Chapter Text
It was an effort to get out of bed on mornings like this.
Elain had stirred from a rare, blissful night of dreamless sleep. No vivid images of the swirling eddies of the Cauldron, no biting cold of that freezing camp in Hybern, no suffocating heat from the bond in her chest.
Instead, she was greeted by the nourishing warmth of the sun on her face. Bright and inviting as it was, Elain intended to rise slowly as the golden light bathed her bedroom.
Tempting as it was to stay there and bask in it, that glorious sunshine, drinking from it as her plants and flowers did every day, Nyx’s stirring cries from the room above her own jolted her into reality.
It was a joyous sound—and one she was used to—though after two years in this High Fae body, she still hadn’t quite adjusted to the sharpness of her hearing. Like a pealing bell, Nyx’s ‘good morning’ cry rippled through her head.
Despite that, she truly adored him; the sapphire of his eyes and the warmth in his laughter—certainly not bothered by his crying. His wails were a reminder of life; the life Nesta had sacrificed so much to the Mother for, the life they had all so desperately fought for during the war with Hybern.
No, the crying was no burden at all.
Feyre was a hands-on mother, and her soothing coos echoed through the River House. She could hear the padding of her footsteps above as she paced with Nyx in her arms, sighing away those morning cries, assuaging the noise with her comforting touch.
Elain was certainly surprised to see Feyre slip into this role, but it suited her well. Rhysand, at her side, was equally doting. They were loving, caring parents, and it pleased Elain to no end to know Feyre would be the mother their own could not be to either of them.
Shoving the sheets off her body, Elain got up to greet the murmur of the River House welcoming a new day. Nuala and Cerridwen were outside her room already, judging by their scents and swirling shadows below the door.
“Come in,” Elain chimed as she sat at her dressing table and beckoned the wraiths in.
“Good morning, Elain,” they answered in unison, twin smiles on their pretty faces.
“And good morning to you, too,” she said with a stretch of her arms. “I thought you’d be upstairs with Nyx?” They fussed over him as much as anyone.
“We were, but the High Lady told us she’d handle it. We adore him, but there’s no touch like his mother’s,” Nuala explained with a soft smile. They wouldn’t drop Feyre’s formal title, despite her sister’s protests. “We came to see you instead.”
“So, what will it be today?” Cerridwen asked. “The garden gown or your day dress?”
“Garden today, please,” Elain replied. She had thankfully gotten a full, restful night’s sleep for the first time in months, and she did not plan to waste it.
Nuala pulled out her favourite sage green dress, ideal for gardening. Breathable linen overlaid by misty-white muslin, hardy against the dirt and thorns she battled each day. Airy, practical, plain.
“Cerri and I were thinking about baking a few loaves of bread today, in the townhouse,” Nuala spoke as she drifted from the armoire to the dresser, garden dress in tow. “Would you like to join us this afternoon?”
Baking had been one of her newfound joys at the Night Court in those early, difficult days. Elain still enjoyed it, focusing on the smells and textures of making food, then sharing it for herself and others. Similar to tending her plants, it was a labour of love. A distraction from the world that had crumpled around her, and spat her back out.
She paused, debating it. “Perhaps, but I really want to be in the garden today. With Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony only a week away, I want to make sure the flowers are perfect.”
Indeed, not long to go, and Elain had carefully cultivated the flowers Nesta would wear in her hair, which would bedeck the tables and form her bouquet. Human touches to honour their father, grown with love by Elain, Nesta insisted.
“So, I will let you know. We have good weather, thankfully, and as much as I love baking with you both, I’d prefer to be outside as much as possible today.” Nuala and Cerridwen shared a glance and then turned to nod at Elain.
She didn’t miss it. That glance, only for a heartbeat. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” They chirped in unison. Nuala’s face gave away the ruse before Cerridwen. Spies indeed. Not around Elain.
“What’s going on today that means I can't be outside?” Elain turned to face them through furrowed brows.
“You can, of course, be outside. It’s just… the eldest son of the High Lord of Autumn is arriving today…” Nuala started. Earning a pained glance from Cerridwen, who continued. “He wants to see him and speak with the High Lord.”
Elain’s heart pounded in her chest as Nuala spoke.
“It was a very last-minute decision, Lord Eris only sent word yesterday. The High Lord got the message after you fell asleep. He and the High Lady felt it best not to wake you.”
