She is sitting with her face toward the sun, like a flower searching for light. Her eyes are just barely closed, as if she were drifting off to sleep. Her bare legs stretch out before her.
I walk up behind her and fix the shawl that has fallen from her shoulders. She does not move, but I sense through the bond that she knows I am here. Without a word, I sit next to her on the cool grass. I feel the damp cool of the early Spring ground, and wish that one of us had brought a blanket.
The sun warm me, though. I feel its heat on the top of my head, and turn my face to the light, as Elain already has. I close my eyes and listen.
Wind blows through the still bare branches of the trees. The first of the Spring birds chirp their melodies, frogs croak in the pond. Two chipmunks squeak at each other from sides of the garden.
Distantly, I hear the bustle of Velaris, but here, it’s just me, Elain, and the garden.
The moment holds a hundred years worth of feeling.
A breeze cools my now warm cheeks, blowing strand of hair in my face.
Elain reaches across the small distance between us and takes my hand in hers. Her delicate fingers are cold in mine. She brings our clasped hands to her chest, right against her heart, which is beating slow and evenly.
I absently rub my thumb along the side of her hand.
I’m not sure how long we stay like this. I rest my head on her shoulder, and she leans into me. Our legs become entangled like the roots of the trees around us. We become a part of the scene–one with renewing garden.
The sounds carry on, the wind continues to blow.
But we are frozen in time, holding on to the moment.
We relish in our existence, and the beauty of it all.
Every single window in Morrigan’s home was open to the grey sky.
In this old, gracious building, that meant open air from ceiling to deep window seats, gauzy pale curtains pushed aside and billowing in the morning breeze. It had taken Nesta a moment to find her after she’d let herself in. Mor, messy haired and wrapped in silk, sitting in an open window as still and cold as though she’d been there since dawn.
Nesta had to bite down her temper at the sight.
How dare this still be a problem, how dare they have allowed the people who’d hurt her to live so long. Nesta had no intention of making the same mistake.
“Say the word,” she started, coming to Mor’s shoulder, “and I’ll end him today. No one will know but Cassian.” Because Cassian wouldn’t just help her, he’d probably relish the task. Because the pain his best friend had endured had haunted him, had haunted all of them, for centuries.
Her difficult friend, her laughing friend, a creature of light and strength, didn’t move from her vigil. “Azriel knows.”
The sadness in her voice made Nesta want to break things, to set things on fire. Instead she threw herself down by Mor’s feet, hugging a cushion to her body. Morrigan wasn’t actually looking at anything, that much became obvious. She was simply soaking in the light, even the pale winter sun enough to turn her into a riot of gold.
It was so easy to forget that she’d grown up beneath a mountain, that this world had ever not been her home.
“Do you know why the first trade route we set up went straight to Autumn, and then doubled back to the Day Court?” Nesta let the silence hang, didn’t continue until Mor finally sighed a jagged breath and turned toward her.
She raised an eyebrow, clearly humoring Nesta. “Because Helion wanted seed stock and Autumn wants every luxury good imaginable? Isn’t that why Lucien’s wretched brothers keep writing you?”
Nesta let her face go razor sharp with satisfaction. She couldn’t take all the credit, Azriel and her had spent countless nights after the war planning every detail, finding a way to reset the devils bargain their court was in. But this piece had been her idea alone.
“Because if it ran for months, the guards would stop bothering to see what was in the caravan.” Because their court guards were full of paid spies, and Azriel had watched long enough to know most of them were primarily focused on the jobs they’d been bribed to carry out, rather than their task.
Mor’s eyes roamed Nestas face, the thoughts behind them racing. The coastal breeze sent her hair into a bright cloud every few moments, stirred the gauzy curtains around them in the frozen quiet.
“While I’m with Eris today, while his brothers are busy celebrating, Sorcha will cross the border with our trade caravan.”
Nesta had half expected a gasp, but instead found her hands being crushed by a deadly focused Mor. “You got out the Lady of Autumn? Helion knows?”
Rather than back down, Nesta squeezed her hands in return, that grip as fierce as a promise. “He’ll be waiting for her. He can break any enchantment they’ve placed to safeguard her, to keep her power at their call.” Nesta leaned closer, locking eyes with Mor. “They’ll never be able to hurt her again, and when I’m done with Eris, he’ll know to never touch another female.”
