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onlybeeewrites · 1 month ago

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A Dance of Ash and Steel (2/ )

Pairing: Elara x platonic!Rhysand, Elara x Brother!Cassian, Elara x Eris

Word count: 4.2K

Summary: After Elara gets back home from the Autumn Court, she informs Rhysand on what happened. Both discover a curious choice made by the heir of the Autumn Court that leads to more questions than answers.

Warnings: mentions of past abuse, blood, past injuries, nightmares, PTSD, general violence, sexism, stupid Illyrian males

A Dance of Ash and Steel: Previous Next

~~~~~~~~

It hadn’t taken Madja too long to help work on Elara’s wounds. The open cuts and slashes healed over easy enough, leaving some soft and pale against her tanned skin. Some smaller cuts would fade into the color as if no damage even occurred there. The bruises had faded off, the proper blood flow restoring the color back to normal.

Though some other of the injuries would leave lasting reminders of her lovely time in the Autumn Court; which truly was a shame considering Elara loved the Autumn time. The cool winds, the colors of the trees as they prepared themselves for the cold winters that were to come.

But even Madja could only heal so much. The physical wounds anyways. She wouldn’t be able to sooth what the damage had done in her mind. She wouldn’t be able to take away the images of those autumn court soldiers. Their faces. Their taunts that echoed and repeated. The struggle to keep holding on each day in hopes that she finds a way out of there. That she’d be able to find the strength to fight them off after being let on the brink of starvation and dehydration. Madja wouldn’t be able to heal that part of her. That dark corner of her mind that left her questioning who she was. That part she went to—

“Elara?”

A smooth, gentle voice pulled her out of the thoughts she didn’t realize that she was falling into. This always happened. The spiraling into her own thoughts. After a mission gone wrong, or in this case—her kidnapping and torturing for information.

“Elara..”

The voice said again, and this time she blinked once. Twice. Swimming to the surface. Quickly trying to find her way to the top. Into the fresh aair and stop from sinking further into herself. Overanalyzing every choice she made while she was chained to the wall. Thinking about protecting her family. Her wings tucked in closer to her back subconsciously; impossibly tight. And then she did it. Reached the surface and blinked again. Once. Twice.

Her eyes refocused off of the wall she didn’t realize she was staring at. Elara blinked again as she looked where she was sitting, where she was. Who was in the room with her. No longer in that cell. No longer in the Autumn Court. Her eyes flickered to the window of the little study. When had it gotten late? How long had she been staring off?

Elara sat in one of the armchairs in Rhysand’s study, the flickering fire casting long shadows along the bookshelves. Right, She thought to herself, it was time to give Rhys a report on what had happened. To tell him everything she had seen and heard. To try and figure out why they had taken her in the first place, and to get to the bottom of what the hell they were looking for.

Rhys sat across from her, his violet eyes unreadable, but flashed of concern flickered behind them. She could feel his power stretching, brushing against the edges of her mind—not probing, just waiting. He was always kind like that. Always let her start off first, especially when it came to hard assignments or for those that went wrong.

“They came out of no where,” Elara started after a minute, pursing her lips that were once cracked, split and bleeding. She had so much water and yet her mouth still felt dry. So dry. No water—no she had water. At the side table to her right. A class of cool water sat there untouched. And it remained there. Full.

Elara swallowed again before she continued. Rhys, patient as ever, remained quiet allowing her to speak, to continue at her own pace. Kind, Rhys was so kind. They were all so kind, her family. “I was patrolling the borders to make sure we had no one slipping in after the incident last month. I landed because I thought I spotted a fire near the borders our borders with the Fay Court. Turns out it had been a trap. I landed and…there was eight of them. I managed to take down half before they over took me..”

The memory of it replaying in her mind. The realization of it all hitting her too late before she could safely take off back into the air. It had started off with just three of them. She was so sure of herself that she could take just three soldiers. She’d been able to handle Illyrian males, so how hard could Autumn Court soldiers be?

But then more came from the trees. Two more. Then three more. The next thing she knew she was surrounded by these soldiers. Each carrying swords, all closing in on her. She had managed to kill three of them before everything had gone dark.

Elara remembered waking up that first day in the cell. Her wings were bound, her wrists shackled to the wall so they could only move a few inches forward. The cuffs cutting into her wrists already. And cold. So fucking cold. Cold and damp. And she remembered the first soldier that came into her cell to start questioning her. The sick sadistic grin in his face; and later seeing him dead on the floor.

Thank you, Azriel.

The female Illyrian sighed, her wings shifting behind her uneasily before getting right to the point. She didn’t want to relive it any longer than she had to. She didn’t even want to show Rhys that part. Didn’t want to show anyone that. She wanted to tell him and just leave it.

“They were looking for someone,” Elara said, voice steady despite the lingering rasp from days without water. Her hands playing with a stray thread that frayed from the sweater Mor got for her. A soft deep green sweater and some soft black pants. Much comfier to wear comparing she had been wearing her torn leathers for three or four weeks straight. It was always nice to wear clothes that didn’t smell like blood and dirt.

