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onlybeeewrites · 2 months ago

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A Dance of Ash and Steel (4/)

Pairing: Oc!Elara x Inner Circle, OC!Elara x Mor,

Word count: 4.3k

Summary: Eris meets with Elara and the rest of the Inner Circle to negotiate but a later realization may change the terms agreed upon.

Warnings: threats of violence, snarky comments, light sexism, light mentions of self-deprecating thoughts

A Dance of Ash and Steel: Previous Next

~~~~~~~

Eris had waited there perhaps longer than necessary as he watched Elara disappear into the trees. The dark sweep of her wings blending into the early afternoon air. She didn’t look back. Not once. And soon enough, her figure disappeared behind the freezing clouds of the Winter Court.

And Eris remains there. One heart beat. Then another as his eyes lingered on the horizon, as if steeling himself for what was to come.

With a sharp exhale, Eris turned on his heel and vanished into the woods, shadows swallowing him as he made his way back to the heart of the Autumn Court. He took his time doing so, he was never completely eager to return to his home to his father, especially when in a mood.

And Beron was still furious.

It had been about a week or so since Elara’s escape from their court, and yet his father’s wrath had not waned. If anything, it had only festered, darkening the halls of the Autumn Court like a storm waiting to break. Like thunder about to crack.

Eris strode through the grand halls of the Autumn Court’s palace, the familiar scent of burning leaves and rich earth surrounding him. The morning’s encounter with Elara lingered in his mind, an unbidden warmth spreading through his chest—a sensation he was unaccustomed to and preferred to ignore.

As he approached the throne room, the air grew heavier, charged with his father’s simmering rage. Beron Vanserra, sat upon his ornate throne, fingers drumming impatiently on the armrest. His eyes, cold and calculating, locked onto Eris the moment he entered.

“You’re late,” Beron hissed, his voice echoing through the chamber.

Eris offered a shallow bow, masking his irritation. “My apologies, Father. I was attending to court matters.” He said before walking to the side of the room, leaning against an ivory pillar.

Beron’s nostrils flared before he shook his head, “Days, Eris,” Beron seethed, his voice barely more than a growl. “It’s been days, and that Illyrian filth is still gone.”

One of Eris’ brothers cleared his throat, “The Illyrian’s escape was unforeseen. Our scouts are still investigating how she managed it, Father,”

“Unforeseen?” Beron rose from his throne, descending the steps with predatory grace towards the middle son. “You assured me she was secured, that there was no possibility of her slipping through our grasp. And yet, days have passed, and she remains free.”

His voice echoed off the walls, his rage barely restrained.

No one dared to speak. Not the rest of his brothers, not the lords who had come to bow and scrape before their father. Even they knew better than to poke the beast when it was already snapping its teeth.

Eris, however, remained leaning against a pillar, expression carefully neutral. Practiced.

His father’s fury was a predictable thing. Elara had humiliated him, had slipped from his hold like a ghost in the night, and Beron hated to be made a fool of.

Hated to lose.

Especially to a low fae like an Illyrian.

And though Eris had spent years perfecting the art of indifference, he found that his own irritation stirred beneath the surface at the thought of what could have happened if Beron had kept her.

If he had never intervened.

Eris knew Elara had no idea who this female was, the one they were looking for. He knew it a few days in on her interrogation. The Night Court had no idea either. So how far would Beron go to pull information that Elara didn’t have?

His father turned, eyes cutting to him like a blade. Determinate and slightly mad, hungry for answers. Hungry for blood. Revenge for making him look so utterly foolish.

“You—” he sneered. “You spent time with her before, did you not? Tell me, what tricks did she use to slip away?”

Eris met his gaze with cool detachment. “If I knew, I would have told you. I tried to pull answers out of her but she remained silent,”

A lie, of course. But he had long since mastered those.

Beron studied him, suspicion flickering in his molten gaze. But before he could press further, one of his lords murmured something low in his ear, something that made the High Lord’s lips curl in disgust.

With a scoff, Beron waved a hand and turned sharply on his heel. “Useless, the lot of you,” he muttered before storming from the throne room, his heavy steps echoing in his wake.

Eris didn’t move until the doors slammed shut behind him.

Then, slowly, he exhaled, rolling his shoulders before pushing off the pillar. The court began to murmur again, but he ignored them. Ignored the way his brothers seemed to discuss amongst themselves out they’d find and recapture her.

Rolling his eyes, he stalked past them and made his way toward the doors leading to the crisp autumn air.

It was then—just as he stepped into the courtyard—that he caught it.

A scent.

Faint, but unmistakable.

Wildflowers.

The Autumn Court never held wildflowers. Well, most courts didn’t considering they only lingered in the mountains. The Autumn Court was all smoke and cedar and damp earth. But this—this scent was something softer, something that didn’t belong.

His fingers twitched at his sides, and before he could stop himself, he turned toward the source.

There, nestled in a crack between the stone, was a single, stubborn bloom. A wildflower, pale blue and delicate, its petals fluttering in the breeze.

Eris stared at it for a long moment. Admiring the resilient stubbornness this wildflower seemed to have. Growing between cracked stone of where it certainly didnt belong.

He ignored the way his fingers ached to reach out, to pluck the bloom and tuck it away before the cold devoured it.

Instead, he inhaled sharply, straightened his coat, and walked away.