Like shock, like joy, Mor laughed. Nesta did her best to ignore the echo of a sob inside the noise. She might be young, but she could understand the power of old scars. This was a bad day for Morrigan- but not the worst day, not a negation of her glorious survival.
Nesta was so happy for the sound, the sign of life, she grinned. “He’s going to run out of strings to pull, Azriel made sure of that.”
“And you’re going to haunt him,” Mor pointed out. “Like a proper Lady of Bloodshed.”
Somewhere deep in the bond, Nesta could practically hear Cassian’s delighted laugh at that. Their titles smashed together, how very Illyrian Nesta was becoming. “Anahita was known for vengeance,” she said, voice light, “but a monster straight from the Cauldron is even worse.”
The monster that lived in her skin was the worst of all. Bonded to her bones, welcomed right into her soul for strength, Nesta would glad use her horrible power to protect her family. To protect anyone who needed it.
Where death walked, even immortals would die.
“Time for the world to know?” Mor asked, leaning back, finally, finally shaken free of her thoughts completely. Nesta only raised her eyebrows in response, as if to say absolutely. Let her be Amren’s successor, let her be the nightmare in the stories. She’d protect her court to the bitter end. “You know,” Mor went on, satisfaction just starting to color her tone, “the Autumn court mourns in white.”
In all of her research, Nesta had found something fascinating about the Autumn court. The current line of High Lords had earned their throne on the single battle of an ancestor ten generations back. By tricking the honorable and vengeful spirit of Autumn himself and binding him away. It was his power- Cernunnos, horned lord of the dying season- that fed the court.
It was what had allowed a weak line to rule for so long. Unlike Tamlin’s fetid Spring, or Tarquins bright and longing Summer, their seasonal court wasn’t bound to their ruler at all. It was an usurped throne, a secret passed from father to son in the oldest stories. Cernunnos lived, dreaming. And all dreamers were the Night Courts people, in the end.
The Autumn lordlings lived in fear of death walking their land once more.
Nesta straightened smartly, the wind in her face just teased with the scent of fire. “White and just a little red,” For blood, for rowan, for the dread lord. She let her face go half pained, would never admit this was why she’d come to Mor. That this had seemed like the fastest way to distract her happily. “Can you dress me like a nightmare?”
If Mor’s clever eyes knew exactly what Nesta was on about, neither of them was willing to say a thing. “Nes,” Morrigan said, smiling in a way Nesta knew for a fact had sent Feyre running on at least one occasion, “I thought you’d never ask.”
—
Nesta stepped off the threshold of Mor’s building and waited.
In less than a heartbeat, the dull boom of massive wings sounded from above and Cassian landed lightly to her right, curly hair a gorgeous mess in the wind. The very sight of it made Nesta’s hands itch. How she’d ever spent months, much less days, without touching him seemed impossible now.
He grinned that cocky, infuriating grin like he knew exactly what she was thinking, what she was feeling. But Cassian’s dark eyes stayed tight, even as he handed her over a closed earthenware cup. “You left without coffee, sweetheart.”
Nesta hid her returning smile behind the rim as she took a sip, affection trying to throttle her as cinnamon and spice hit her tongue.
“So,” she started, raising her chin sharply. “How much did you hear from the roof?”
Cassian only shook his head in response, dark curls falling in his face. He’d tucked her close to his side and started walking before he answered, clear to Nesta the action as much to get them out of Mor’s potential hearing range as to comfort himself.
She’d scoffed at him once for it, a disciplined, centuries old soldier, who couldn’t sit still. Nesta knew now it was how he found the words, better in motion, better after a fight, even a clenched hand. Cassian’s physicality only whetted the blade of his mind, her favorite too knowing sharpness of all.
“She trusts us with her revenge,” he said, eyes not on her but out toward the ocean, face into the wind. “Did she seem- do you think she’ll be okay with this in the long run?”
Even if Nesta hadn’t raged down to her bones that Mor deserved her revenge, deserved to come out on top in this long, horrible feud, she might have considered tipping the balance for Cassian. For the endless regret that touched something fragile and young and scarred from what had happened between him and Mor centuries ago. She’d do it for Azriel, hurt for so long not by love, but by failed duty and jealous pain.
Nesta would do whatever she needed to end that trauma that had crystalized between all of them into something they couldn’t touch.