Rhys didn’t react outwardly, but his focus sharpened. “Who?” His tone careful, but firm as he looked at the slightly younger female across from him. Patient as always.

Elara shook her head. “They never gave a name. Or said one. Not around me. But the way they were speaking, I think they’re looking for a female. Beron’s soldiers kept pressing me for information—asking if I had heard anything in the Hewn City. If I knew where this female was.” She leaned forward slightly. “Whoever it is, Beron wants them first. Or wants a name. He’s paranoid and he’s afraid. That much I can tell,”

Rhys was quiet for a moment, fingers drumming once against the armrest. She could see the gears turning in his head, “Did they say why?”

“No. Just that it was urgent.” She met his gaze. “They think you know something. Or at least know where they are,”

Rhys exhaled slowly, his power coiling tighter around the room. “Which means it’s not just Beron looking.

Elara shrugged, “I can’t say for sure. I don’t think so….i haven’t heard anything from Helion or Kallias or Thesan. If there was a concern from the other High Lords I would have heard of it by now.”

Rhys studied her for a beat before asking, “Alright. We’ll keep an eye on it for now. Let Helion know what happened on our borders. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled. Especially when it comes to his favorite Illyrian,” he said, the corner of his mouth turning up into a playful smirk, “Thank the Couldron you managed to get out of that cell..”

Elara hesitated for a moment. Debating on whether or not to tell him. And the words spilled from her lips before she even realized what she was saying. “I didn’t.”

His brows lifted slightly, a silent demand for her to explain. The playfulness disappearing from his expression, and something along the lines of concern replaced it.

She swallowed hard. Knowing this would be going one of a few ways and finally got the words that struggled to come up her throat, “Eris let me out.”

The air in the room shifted, darkened, as if the very walls had tensed. The energy of the room shifted at the mention of the heir. The oldest of the Vanserra children. The cruelest some say. Heartless. Like a predator that enjoys watching its pray struggle before it finally makes that life ending bite at the neck.

Rhys sat back, his expression still carefully neutral, but she could feel the thoughts running through his mind. She could see him putting those handy High Lords skills, as Elara called them, to good use.

“Did he say why?”

“No,” she murmured. “Just that he ‘felt like evening the odds.’ He hadn’t come down at all either. That was the first and only time I’ve seen him the entire time I was there.”

Rhys let out a quiet hum, though there was no amusement in it. “Eris doesn’t do anything without reason.” His fingers drummed against the solid oak wood of his desk. Eh soft thumping filling the air.

“Trust me, Rhys. I know.” Elara’s fingers curled against her knee, gripping onto the soft cloth. Grounding herself there. She couldn’t let herself go back into those depths of her mind. Not yet anyways. “That’s what worries me.”

Rhys was silent, watching her closely. Then, his voice quieter, more careful, he asked, “Did it feel like a debt?”

Elara stiffened, replaying that moment in her mind—Eris standing in the dim torchlight, his face unreadable, his power crackling in the air between them. He had let her go. Had risked everything by doing it. And he hadn’t asked for anything in return.

Not yet, at least.

Elara swallowed. “No,” she admitted. “It didn’t feel like a debt. Though I’m not sure to be fair I was pretty out of it..”

Rhys’s gaze didn’t waver. “Then what did it feel like?” He asked, pushing cautiously. But this was important. If Eris did get a favor? He’d be sure to cash in that favor from Elara when the proper time came. They all knew it.

She didn’t have an answer. And that, more than anything, unsettled her. But Rhys was looking at her—no. Not Rhys. Rhysand was looking at her. Her High Lord. And his eyes bore into hers, into her very heart and soul.

But Elara didn’t know what it was that Eris left her with. She had been down there for weeks. And Eris hadn’t once come down to see her. To taunt or tease or mock like she was more than sure he would. The idea alone made her want to punch him in the face. Or have him meet Avisra. But he had done nothing. Teased and taunted her. And then let her go.

Rhys sighed at her silence, knowing best to leave it at that. Knowing that Beron was paranoid, that they were looking for some female was good enough for now. Later on he’d be sure to ask if she’d seen anything else. Heard anything else. And perhaps peak inside her mind to make sure there was nothing she missed.

“Thank you, Elara. You should probably go get some sleep now. I’m sure you’re exhausted. We can talk more about it after you’ve rested,” Rhys said, giving her an assuring nod. Taking that as her queue to leave, she got to her feet and nodded, before leaving his study without another word. Words felt like too much right now.

The townhouse was quiet, the low hum of the city outside barely audible through the thick walls. The faint smell of the sea lingered on the breeze, and for a moment, Elara allowed herself to breathe deeply, trying to push the shadows from her mind.

She was safe.

She was safe and out of that cell. Safe and away from the Autumn Court. But the words kept circling in her head—they think we know something. They think she had the answers. Or she would know. But she didn’t. She had no idea who they were looking for. Why this female seemed to important to them. Why Beron seemed so paranoid. Afraid even. He had to be afraid if he were to go to such lengths