~~~~

It was two days later, Elara had come to collect Eris and brought him into the Night Court. Above the Court of Nightmares and into as neutral territory as they could get without bringing him into Velaris. The Moonstone Palace.

The journey to the Moonstone Palace had been a long, tense flight. Elara had found Eris waiting at the border that morning, his usual smirk in place, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. As if he wasn’t about to walk into a room full of people who would love nothing more than to send him back to Autumn in pieces.

Elara had barely spoken on the way there, her mind clouded with the weight of what she was asking her family to do. The looks Cassian and Azriel had given her before she left still lingered, burning into her skin, filling her with a gnawing guilt she couldn’t shake. But she pushed it down.

Now, standing in the Moonstone Palace, she wasn’t sure if she had been right to.

Elara had never felt more like a traitor.

Not to the Night Court, but to the family that had taken her in all those centuries. To the family that help train and raise her the best they could. The family that helped her through all of her nightmares and pushed her to grow as a strong female. The very family that was sitting in front of her now, their eyes sharp and wary as she entered the Moonstone Palace with Eris Vanserra at her side.

The silence was suffocating.

Rhys sat at the head of the table, his expression as unreadable as ever, his violet gaze assessing the male standing beside her. Azriel and Cassian flanked him, shadows curling, siphons gleaming, muscles tensed as if they were waiting for an excuse—just one, to punch the Eris’ lights out.

Mor stood by the window, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her golden hair catching the soft light filtering through the glass. There was no masking the mix of fury and discomfort written plainly across her face.

And Amren—Amren only watched, her expression one of disinterest, but Elara knew better. Knew that those silver eyes saw everything, knew that Amren was already sorting through the threads of this conversation before it had even begun.

Eris, of course, was utterly unbothered. He exhaled sharply, glancing around before flashing a smirk, his golden eyes gleaming with amusement. “Well, don’t all jump to welcome me at once.”

Cassian’s chair scraped against the marble floor as he leaned forward, his glare promising violence. “Shut up, Vanserra.”

Elara could already feel the headache forming behind her temples. Two minutes. He had been in the room for two minutes, and Cassian was already ready to rip his head off.

Her hands clenched at her sides, nails digging into the leather of her armor. Her siphons flickered a deep green in warning as she forced herself to keep her voice level. “Can we not start this already?” She flicked a pointed glare between them.

Rhys’s expression didn’t change, but his gaze flickered, settling on Eris as the two moved to sit at the opposite end of the table—confidently farthest from the other members of her family; which also made this feel more and more like an interrogation than a negotiation.

But Elara didn’t need to be a Daemati to know that Rhys was already sorting through the possible outcomes of this meeting. Already weighing if this was worth the risk.

If Rhys said no, that would be it.

“You’re here because you claim to have information on a missing individual,” Rhys finally said, his voice smooth, but sharp.

Eris’s smirk didn’t waver. “Missing is an interesting choice of words.” He tilted his head slightly. “I would categorize her as a wanted female. She might have gone into hiding, or she has no idea how powerful she actually is. We don’t know. Regardless, I intend to find her before my father does.”

“And you needed Elara to do that?” Azriel’s voice was soft, deadly. His hazel eyes had darkened to something near black, his shadows curling tighter around him.

Eris’s gaze slid to her, a flicker of amusement crossing his face as his eyes traced her tense posture as she sat in the chair beside him, the way her wings tucked in tightly against her back.

“She offered.”

Elara stiffened, feeling the weight of every pair of eyes in the room land on her. “I didn’t offer,” she snapped, her glare cutting toward Eris. “I said I’d help.”

