demanded of Beron, ‘What does this have to do with anything?’

Beron shrugged. ‘If her family is from Xian—which I’ll have you remember fought for the Loyalists—then whose interests does she serve?’

Helion’s amber eyes flashed.

Thesan cut in sharply, ‘I will have you remember, Beron, that my own mother hailed from Xian. And a large majority of my court did as well. Be careful what you say.’

Before Beron could hiss a retort, Nuan said to the Lord of Autumn, her chin high, ‘I am a child of Prythian. I was born here, on this land, as your sons were.’

Beron’s face darkened. ‘Watch your tone, girl.’

‘She doesn’t have to watch anything,’ cut in Feyre Archeron. ‘Not when you fling that sort of horseshit at her. I will take your antidote.’

Foolish, he supposed, or a way to freeze them out from the antidote. The effects of the faebane were catastrophic. If the caches couldn’t be destroyed, the Autumn Court needed access to the antidote.

‘Father,’ murmured Eris. He was met with those hollow, chestnut eyes as Beron lifted a brow.

‘You have something to add?’

Eris didn’t flinch, but he chose his words very, very carefully. ‘I have seen the effects of faebane.’ He nodded toward Feyre Archeron, thinking of her bumbling through his court with her stolen powers stripped away. ‘It truly renders us unable to tap our power. If it’s wielded against us in war or beyond it—'

‘If it is, we shall face it. I will not risk my people or family in testing out a theory.’

‘It is no theory,’ Nuan said, that mechanical hand clicking and whirring as it curled into a fist. ‘I would not stand here unless it had been proved without a doubt.’

Conscious of the storm cloud grey eyes trailing over his face, a moment of rashness overwhelmed Eris’ sense. ‘I will take it.’

Beron’s gaze promised retaliation when they returned to their lands for speaking too boldly.

In that unflinchingly cold voice of his, Beron only said, ‘No, you will not. Though I’m sure your brothers will be sorry to hear it.’

Rhysand said simply, ‘Then don’t take it. I will. My entire court will, as will my armies.’ He gave a thankful nod to Nuan. Thesan did the same—in thanks and dismissal—and the master tinkerer bowed once more and left.

‘At least you have armies to give it to,’ Tamlin said mildly, breaking his roiling silence. ‘Though perhaps that was part of the plan. Disable my force while your own swept in. Or was it just to see my people suffer?’ The claws came out once more. ‘Surely you knew that when you turned my forces on me, it would leave my people defenceless against Hybern.’

The high lady had no words to offer.

‘You primed my court to fall,’ Tamlin said with venomous quiet. ‘And it did. Those villages you wanted so badly to help rebuild? They’re nothing more than cinders now. And while you’ve been making antidotes and casting yourselves as saviours, I’ve been piecing together my forces—regaining their trust, their numbers. Trying to gather my people in the East— where Hybern has not yet marched.’

Surprising Eris, that beautiful female beside Feyre said drily, ‘So you won’t be taking the antidote, then.’

Tamlin ignored her, even as his claws sank into the arm of his chair. Eris braced himself to move if needed. She was too gorgeous to see her neck shredded by the beast.

Thesan cleared his throat and said to Helion, ‘You said you had two suggestions based on the information you analysed.’

Helion shrugged, the sun catching in the embroidered gold thread of his tunic. ‘Indeed, though it seems Tamlin is already ahead of me. The Spring Court must be evacuated.’ His amber eyes darted between Tarquin and Beron. ‘Surely your northern neighbours will welcome them.’

Beron’s lip curled. ‘We do not have the resources for such a thing.’

‘Right,’ Viviane said, ‘because everyone’s too busy polishing every jewel in that trove of yours.’

No. Nobody was allowed in there. His father believed everybody to be a thief and would entrust none to the vault.

Beron threw her a glare that had Kallias tensing. ‘Wives were invited as a courtesy, not as consultants.’

Viviane’s sapphire eyes flared as if struck by lightning. ‘If this war goes poorly, we’ll be bleeding out right alongside you, so I think we damn well get a say in things.’

‘Hybern will do far worse things than kill you,’ Beron counted coolly. ‘A young, pretty thing like you especially.’

Kallias’s snarl rippled the water in the reflection pool, echoed by Mor’s own growl. Beron smiled a bit. ‘Only three of us were present for the last war.’ A nod to Rhys and Helion, whose face darkened. ‘One does not easily forget what Hybern and the Loyalists did to captured females in their war-camps. What they reserved for High Fae females who either fought for the humans or had families who did.’ He put a heavy hand on his wife’s too-thin arm. ‘Her two sisters bought her time to run when Hybern’s forces ambushed their lands. The two ladies did not walk out of that war-camp again.’