“I see.” She loosed a breath, averting her eyes from Nuala and Cerridwen to stare out the window toward her beloved gardens below. “I don’t see what it has to do with me.” She tried to steady her quickening breath.
Lucien had been a ghost to her in recent months. He’d been away with the humans, with Jurian and Vassa, helping rebuild after the war. She hadn’t anticipated facing this today. But he’d be here. No longer a haunting memory or a piecemeal apparition. He’d be here, flesh and bone, scent and warmth. That mismatched gaze that found her in every room. The mind, body and soul that called to her own.
She shook the thought from her head. “No need for such a distraction,” she affirmed to them both. “I’ll be in the garden should anyone need me.”
Nuala and Cerridwen nodded without another word, braiding her hair back in the half-up, half-down style she preferred for gardening.
Before she could worry further, Feyre’s head popped in the door, Nyx a bundle in her arms. Elain gleefully welcomed them in and tentatively took Nyx from her sister.
He seemed to grow and change a little more each day, to her sadness. Elain didn’t have much experience with babies, since only one of her society friends had announced she was with child before she’d been swept away from that world.
Elain kissed the babe gently. “Good morning, Nyx.” He cooed in return. Feyre looked on lovingly and signalled Nuala and Cerridwen to take over. Elain’s heart swelled at the sight of him; pained to hand him over, but did so without fussing over him.
“Send word if you need us, Lady Elain. High Lady.” Nuala bowed, Cerridwen mirrored the movement and took Nyx in shadowed arms. They wafted out of the bedroom, their shadows closing the door behind them.
Feyre returned to Elain and started, “Elain—“
“There’s no need, Feyre,” she said, a little clipped. “Absolutely nothing to worry about.”
Damn it, too neutral. Elain was always a terrible liar, and though she wasn’t scared or fearful as she had been in those early days, she wasn’t ready to see him today.
“You already know,” she said with a sigh.
“I weasels it out of Nuala,” she said. “I wish you wouldn’t all tiptoe around me like that.”
Feyre sighed, “I know, and I’m sorry, we just don’t want you to feel compelled to see him. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But you should know he’ll be here, back in the city. Maybe permanently now, as Vassa and Jurian remain behind to finish up with the humans.”
Elain nodded. Her eyes drifted over to the drawer where she kept his gloves—untouched and unused. Such a lovely, beautiful and more importantly, practical gift that she couldn’t bring herself to use. Would using them automatically make her his? Would it be an invitation for him to claim her like an animal would its own mate?
The unknown myriad of implications weighed too heavily on her. And so there in that drawer, in the box they came in, still lightly impressed with his scent, they remained. Tied with a pink silk ribbon, wrapped delicately with tissue paper.
Not that she had been studying them.
“No, I know,” Elain said, dragging herself away from the drawer. “I’ve been expecting this day for a long time. It had to come eventually.”
“Have you given it any thought? How you want to proceed with him? How you want to handle this?” Feyre asked, tenderly.
This. Proceed. It.
Every word but what it was. The bond.
That bond that tugged on her ribs. Kept her awake at night and flowed through her dreams.
Everyone danced around it, and Elain supposed she was mostly to blame by way of not addressing it. But she hadn’t been ready to, and didn’t know if she ever would be.
“You have a choice here, Elain, you always have.”
“Then why doesn’t it feel like it?” she asked, voice shaking with uncertainty. “I think I’d almost prefer for someone else to choose for me.”
“Well, the Cauldron did, if you think about it,” Feyre muttered.
Elain gave her a flat, unimpressed stare.
“Sorry, a bad joke.” Feyre’s smile dropped. “No one can make this choice for you, Elain, not me, not Rhys. Not him.”
“You can say his name, you know. It won’t upset me.”
“Fine, Lucien cannot make this decision for you,” Feyre said, enunciating his name. “He’s giving you space and following all the boundaries we’ve set, and he will not cross them until you say so. I know him well enough to guarantee that.”
“And what of his treacherous father? His awful brothers?”
Elain had heard about the brutal blood duels the Autumn Court could call upon. In response to slights upon honour, settle debates and end feuds. It crossed her mind that that possibility might rear its ugly head and claim her right to choose. As much as she didn’t want to make it, that brutality would be too much to endure.