Eris only shrugged, as if the distinction didn’t matter. “Same thing.”

Cassian’s knuckles turned white where he gripped the table. “And what do you expect from us?”

Eris met his glare without flinching. “A bit of cooperation, perhaps. Your High Lord is known for his diplomacy, after all.”

Rhys’s answering smile was faint, but there was nothing warm about it. “Meaning?”

“Meaning I want access to your resources while I’m here.” Eris leaned back against the chair, as if the tension in the room didn’t exist. “A fair trade, don’t you think?”

Mor scoffed, shaking her head. “You must be joking.”

Eris turned to her, that damn smirk still in place. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

A muscle in her jaw twitched.

The tension rose, thick as fog, suffocating.

Always suffocating.

Elara forced herself to take a breath. She had known this wasn’t going to be easy. Had known how much of a fight this would be. But this—the way her family was looking at her—like they didn’t understand how she could stand beside him, how she could ask them to consider trusting him—

She swallowed the feeling clawing at her chest, choosing her words carefully. “It benefits all of us to find them before Beron does. It would keep our Court safe from whatever threat this is,”

Azriel’s wings flared slightly. “And we’re supposed to just trust him?”

“No,” Elara admitted. “But you can trust me.”

That landed.

Cassian exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. His hazel eyes softened, just slightly, as they met hers. “Elara—”

“I know how this looks,” she interrupted, her voice quieter now. “But I wouldn’t have agreed to work with him if I didn’t think it was worth it.”

She felt like a child again. The same child who had stood before them, begging for them to let her train. Begging for a chance to let her prove herself.

And now she was standing before them again, asking for their trust in a different way. Something much bigger than just her.

Asking them to trust her.

Cassian’s jaw tightened. “You’re not the one I’m worried about.”

Eris chuckled. “That’s fair, actually.”

Azriel’s shadows curled tighter around his shoulders.

Rhys was still watching Eris carefully, his mind likely turning through every possible outcome.

Finally, he exhaled. “This stays on our terms.” His voice was smooth as silk, but there was steel beneath it. “You don’t step foot in the Night Court without an escort. You don’t make any deals behind our backs. And if you try anything, you won’t be leaving the Night Court at all.”

Elara braced herself for Eris to argue. To push back. To make some smart-ass comment that would send Cassian over the edge.

Instead, he simply inclined his head. “Understood.”

Too easy.

He agreed to that….too easily.

Elara wasn’t the only one who thought so. Cassian narrowed his eyes, his grip still iron-tight on the table’s edge. Azriel didn’t move, but his shadows thickened, whispering through the air. Even Mor looked like she was waiting for the catch—the moment Eris would remind them all why they had every reason not to trust him.

Rhys leaned back in his chair, folding his hands before him. “You agreed rather quickly.”

Eris’s lips curved. “Would you rather I argue?”

Rhys didn’t smile back. “I’d rather know why you’re suddenly so cooperative.”

Eris sighed, tilting his head back slightly, as if debating whether this was worth his time. Then he met Rhys’s gaze, his own gaze sharp, burning with something unreadable.

“Because this,” he gestured vaguely between them all, “is bigger than whatever personal grievances you and your court hold against me. I don’t have time for a pissing contest, and neither do you.”

Cassian let out a sharp laugh, though there was no humor in it. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Eris barely glanced at him. “Believe it or not, General, I do have other priorities beyond irritating you.”

Cassian’s hands curled into fists, but before he could snarl a response, Rhys spoke, cutting through the rising tension. “You want access to our resources.” His violet eyes gleamed. “Be specific.”

Eris smiled, slow and deliberate. “Your network of spies. Your contacts across Prythian. Shelter, food and supplies, basics, really.”

Azriel’s shadows stilled. Then, they surged back to him, curling around his shoulders like a living warning. His expression didn’t change, but the tension in the room sharpened like a blade.

“You want access to my spies,” Azriel said quietly. His voice was soft, deadly—a whisper of a threat that sent a chill down even Elara’s spine.

Eris met his gaze without a flicker of hesitation. “I want to find this female before Beron does,” he corrected. “Your spies might be useful.”

Azriel didn’t so much as blink. “No.”

A muscle in Eris’s jaw ticked, but he only sighed. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

Rhys, to his credit, remained unreadable, but Elara knew him well enough to see the calculation in his eyes. “Our spies are not a bargaining chip,” Rhys said smoothly.