Any trace of colour drained from his mother’s face as she stared down at the reflection pool.

‘We will take your people,’ Tarquin cut in quietly to Tamlin. ‘Regardless of your involvement with Hybern… your people are innocent. There is plenty of room in my territory. We will take all of them, if need be.’

A curt nod was Tamlin’s only acknowledgment and gratitude.

Beron said, ‘So the Seasonal Courts are to become the charnel houses and hostels, while the Solar Courts remain pristine here in the North?’

‘Hybern has focused its efforts on the southern half,’ Rhysand said. ‘To be close to the wall—and human lands.’

At the mention of her previous home, Nesta’s face tightened. He saw the grief for the mortality that had been stolen from her.

Rhysand went on, ‘Why bother to go through the northern climes—through faerie territories on the continent, when you could claim the South and use it to go directly to the human lands of the continent?’

Thesan asked, ‘And you believe the human armies there will bow to Hybern?’

‘Its queens sold us out,’ Nesta said, voice hard. She lifted her chin, poised as a trained emissary. ‘For the gift of immortality, the human queens will allow Hybern in to sweep away any resistance. They might very well hand over control of their armies to him.’ She gave a sweeping glance to the courts assembled. ‘Where do the humans on our island go? We cannot evacuate them to the continent, and with the wall intact … Many might rather risk waiting than cross over the wall anyway.’

‘The fate of the humans below the wall,’ Beron cut in, ‘is none of our concern. Especially in a spit of land with no queen, no army.’

‘It is my concern,’ Feyre said. ‘Humans are nearly defenceless against our kind.’

‘So go waste your own soldiers defending them,’ Beron said, dismissal ringing out in his tone. ‘I will not send my own forces to protect chattel.’

A crackling of magic was felt in the airy room along with a deathly silence.

‘You’re a coward,’ breathed Feyre to the High Lord of Autumn.

Eris clenched his jaw, unable to believe her daring. It had to be ignorance to ever speak against him that way.

Beron just said, ‘The same could be claimed of you.’

‘I don’t need to explain myself to you.’

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

Blood and bones. The girl’s wet breathing. Her sobs as she lay broken on the dais. And a family home burnt to cinders.

‘As my lady said,’ Rhysand drawled, ‘she does not need to explain herself to you.’

Beron leaned back in his chair. ‘Then I suppose I don’t need to explain my motivations, either.’

Rhysand lifted a dark brow. ‘Your staggering generosity aside, will you be joining our forces?’

‘I have not yet decided.’

His own amber eyes pleaded with his father to see reason. If war came to their shores and Autumn didn’t take up arms, they’d stand alone in times of turmoil.

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

Beron only sneered. ‘I don’t take orders from the bastards of lesser fae whores.’

A wave of rage and disgust washed over many faces in the room. His father’s prejudices ran thick and oily through his blood.

Despite the burn in Nesta’s eyes, she said coolly, before any other had a chance to speak, ‘That bastard may wind up being the only person standing in the way of Hybern’s forces and your people.’

Hm. Maybe Eris hadn’t read the situation fully. She didn’t so much as look at the male but his gaze was trained on her like a moth to the flame, pride blazing in his hazel eyes.

’Get out if you’re not going to be helpful,’ clipped the high lady of the Night Court.

Beron ignored Eris’ stare that was a desperate plea for him to stop talking. ‘Did you know that while your mate was warming Amarantha’s bed, most of our people were locked beneath that mountain? Did you know that while he had his head between her legs, most of us were fighting to keep our families from becoming the nightly entertainment?’

Tarquin murmured, ‘That’s enough, Beron.’

Beron ignored him. ‘And now Rhysand wants to play hero. Amarantha’s Whore becomes Hybern’s Destroyer. But if it goes badly…’ A cruel, cold smile. ‘Will he get on his knees for Hybern? Or just spread his-’

Fire exploded out of Feyre. Raging, white-hot flame that blasted into Beron like a lance. The shield went up quick enough to shield his father, but Eris’ clothes smouldered. Beside him, he heard the sudden gasp of his mother as red, blistered skin covered her arm. He shot to his feet torn between burning the world to ash and taking his mother far from this place. Eris pulled her out of her chair and onto her knees so she could plunge her arm into the cold water of the reflection pool in the centre as gold and silver fish scattered from them. He was only vaguely aware of the battle raging between his father and Feyre Archeron or the yelling around them.

‘That was how you got through my wards,’ Tarquin murmured as the magic in the room ceased.

Beron was panting so hard he looked like he might spew fire, but Eris helped his mother back into her chair.