She reached across his body to grab his free hand, hard. “She’ll be okay,” Nesta promised and let herself smile, going sharp and vicious, “She’ll be more okay when she learns about the second thing we’re doing today.”
Cassian’s gaze snapped to hers. Even now-curious and sad, worried, there was an undertow of awed affection when he looked at her that made Nesta feel precious. Glorious.
Nesta tilted her head, scenting the wanting and worry, the pride that lived in the air between them. “Only Azriel knows this part. But the ties that bind the Wild Hunt have been growing weak for the last twenty years.”
She didn’t need to spell in out for him, it sparked in his eyes, in the savage grin that cut across his face. Cassian used the arm around her waist to pull her close, until their chests just barely touched. “So,” he said, face tilted right to hers, “After Sorcha escapes, after you promise Eris his time limit and we make a big show of leaving, we’re going to let loose Autumn’s monster?”
“Autumns true lord,” Nesta corrected, voice smug. “Do you know he was said to love vows and warriors?”
Cassian’s laugh set her on fire. “Well, Lady of Bloodshed, I think we’ll be fast friends.” She’d known he’d heard that, knew he’d be saying it proudly for the next century at least. Nesta rolled her eyes.
“Ready to be wicked?”
Cassian’s answer was a searing kiss.
—
Cassian had hated Eris for centuries, but watching him stare at Nesta had turned his rage into an even more deadly thing.
He stood next to her chair, nothing but a mindless guard to the insipid Autumn courtiers who answered her. Who gathered around her like moths to flame while she coldly commanded the room, turned down and twisted, and refused their terrible deals.
There was one rule that governed all faeries- high fae and Illyrians, and every shade and shape of magic in between. Power called to them like a siren. It was how Cassian commanded sprawling armies, more than half of whom thought he was as worthless as the dirt under their feet for his birth.
But his mate- his mate- Nesta registered as a threat to even the dullest senses.
And Eris’s old eyes hadn’t left her once. Cassian could have pummeled him for looking at any female like that, the cold possession a horror. But that it was his mate, his Nesta, sent him spiraling into a killing rage he could barely contain.
Behind the coldness, her impassive face, Cassian could feel her temper rising with dizzying speed. The temperature in the room had been falling steadily for more than a hour, the power crawling beneath her skin eager to be out, ready to burn and rage.
Finally, finally, Eris called the meeting to a close. Nesta didn’t bother to move, remaining an icy pillar while ministers filed out of the room, while the door was sealed and warded. When Eris returned to the table he bowed with a courtiers flourish and set a full wineglass before Nesta, voice a loathsome thing, “For the lady.”
Nesta looked at it as though she’d been offered a dead animal. She didn’t move.
This was her game, her idea. Cassian wouldn’t do her the dishonor of moving before Eris had played his hand, but cauldron damn him, he wanted to kill the bastard. Quick and dirty, it wouldn’t matter how he did, so long as Nesta never had to bare his gaze again.
“Come now,” Eris purred, “I thought we might relax, and discuss the relationship between out two courts.”
Only the further, infinitesimal stiffing of her spine told of Nesta’s discomfort, but Cassian could feel the revulsion and rage, deep in the rushing river of the bond.
“Your father is dead,” said Nesta, flatly. “Our debt is paid.”
Eris leaned back, a panthers grace contained in the motion. “But we would like to renew it. You see, my brother, you remember my brother Oberon?”
Cassian found himself gripping the back of her chair in a bruising grip as she answered. “Yes, it is hard to forget a male stupider than he is tall.” It was a dry drawl, but her heart was spiking in his ears.
Eris waved his own glass in a sort of agreement before continuing. “He’d like to offer to your High Lord a formal bid for your hand. However, I have a better offer.”
Cassian actually closed his eyes and counted. He could barely breathe, not from his own rage, but the world ending anger that was emanating from Nesta. How dare they, how dare they act like Nesta was chattel to buy, how dare anyone think his mate, his mate was some chess piece to be traded.
Nesta had gone as still as death, as a predator about to pounce. Eris just kept going, too stupid to scent the power rising around him. “You’re clever, and powerful,” he told her, as though this were a great concession, “become my lady. Stand by my side while I rule my court. You’re wasted on the North, and if you wanted to keep a pet, a beast perhaps,” his eyes lingered on Cassian until he was seeing red, “You may do so, so long as it isn’t too public. Marry me.” It was a command, not a question.