Elara rubbed her temples as she walked to the bed, her thoughts heavy, but exhaustion finally creeping in. Her limbs felt heavier and heavier. Her wings starting to droop behind her—Cassian would kill her if he saw she wasn’t lifting her wings. But she had to sleep.

The second her head hit the pillow, sleep over took her like an eager friend. But not a kind one.

Everything quickly shifted as sleep dragged her further and further under. The memories of the past several weeks refusing to be pushed aside, refusing to allow her a moments peace and seemed to resurface.

Her breath caught. The memories started as flashes—sharp, cruel images of the Autumn Court soldiers, their faces twisted with malice, the way their hands gripped her, how they tried to rip the answers from her. The cold steel of the bars, the weight of the chains that had held her. She could still hear their voices echoing, their threats, their twisted promises of what would come if she didn’t speak.

And then the shadows deepened. The cold dark pulling her further and further downward. Sinking its teeth into her flesh to keep her steady with it.

The cold air of the Illyrian camps swept in, and the distant sounds of the harsh winds of the mountain filled her ears. She could hear the crackling of the fires, the shouts of the warriors training, and in the distance—the cries of her mother.

Her heart slammed against her chest. Her mother’s face, pale and bloodied, haunted her from the corners of her memory. The cruel punishments. The cruel work. The harshness of the camps, the brutal beatings, the relentless days of being pushed to the edge. Pushed. Taunted.

A sharp gasp tore from Elara’s throat as the images bled into one another. The soldiers in the Autumn Court had been cruel, but the scars left by the Illyrian camps—by those who had raised her—were deeper, more jagged. They all mixed together in a cruel kaleidoscope of memories she tried to ignore.

Her mother’s wings. The way they had damaged them, the way her mother had never recovered from the humiliation, the trauma. The screams of pain Elara had never been able to forget. Ones she was grateful that Cassian never had to hear.

It’s not real.

Not anymore.

Her eyes bulged open then, waking finally from the cruel nightmare her mind decided to play that night. Elara stared up at the ceiling of her room while she gripped the blankets, her fingers digging into the soft fabric as her breath quickened. Her wings flexing, twitching and flinching as if she were ready to take off into the air right then and there.

She felt like the walls were closing in. The panic set in fast—too fast—and she couldn’t stop it. The room spun. The memories, the faces, the pain—it all collided. Building on and on. Continuing and never ending. Like a spiral staircase and Elara just keeps going down, down, down. Deeper into the grasp of darkness and cold.

But she couldn’t scream.

I can’t…

She shut her eyes, pulling the blankets tighter around her, trying to ground herself. She couldn’t let it take over. Not again. Not like last time.

Elara swallowed hard, trying to force air into her lungs, the panic clawing at her chest. It sank its claws into her and was refusing to let her go.

Breathe. Just breathe.

Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind—calm, steady, even as she lay broken in that cold, cruel place. You’re stronger than this, Elara. Don’t let them break you. Never let them break you.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, and the memories mixed with the physical sensations of the torture. It was too much. It was always too much Too much.

Elara forced herself to sit up, wrapping her arms around her legs, her breath shallow but steadying. She needed to get control, now. And quickly.

Elara’s chest heaved, the air suffocating in that suddenly too small room. She pressed her hand over her heart, feeling it pound wildly as she fought for control. She fought for silence. She had to.

She had already worried her brothers so much. It wasn’t her fault, that she knew. But it still didn’t stop the guilt that bubbled within her for worrying them. For worrying them all. And if any of them got a sense of this? Cassian would never let her be alone.

Focus, she told herself, forcing her breathing to slow. Slow. In. Out. The words in her mind, each one a lifeline.

One… two… three… four…

She repeated it over and over again, matching the rhythm with her breaths. Slowly, bit by bit, her heart stopped pounding as fast, and the pressure in her chest eased, if only slightly. But it was something.

The panic didn’t fully dissipate, but it was receding. The shadows of the past slowly loosened their grip on her mind. The present returned. She was in the townhouse. She was safe.

Elara squeezed her eyes shut, trying to banish the last remnants of the nightmare from her mind. She couldn’t let it consume her. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t afford to do that. She couldn’t afford to fall into the darkness of her own thoughts. Her mind. Her nightmares and anxiety. Not when she had a job to get back too. Protecting Velaris was more important than anything on this earth.

But even as the panic ebbed, the ache lingered, the quiet terror of those memories still pressing against her ribs. She wasn’t sure she could ever escape them. She wasn’t sure she ever would.

But for tonight, she would fight them. Alone, if she had to. But she was used to that. She knew she didn’t have to. She had her family. Mor. Rhys. Az. Cassian. Technically Amren but she wouldn’t listen nor really care.

Though this wasn’t new nor the first time that nightmares plagued her in these hours. Her heart returned back to his normal steady beat. Her hands still shaking like after shocks as she slowly laid back down. Turning on her side she watched out the window at the city that she loved so much. The city that she was entrusted with to protect her life with. And she allowed the city that she loved, to lure her back into sleep

A sweet, empty, quiet, sleep.