“I don’t know, but Lucien has no love for any of them,” Feyre affirmed. And though it shouldn’t have mattered to Elain either way, something about hearing that Lucien wouldn’t behold himself to the Autumn Court’s traditions settled something in her.
Feyre continued, “We don’t know the reason Eris is coming, and we don’t know why he wants Lucien here.” She looked over at Elain and took her hand in her own. “But we’ll find out today, and shield you from it as best we can.”
Did she want to be shielded? She wasn’t sure. It felt like the right thing to do, even if it left her stomach feeling leaden.
“And Lucien? Who shields him?”
Elain watched Feyre’s expression soften in surprise. She would be lying if she weren’t a little stunned by her own concern for him. That damn instinct to defend him, to protect him, with her words, with her body if it came to it, reared its head within her so suddenly at times, it frightened her.
“Well, Lucien is a good male,” Feyre said gently. “He can handle himself, but as our emissary to the Mortal Realm, we will protect him as best we can, if he lets us.”
She continued. “Lucien has a choice in this, too. Even if his instincts scream at him—”
Feyre stopped herself and winced. She clearly hadn’t meant to reveal that.
Elain tensed. Those primal and preternatural instincts that likely howled at Lucien as much as they howled at her. Might eat him alive as much as her own threatened to consume her whole.
She let go of the breath she’d been holding and righted herself, brushing the skirts of her dress. “If Lucien is here, then he is, of course, welcome. I will be in the garden all day, should you need me. But I imagine I will only distract him.”
Feyre nodded sadly, resigned from arguing further and made to exit, though she stopped at the threshold, as if she had more to say anyway, fruitless as it would be.
Elain marked the move at the corner of her eye but ignored it to return to the window. There was little else she wanted to say on the matter, anyway. Her focus would remain on her flowers, and not the flame-haired male who would be walking right back into her life.
Lucien did not want to get out of bed.
It was a frigid winter morning in the mortal lands. His back ached from sparring with Jurian the previous morning. His head spun from drinking with Vassa and Jurian from dusk until early hours. And he hadn’t slept a wink.
He thought he’d be able to drift off easily when the note appeared on his desk by the fire.
He hoped he’d fallen into a drunken slumber and was having a nightmare, fueled by the awful human swill they called whiskey down here.
But no. This was a very real note from his eldest brother. Short and sharp, from his elegant handwriting sealed in wax with Eris’ own coat of arms: a mighty oak consumed in flames.
Velaris. Midday. Tell no one.
Lucien wasn’t sure which part of that note worried him most—the curt command, the implied secrecy, the urgency of it.
Or returning to the city housed his mate. His Cauldron-made, Mother-given mate.
There was no scenario in which this would go well.
To be in Velaris by midday, he’d need to use his entire reservoir of magic to winnow there and still be able to stand. It already butchered his careful plan to make his way slowly up to Velaris in a week for Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony. Say farewell to his friends in the mortal realm, and ensure the place wouldn’t fall apart without him. Pack up what little he had and visit the Spring Court to check in with Tamlin. He even dared to hope to catch a glimpse of his beloved mother in Autumn, if he could time it right to avoid his estranged father.
Maybe this was better, given the hardship of all that. Better to jump in at the deep end. Because he was going to leave, move back to Velaris and set up a base of operations as a go-between for Miryam, Drakon and the humans. That was the plan. He’d be closer to Elain, but he’d have a purpose. He supposed now that the plan would have to wait.
He had certainly been ready to go. Jurian and Vassa’s relationship had slowly turned from allies to friends. Then to more than friends. Then to… fucking at all hours of the night.
Humans could not put up sound shields despite being sorely in need of them, and Lucien did not want to be the one to suggest they keep it down. Didn’t want to acknowledge or ask about their burgeoning relationship, as he so desperately ached for a female who did not want him, barely wanted to acknowledge his existence.
Every single bone and vein and hair on his body ached in a way he’d never felt in three centuries of living.
There was nothing he could do but ignore it. Pushed it down into the hollow caverns of his soul. Went out at night to hunt, spar, socialise, and drink, distracting himself from the bond-fuelled jealousy, longing and pain.