Helion rubbed his jaw as he sat down once more. ‘I wondered where it went—that little bit. So small—like a fish missing a single scale. But I still felt whenever something brushed against that empty spot.’ A smirk at Rhysand. ‘No wonder you made her High Lady.’

‘I made her High Lady because I love her. Her power was the last thing I considered.’

Helion asked Tamlin, ‘You knew of her powers?’

Tamlin was only watching the happy lovers, eyes glinting with hatred. ‘It was none of your business,’ was all Tamlin said to Helion. To all of them.

‘The power belongs to us. I think it is,’ Beron seethed.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Feyre, eyes landing on his mother clutching the angry red splatter of a burn on her moon-white skin.

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

Rhysand shattered through Beron’s shield, his fire, his defenses. Shattered through them like a stone hurled into a window, and slammed his dark power into Beron so hard he rocked back in his seat. Then that seat disintegrated into black, sparkling dust beneath him. Leaving Beron to fall on his ass. Glittering ebony dust drifted away on a phantom wind, staining Beron’s crimson jacket, clinging like clumps of ash to his brown hair.

‘Don’t ever speak to my mate like that again.’

Ah, so the Night Court could enact violence for those they loved, but not the Autumn Court. As always.

Beron shot to his feet, not bothering to brush off the dust, and declared to no one in particular, ‘This meeting is over. I hope Hybern butchers you all.’

But Nesta rose from her chair, that beautiful pillar of steel. ‘This meeting is not over.’

Even Beron paused at her tone. It was rare for him to listen to a female in any matter, especially not a once-mortal one, but there was something ancient and other worldly in her tone like the lure of a siren. Eris sized up the space between them. If his father reacted, sought retribution for his wife on the sister of the high lady, Eris would have a split second to send his own fire against his father’s to shield her. She stood taller than he expected, almost reaching his chin, and as beautiful and devastating as a storm.

‘You are all there is,’ she said to Beron, to all of us. ‘You are all that there is between Hybern and the end of everything that is good and decent.’ She settled her stare on Beron, unflinching and fierce. He’d like that spirit. Or scorn her for her lack of manners. It was like flipping a coin each day to know which Beron would greet him in the morning.

‘You fought against Hybern in the last war. Why do you refuse to do so now?’

Beron did not deign to answer. But he did not leave. Eris subtly motioned his brothers to sit and listen to her. If she could command their father here, she was a female worth listening to. Nesta marked the gesture—hesitated. As if realizing she indeed held their complete attention. That every word mattered. And it did matter. Eris wanted to hear everything she had to say. He gave her a small nod of encouragement, the corners of his mouth turning up at their interaction.

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

‘And you know this how?’ Beron sneered.

‘I went into the Cauldron,’ Nesta said flatly. ‘It showed me his heart. He will bring down the wall, and butcher those on either side of it.’ Nesta’s face revealed nothing. And no one dared contradict her. She looked to Kallias and Viviane. ‘I am sorry for the loss of those children. The loss of one is abhorrent. But beneath the wall, I witnessed children—entire families—starve to death.’ She jerked her chin at her sister. ‘Were it not for my sister … I would be among them. Too long. For too long have humans beneath the wall suffered and died while you in Prythian thrived. Not during that—queen’s reign.’ She recoiled, as if hating to even speak Amarantha’s name. ‘But long before. If you fight for anything—fight now, to protect those you forgot. Let them know they’re not forgotten. Just this once.’

Thesan cleared his throat. ‘While a noble sentiment, the details of the Treaty did not demand we provide for our human neighbours. They were to be left alone. So we obeyed.’

Nesta remained standing. ‘The past is the past. What I care about is the road ahead. What I care about is making sure no children—Fae or human—are harmed. You have been entrusted with protecting this land.’ She scanned the faces around her, imploring, begging. ‘How can you not fight for it?’ She looked to the Autumn delegate as her voice ebbed away. Eris was mesmerised by her. If he was high lord, they would already be marching to war with banners of crimson streaming behind them bearing Nesta’s alluring face on them. A champion of the quietest voices.

Beron only said, ‘I shall consider it.’

The look on his father’s face was the signal to leave. They hadn’t packed to stay. He wouldn’t ever leave his court overnight. Eris’ heart was tangled by duty and desire. An alliance with the Night Court meant more opportunities for his path to cross with Nesta Archeron. His people’s blood would water the earth if it meant he could ride into war beside her. He dipped his red head low, eyes meeting her simmering gaze as he winnowed away.

#the sjm bits are the ones with ten thousand dashes fragments of sentence and ellipsis #this was actually painful to flip POVs #but i kept in all the times feyre noted something about helion's muscled physique so it looks like eris is thirsting after him #neris #nesta archeron #eris vanserra

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