Eris made his first mistake. In Nesta’s enraged silence, he reached for her arm, hands tangling in ribbons of her sleeves to grasp seemingly fragile bones with bruising force. “Marry me,” he repeated.
Faster than Cassian could see, faster than the rage pulsing in his chest, Nesta shook off that hand and stabbed it straight through to the table with an Illyrian dagger, steal bright as a star.
Cassian was going to rip out his rutting throat. He didn’t give a damn if he held a Court, if they had a greater plan. Their debt was paid, and he was going to loose that hand he’d put on Nesta. And then his arms, and then his legs, and then his gods damned immortal life.
Cassian was going to break those iron clad high fae bones for daring to touch his mate.
“Bitch,” He snarled, wrenching his hand free. That was all Cassian needed, the vicious rage Nesta was letting loose. In two steps he’d gone around the table and bodily thrown the lord of Autumn at the stone wall. It shuddered, but no sound would escape this room, thanks to Eris’s own warding.
Before Eris could react, recover, Cassian had him pinned to the wall by his throat, was snarling straight in his face. He’d slammed him back again, hard enough to break even high fae bones, before Nesta came to his side.
The nightmare shroud of her dress hissed over the stone floor as she walked, unhurried, unbothered by the blood on her hand. For the first time Eris seemed to take in the trailing white, the rowan and bone that bound her hair. Cassian saw the moment it dawned in those dark, enraged eyes, how badly this lord had miscalculated. How deeply he’d underestimated Nesta.
The room grew colder still.
“Don’t crush his windpipe,” said Nesta, silken and battle ready. “Eris and I have some technicalities to discuss.”
From the redness of Eris’s face, the bewilderment and wild panic is his muscles, Cassian would guess he was trying and failing to call his magic. To use the strength Nesta had been bleeding from him since the very moment they’d entered the meeting.
“What did you do to me?” He hissed, unable overcome Cassian for even a moment.
“Looking for this?” Nesta asked. The slim hand she held out was engulfed in fire in an instant. It was her power, not Eris’s, but he wouldn’t know the difference. “I’ve taken it for safekeeping.”
The Autumn lord went red, mottled with rage.
Cassian couldn’t bite back his proud grin at her, clever and vicious and brilliant. He reached out with his free hand to wind one long, silken strand of Nestas hair between his fingers. “Love, he’s probably only heard about monsters like you in stories.” Cassian felt for her in the bond, restated, just for her, a goddess.
She turned her attention back to the Lord at her feet, to his vicious face, and sniffed. “A complete re-education then.” Cassian didn’t need to look to see that her eyes had gone liquid, that silver blue of something from another world. In that white dress, the fire framing every madly perfect, sharp line of her, she was a nightmare made flesh, as beautiful as a dream. “Now, little Eris,” she breathed, “I’m going to tell you what is actually going to happen.”
“Did you think we’d forget that you left Morrigan to die? That you chased my youngest sister through your territory like a dog? That’s you’d caused the death of Lucien’s lover and then been too much a coward to watch it happen?”
Eris began to thrash like a rat in a trap. With a sigh of regret, Cassian made himself let go of Nesta’s hair, to that anchor to sanity outside the burning rage of bond. Only to grind Eris into the wall, to choke more air from his vicious throat.
“Such weakness,” Nesta crooned, getting close as a lover to Eris’s enraged face. “Do you know what they whisper about you in the dark, Eris? About your torture of the folk you call lesser faeries, about the atrocities you committed under your father. Eris, who had to murder for a title. Eris, who will grind the folk of his court under his heel until none survive.”
“Eris,” Cassian took up the litany, “who is so powerless he had to imprison his own mother to hold onto power. Eris who served as his fathers personal executioner.”
Cassian ground bones back into the wall, the protest of Eris’s body audible to their immortal ears. And then he simply dropped him, stepped back. While the lord gasped for air and blundered in his impotent fury, Cassian offered Nesta his arm.
She took it with a razor edged smile, inclined her head like a human at a ball. They shared a long look, Cassian held fast by the beauty, the power in those stormcloud eyes. It was a long, still moment before Nesta returned her gaze to faery on the stone floor, to the way he was gazing at hands that wouldn’t spark magic.