So he studied the note. Long into the night. A few hours later, a note from Rhysand confirmed his fear. He would be summoned back to Velaris ahead of schedule for this meeting. Not ideal, as Rhysand had encouraged him to make those stops, reconnect with Tamlin and his mother. And return to Velaris ready and rested.
Lucien still couldn’t quite believe the turn of events. Even after eighteen months of service in the Night Court. Rhysand’s professional ease, friendly demeanour and welcoming court still amazed him. A villain in his own narrative for centuries. Now his High Lord, possibly even a friend, if only for Feyre’s sake.
It left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He’d done it for Elain, of course. He would sign his soul to the overseer of Hel if it made her happy. He supposed Rhysand was as close as he could get to that in this realm.
Seeing her again… He shook off the thought and sat on his bed, relighting his now-dwindled fire.
A bright, golden flame compared to the red-hot of his brothers, the icy silver of Nesta’s. He’d always been teased about the amber flame by his brothers, that it was different. Was it weakness? Something wrong? Something that didn’t quite fit. For Lucien, that conclusion always felt natural. He just didn’t fit.
Only a few hours until dawn. He would leave it until the very last minute to winnow. Drill into his power and eat plentifully, ride on horseback to the Spring Court border and winnow to the gates of Velaris. A day earlier than his planned departure, thankfully, wouldn’t raise too much suspicion with Jurian and Vassa, but an abrupt goodbye… they’d see right through it.
He would be back in a few weeks anyway to check in, so the farewells wouldn’t be permanent. But this had been something akin to a home, not that Lucien ever really felt like he’d ever had one.
Autumn no, Spring maybe, Night… even the notion made him nauseous.
He’d always ache to put down roots. It was the done thing in Autumn to make yourself a home there. Not that Jes ever wanted that…
Pressure built behind his eyes at the thought of her. What she’d make of all this.
Lucien knew it was futile. Wanting and dreaming only brought more pain and suffering. And he’d had enough of both for one lifetime.
He resolved to go to Velaris, get through this unholy meeting with Eris and continue as planned. If this was to be it, so be it. A wanderer, perhaps, but one with a purpose. That was enough for him.
Vassa’s voice drifted up to him from the downstairs dining room, talking to Jurian about some land dispute they were helping to mediate, as he put together food for themselves. He put a shield up of his own to block them out and studied the note once again, ignoring the vines that crawled through his consciousness when his mind steered to thoughts of Elain. Enough.
He got dressed, picked up his pack and stomped down the oak stairs. For the last time, he realised. He turned to look at the open door to his bedroom. No personal touches, not like his old room at the Spring Court. Not like his apartment in Velaris. Just another room. He didn’t look back again.
Jurian was eating bread, mouthful after mouthful, as Vassa sipped coyly at her tea. Her sea-blue eyes twinkled in the dawn, fixed wholly on the human man before her.
Not long until she transformed into the firebird and flew aimlessly through the skies, while Jurian would be meeting with other lords and viziers in Vassa’s exiled court.
“Lucien? You’re up early.” Vassa crooned, slowly fixing her gaze from her lover to Lucien.
“Yes, Tamlin has summoned me to the Spring Court ahead of schedule, so I’m actually leaving today.”
Jurian set down his bread, his hair ruffled, his smile purely satiated in that way only males—or men, he supposed—could be.
“Leaving us already? Perhaps we were too loud last night.” He winked at Vassa. She scolded him with a lupine smile.
Lucien didn’t rise to Jurian’s taunt. “Border issues with Autumn, I expect.”
It was easier to lie to them. Not because he didn’t trust them—quite the opposite, in fact.
But if they knew about Eris’ movements, it would only endanger them if Beron caught wind of it. He wouldn’t subject them to Autumn’s wrath if he could help it. They had enough worries of their own without that.
“Well, we knew this day would come eventually. Will you be heading to Velaris after that?” Vassa inquired with a knowing lilt.
“Yes, and I’m sure I’ll see you both up there next week, for Cassian and Nesta’s mating ceremony.”
Nesta had indeed invited everyone she could think of to witness her joining the Illyrian general, including Jurian and Vassa.
“Yes. We’ll be there. We look forward to drinking you all under the table,” Jurian said with a smirk. “We’ll be there for the evening part of the ceremony.” A look at Vassa.