~~~~~

The next morning wasn’t much better. Neither was the next. And neither was the following day when Rhys told them they had to make a family trip to the Hewn City. Kier had apparently been causing some trouble. They all needed to go down to remind him of his place-Rhys mainly. It had been a while since they had all gone. But any time Rhys went, so did Elara.

So after everyone had gotten ready, they traveled down under the Moonstone Palace, deep under the mountain and to the Court of Nightmares

The Hewn City was a pit of shadows and deception, its very air thick with the scent of stone, smoke, and the sickly-sweet perfume of courtiers vying for power. The obsidian throne room gleamed under dim faelight, casting long, jagged shadows across the polished floors. It was a place of veiled threats and sharpened smiles—a place Elara had learned to navigate with her own blade-edged poise.

“You know I’m still not convinced you have to wear that. Can’t you just wear your leathers and siphons like me and Azriel? I don’t think it’s appropriate for the head guard to look like that,” Cassian complained to his sister, distaste and repulsion written shamelessly over his expression.

Elara rolled her eyes they entered the throne room of the Court of Nightmares. One of Elara’s least favorite places to be. Cassian always did this. Every single fucking time. She didn’t care much for the clothes. She knew she looked hot. Everyone did. It was the dress code down there. Down in the Hewn City, Elara was still the highest guard in the room. Unfortunately, they didn’t take kindly to females in positions of power.

So she had to make them listen. And one way to get males and people in the Hewn City to listen? Violence and sex.

So she did what she had to do. Just as they all did when they had to go down there. Playing into each of their own little roles they were given. Unforgiving. Unapologetic.

Elara glanced down at her attire for a moment, capturing. The clothes that had a mix of authority and allurement. It was a perfect combination for the lead guard of the night court.

She was dressed in a fitted black leather corset, the boning structured enough to highlight her figure while still allowing her to move with ease. The deep neckline exposed just enough skin to be daring but not impractical. A flowing sheer skirt, slit high on both thighs, billowed around her legs, revealing the sturdy black leather boots that laced up to her calves. Twin daggers were strapped to her thighs, their hilts peeking out just beneath the fabric. The sword at her hip gleamed under the dim light, a reminder that she was more than just decoration in this court of vipers.