Eris’s smirk didn’t waver, but there was a flicker of something underneath it—frustration, maybe, or something close. “Then what exactly are you offering, High Lord?”

Rhys tapped his fingers against the table, considering. “Information,” he said at last. “We’ll grant you access to what we choose to share. We’ll determine what’s relevant and what isn’t.”

Eris exhaled sharply. “So you want me to trust you blindly?”

“Funny,” Mor muttered, arms still crossed. “That’s exactly what you’re asking of us.”

Eris turned to her, and for a heartbeat, something unreadable passed over his face. Then, his usual mask slid back into place, his smirk turning almost lazy. “Fair point,” he admitted.

Elara could feel the conversation slipping, the negotiations starting to fray before they had even begun. She exhaled, forcing herself to unclench her fists. “Compromise,” she said, her voice firmer than she felt. “That’s what we need.”

Eris glanced at her, assessing. She ignored the way his gaze lingered, turning to Rhys instead. “If we don’t share resources, he doesn’t get what he needs, and we risk Beron getting to this female first.”

Rhys studied her for a long moment. Then, his gaze flicked to Eris. “I’ll allow you access to some of our contacts,” he said carefully.

“But only under strict oversight. You work with us, not around us. You don’t approach our informants without permission. You don’t set foot anywhere in our Court without an escort. And if I suspect for even a second that you’re withholding information, this deal is over.”

Eris’s smirk remained, but Elara knew him well enough now to see the tension in his shoulders. “Such warmth,” he murmured. “It’s almost like you don’t trust me.”

Cassian scoffed. “Because we don’t.”

Eris ignored him, keeping his gaze on Rhys. A silent challenge passed between them. A test of wills. Then, slowly, Eris nodded.

“Fine,” he said. “It’s agreed upon.”

The tension in the room didn’t ease, but something shifted. A delicate, uneasy truce settled between them—one that could shatter at any moment.

Eris leaned back slightly, his smirk still in place, but Elara didn’t miss the way his fingers tapped against the hilt of one of his knives. Always poised, always calculating.

Rhys exhaled through his nose, then leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. “Since this arrangement will require your presence in the Night Court longer than a single meeting, I assume you’ll need a place to stay.”

Elara stiffened.

Cassian’s chair creaked ominously. “You’re not serious.”

Azriel’s shadows curled tighter. Even Mor’s arms uncrossed, her hands balling into fists at her sides.

Rhys’s expression didn’t waver. “The Moonstone Palace is neutral ground. If you’re staying here, that’s where you’ll be.”

Eris, to his credit, looked only mildly surprised. “Generous,” he murmured.

“It’s not generosity,” Rhys corrected, his voice smooth, cool. “It’s control. You’ll stay there under our watch, under our terms. If you so much as breathe wrong, we’ll know.”

Eris considered that, golden eyes flicking to Elara for a brief moment before he smiled. “And if I refuse?”

Azriel’s voice was like ice. “Then you leave the same way you came.”

Cassian, still bristling, bared his teeth in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Or in a body bag.”

Elara barely resisted the urge to rub at her temple. Cauldron, give me strength.

But Eris just laughed, soft and amused. “Touchy.” He turned back to Rhys, inclining his head ever so slightly. “Fine. The Moonstone Palace it is.”

The room remained tense, no one fully satisfied, but Elara knew this was as good as it was going to get.

Eris had what he wanted.