“Right,” Lucien clapped his hands together. “I’ll ride to the Spring border and winnow to Tamlin’s manor. I’ll take a sentry to bring the horse back here.” Grabbing at some cheese and fruit to pack away, Lucien caught Vassa’s eyes fixed on his own. His metal eye whirred in place.
“I only have a few minutes until … you know,” Vassa said with a smile. “But I hope you find your life out there, Lucien. I hope you find some way to live and enjoy it, every moment.”
She stood to reveal bare legs beneath the oversized shirt—Jurian’s shirt—she wore to cover herself. Indeed, the young queen certainly felt comfortable enough here. Lucien kept his eyes firmly on hers as she put out a hand. He took it, and she pulled him into a hard embrace.
He pulled away, not knowing quite how to respond. She granted him the favour of sauntering out before he could answer. Leaving him and the human commander.
Jurian started, “Lucien—“
“Don’t say it.”
“Lucien, you’re such a fool.”
“And you’re any better?” He gestured to the door his lover had just passed through.
“No I’m not. But I am doing something about it. A lot of things, actually.” Jurian smirked. Lucien only responded with a huff.
“I know you want to give her space, you’re right to do so. But please don’t lie to yourself, to anyone. This is killing you. It might not be the primal, go-fucking-mad frenzy you faeries talk about. But it wears on your soul. Vass and I both see it. You smile and laugh and drink and talk, but there’s a light behind your face that’s missing. You’re always out at night, busy during the day. You don’t sleep enough.”
Lucien couldn’t feign his shock. “Since when did you become the overprotective, sensitive type?” Indeed, Jurian, in the years he’d known him, had never talked about such things with Lucien.
“Since I realised I loved her. The moment I saw her, I knew I’d do anything to show her I loved her. I cared for her. Would lay down my life for her.” He swallowed.
“You remember I—” he pointed to his cool brown eyes, “I was trapped by that harpy for centuries.”
The irony was not lost on Lucien. She had taken both their eyes in savage delight. Yet here they were, both standing as survivors.
He continued, “I spent enough time stewing with regret, anger, and pain. Vassa makes all of that go away. That pain, that guilt, that regret. I want to be a better man for her than I ever was before. That’s the difference.”
Lucien smiled at his friend, again, another legend turned ally. “Thank you for saying so. I know you mean well. And I appreciate what you’re trying to say. I just…” He paused. “I just don’t want to corner her. She’s had so little choice in her life between one thing and another. Her poverty, being Made by the damn Cauldron, losing her betrothed…
“I need to know that she wants this with her whole heart. I cannot push her into it. I won’t push her into it. I won’t. Even if it takes centuries. I’ll wait.”
Jurian sighed, scrubbing his stubbled jaw. “Just don’t give up, okay? You deserve happiness, Lucien, we all do.” After those centuries, Lucien knew Jurian meant every word.
“I’m going to leave before you start tearing up. I had no idea goodbyes made you so emotional, Jurian. Who would’ve thought?” Lucien pushed through a small smile and opened his hand to the man before him.
“Good luck, brother, with all of it.” Jurian took his hand and pulled Lucien into another surprise embrace.
“Gods spare me from human emotions,” Lucien chuckled. “I’ll see you both in a week.”
‘Brother’Jurian had called him. It was perhaps the closest he’d ever felt to having one.
With only a nod, Lucien left the old Archeron manor, now Vassa and Jurian’s base of operations, while the Nolan place was being refitted. And home, he thought.
He’d spent the past few months sleeping only a few rooms down from Elain’s old bedroom during her life here as a human. Though her clothes and possessions were long gone, her scent lingered: peonies, fresh sun-warmed earth, jasmine and honey. He indulged in it only once.
He stood in the room for just a few moments, studying the shelves and the desk. The space by the window that he imagined her sitting by. The pots she no doubt kept indoor plants in. The writing set she used to track plant growth. The books she leafed through. Only for a few moments did he let himself imagine it all.
No.
Too much of a violation. He quickly left and shut the door. Vowed never to do it again.
That had been as far as he’d allow himself to go. Until today. When he’d see her. Might see her. He didn’t dare hope.
Get through this summons.
Get back to the apartment.
Get on with your life, he told himself.
Paired with a young, quiet sentry and a fawn-coloured mare, Lucien set off from the human world for what felt like the last time, toward the Spring Court border. To whatever might await him in the City of Starlight, and who might await him, too.