Her hair, usually tied back for practicality, had been left loose, cascading down in soft waves, though two small braids had been twisted back from her temples and fastened with silver pins. A faint touch of makeup that Mor had insisted on dusted her eyes. Simple dark eyeshadow above her hazel eyes—all added together to provide her a sharp, dangerous edge. Mor insisted she looked hot, but she just felt like she smeared dirt on her eyelids. Though she trusted Mor’s judgment.

“We have the same conversation every time we come here, Cass. It’s just for a few hours. You really need to grow up,” she grumbled, “if I was a male I would but unfortunately they wouldn’t take me seriously if I wore your dress code.” Have said rolling her eyes as she glared at the courtiers around them.

The place smelled. Smelled of ill intentions. Of evilness. Of pain. Of fear. The males, particularly. It all reminded her too much of growing up with the Illyrians. All entitled to what they believe they earned—no, deserved. And she had a feeling Cassian and Azriel knew that too as she felt an assuring cool caress on her back; Az’s shadows. Always assuring. Always so kind and playful. With her at least. Probably because she wasn’t as obnoxious as her brother.

Elara could feel the eyes of the court on her. The savage hungry looks that reached out like grasping hands. For hunger. A hunger for lust. A hunger for blood.

It didn’t matter.

As their family took their places around the Dias, Elara stood at Rhysand’s side, a sentinel draped in both allure and lethality. His personal guard here. She’d been called his guard dog by countless courtiers. But she didn’t care. As long as she wasn’t alone, they could call her whatever they’d like.

Elara kept her focus on Rhysand, who lounged in his throne. By now he had already scolded the court before demanding the music to play. Drinks flowed, music echoed, people danced, kissed, gossiped. Everything in between. Rhys was now speaking to Kier in that silk-lined voice of command, every word laced with subtle warning. Elara had moved to the bottom of the dias, keeping an eye out over the crowd.

Then the air shifted.

A ripple of awareness moved through the court, whispers barely hushed behind jeweled goblets, beyond the music that echoed off the walls. Elara caught the flicker of movement at the far end of the chamber, the way the gathered nobility straightened, some stiffening in apprehension, others watching with intrigue. Many avoiding and shifting their gaze away.

And then she saw him.

Eris Vanserra strode into the room with all the effortless arrogance of a male who belonged in the shadows but refused to be swallowed by them. He was a vision of Autumn’s fire and ice, dressed in a deep crimson shirt, the open collar exposing the sharp lines of his throat. His long coat, black and gold, swept behind him as he walked, the embroidered flames along its hem flickering like embers in the low light. His short red-gold hair was neatly done, sweeping neatly to the right; allowing none of his features to be hidden.

His molten gaze swept over the room before landing on her.

Elara tensed, fingers flexing around the hilt of her dagger, ready—though for what, she wasn’t sure. But wherever Eris Vanserra was concerned? It was never good.

She watched as he stalked across the room, walking through like a predator before stopping right in front of her. Eris smirked, “Hello, Little Bird. You certainly are looking better than the last time I saw you,” he commented, allowing his eyes to rather shamelessly roam over her form before dragging them up to meet her hazel eyes.

She took a step forward. Swiftly she pulled her dagger out, lifting it so the very spark point of her blade was almost touching his throat. She glared to up at him. He wasn’t that much taller than herself, five or six inches or so. Regardless, she blocked his path before he could get any closer to Rhys. “The High Lord is busy,” she said smoothly, voice cold as steel. “Come back later and he might have time to speak with you,”

Eris watched with great amusement. Though not moving. Not even seeming afraid of the Illyrian blade that could easily slice his jugular with one quick swipe, or one wrong move. Instead, he tilting his head as if amused by the very idea of being turned away or being threatened by the shorter female.

“I’m not here for him,” he murmured, his voice low, teasing.

Elara brows furrowed slightly, but she didn’t let her confusion show. And instead remained silent as she continued to stare him down, waiting for him to continue.

Eris took another step closer. The blade pressing into his neck a bit more now, not enough to draw blood but almost. But now he was close enough that she could catch the faint scent of embers and cedarwood. His scent alone caused her head to spin.

Eris continued to smirk down at her, almost as if he knew. Knew that his actions kept her up at night. Pleased to know he had this sort of effect on the female.

“I’m here for you, Little Bird,”

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