And so did they.

~~~~~

Eris had returned back his room in the Moonstone Palace after Rhys insisted that they all have dinner together—much to Cassian’s disagreement and Azriel’s distaste.

Neither of her brothers really caring for outwardly showing their opinion on the whole arrangement.

ANd after a long conversation, though it was more like a negotiation, Elara and Eris agreed to start their search for the female in three days

Three days to prepare for this wild goose chase with almost no leads, no idea where to start, and having to beat Beron. Three days to research and figure out where the hell to start.

They agreed to start in the Night Court. Thought they hadn’t heard of any female pulling attention, the vastestness of their home provided plenty of smaller villages for someone to go into hiding.

From there they would move into the Day Court. Luckily Helion was fond of Elara and she was sure he’d allow both of them to search his territory or provide word if they spotted anyone suspicious. Then they’d move to Dawn Court. Then the Winter Court. Then-with avoiding Autumn- going to Summer. Then finally, ending at Spring.

Tamlin was certainly more fond of Eris than Elara so they agreed that he would take the lead when they got to that point. Which was probably for the best because Elara couldn’t stand looking at the High Lord of Spring knowing what he had done to Rhys’ mother and sister.

Now after returning back to the Townhouse, Mor laid sprawled across Elara’s bed, idly toying with a loose thread on the blanket. “You know Cassian and Az are still brooding downstairs, right?”

Mor drawled, moving and propping herself up on her elbows. “Rhys is trying to reason with them, but you’d think you just suggested letting Beron himself stroll into Velaris.”

Elara huffed, rolling her eyes. “I didn’t expect them to like the idea. I didn’t expect anyone to. But it needs to be done and it’s our best chance to find this female before Beron does…somehow, there are in fact worse males than Eris,”

“That’s an understatement. Trust me I hate that asshole more than anyone else. But Beron?” Mor muttered, shaking her head, almost looking ready to rip the head off the next person who walking through the door.

“Az looked like he was going to start sharpening Truth-Teller just for the thought of Eris being anywhere near us.”

Elara didn’t respond, her fingers deftly unfastening the leathers at her wrists. She wasn’t in the mood to rehash the argument—not when Cassian had already spent half the night making his disapproval painfully clear once they returned to the townhouse.

“Trust me,” Elara sighed as she pulled off her leathers and tossing them aside. She pulled off her under shirt as well before reaching for the fresh sleep shirt she had left draped over the chair of her room. The fabric was soft, freshly laundered, and smelled faintly of the townhouse and faintly wildflowers—of home.

“Nothing would make me happier,”

“No kidding El, I don’t know how-Mor’s voice faltered was no longer teasing. No longer light, “wait…”

Elara glanced up, brows furrowing. “What?”

“Turn around.” Mor’s voice was concerned but light, almost as if she wasn’t sure either.

Elara blinked at her friend. “What? Why?” She was about to argue when Mor quickly stood up and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her around to face the mirror again. Elara was about to protest when she saw the way Mor’s eyes were fixed on her back in their reflection—wide and unsettled

“Elara,” Mor whispered. “What is that?”

Confusion flickered across Elara’s features. She glanced over her shoulder in the mirror, expecting to see some mark or injury she hadn’t noticed, but there was nothing that seemed unusual.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, her voice soft, then turning slightly to get a better angle. “There’s nothing—”

But Mor had already moved closer, her fingers hovering above Elara’s skin, eyes still locked on the spot between her shoulder blades.

Elara felt a slight tension coil in the air, a strange unease settling over them both. “Mor, seriously, stop—what is it? You’re starting to freak me out,”

“Turn around,” Mor demanded again, the edge in her tone sharpening now, no trace of teasing left in it, “look!” She said, her tone growing furious now.

Puzzled, Elara slowly complied. But as soon as she turned fully, the shift in Mor’s demeanor hit her.

“Mor, I think you—”

She moved quickly, spinning and looking over her shoulder at herself in the mirror. And as her back came into view, she saw it.

The tattoo started in the middle of Elara’s shoulder blades, a subtle but distinct swirling pattern that was almost hidden beneath the fabric of her shirt.

At first, it seemed faint—just a soft, dark ink of shadow and flame that slithered like smoke across her skin. The shadowed tendrils seemed to reach outward, curling as if alive, while the flame-like marks flickered at their core, twisting and flickering like something burning beneath her skin.

It was almost as if the tattoo itself had a life of its own, a deep, pulsating energy that hummed under her flesh.

Unmoving, but humming.

The design spread outward in delicate tendrils, following the natural curve of her spine, the ink spreading like a slow wildfire.

As it reached the nape of her neck, it was no longer just a faint design but a vivid, unmistakable mark—shadow and flame entwined in a powerful, hypnotic dance.

The full extent of it became clear—how much of her skin was marked, how much of her back, her neck, and even her soul, felt bound to something she couldn’t remember.

Something she didn’t realize she did.

Elara felt her hands tremble, but she couldn’t stop herself as she ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it up slightly to reveal the faint trace of the ink reaching the very edge of her hairline.

There was no way.

No.

No, that wasn’t—

She hadn’t—

Mor sucked in a breath. “Oh my gods.” Mor’s face was pale, her golden brown eyes wide with disbelief and anger at her cousin.

She looked and looked to Elara voice barely a whisper, but confusion and fury filling her tone.

“Elara… what did you do?”

Elars stared at her back in the mirror, her hazel eyes wide in disbelief, denial as her mind raced before she breathed out with the only explanation she could think of. The only reason why this ink would be on her skin.

The smoke.

The flames.

“I made a bargain.”

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