“You have two decades,” she announced. “As you have no heir, our claim on your life will wait. You have twenty years to find an heir to your mothers bloodline, someone to hold the throne. And you’ll rule well Eris- you’ll feed your people and pay them, and if you ever touch another innocent in violence, I’ll know, and our deal will be void.”
The hatred of Eris’s eyes could have burned down a world, but Nesta continued, smiling, uncowed. Cassian’s fingers brushed slowly down her forearm, allowed himself a single lingering caress as she spoke. “Twenty years, or until such time another takes your place. I’ll be back to check, of course.”
Without a word, she turned, pride and love and rage burning in Cassian as he escorted her to the door. Nesta paused on the threshold, her grip on his arm fierce as she called over her shoulder, “Don’t worry Eris, you’ll see me again. Death comes for us all.”
There was no doubt she could do it. No hesitation in those soul eating eyes. Only Cassian, in the bloodlust haze of the bond, could feel her satisfaction. Morrigan would be avenged, no more harm would come to an innocent if Nesta could stop it. And she would.
Cassian missed the horror on his face, but he could smell the devastation, heard the bellow of rage as Nesta winnowed them away.
Cassian knew for a fact Eris had seen death. Killed and murdered and hunted, caused it with his scheming a hundred times over. But never death like her. Death and her willing scythe, her bloody and beloved right hand. And they’d come for him.
When the priestesses preached of the crone, Nesta was her face in the dark.
—
Awareness prickled the back of Cassian’s neck from the moment they’d winnowed to this deep forest. He’d snapped his wings back from where they’d encircled Nesta and felt it, like hidden eyes, like dread made weighty and real.
The trees here were just as jewel bright and crisp as the rest of the Court they’d seen, but wilder. Their trunks were gnarled with age, branches wider and heavier twisting together into a canopy so thick that all the light that fell on them was gold and red. Here the ferns were as tall as Nesta, the berry bushes a furious tangle.
“Which way?” He asked, because she wasn’t moving. Her head was tilted to the right, the motion so like an Illyrian hearing the wind it twisted something in is his chest. Cassian was already feeling the adrenaline, the race of the madness of this plan.
“Here,” Nesta pointed through the trees, dead west. “I can feel him.” Her voice was quiet, thoughtful, but Cassian didn’t need to look to know her eyes had gone molten with power.
His deadly, brilliant mate, stalking down legends. How wildly he loved being at her side to do it.
Cassian captured her hand in his and drew a wicked knife with the other, just to be safe. Hopefully Rhys wouldn’t learn about this part for a damn long time. He’d toast them both if it worked, but cauldron knew he’d be furious beyond measure first for the sheer recklessness. Outside those books Nesta had collected, the priestess archives she’d gained access to, no one had spoke of Cernunnos in centuries.
There was no question of being in the right place as they crossed the buzzing power of old, dead wards, as they came upon a prison of oak trees. Three ancient trees, their branches twisted together in the sky, their roots pulled free into a dense cage. Cassian could see armor through the bark, gleaming skin that looked like it had been bonded to tree itself.
Worse of all, they could hear him breathing.
Nesta’s eyes had gone wide, but she shook her hair back from her face and pulled them both forward. “We only have to wake him, those idiots never renewed the magic.” Her scorn, bright condemnation was like a lifeline, Cassian found himself snorting in response.
Carefully, dropping his hand, Nesta pulled the circlet of rowan from her hair first. Then an Illyrian comb of bone, placing both against the trunk of that horrible tree. Even before Nesta took the knife from his hand, every instinct in Cassian was screaming to move, to fly, to get his mate away from that fell prison.
He couldn’t take it. Cassian stopped her hand, those grey eyes fierce with understanding as he cut his own palm deeply, smearing blood down the rough tree bark in a circle. She let him, but caught his arm and pulled him down to her. Every bit of the air here smelled like fear, like some primal death and decay.
But Nesta smiled at him anyway, sharper than any blade. Cassian had to kiss her, just once more, before it all went to hell. But he didn’t have the chance as his wickedly grinning mate tugged in his hair, wrung a groan from his lips as she kissed him and kissed him and kissed him.
He was still frozen like a blushing virgin, caged by tempered longing when Nesta spun away out of his arms, eyes the brightest thing in the world, as she began the invocation.
“Blood of one whose killed, bone of a death brought honorably, rowan as a welcome gate.” Somehow, impossibly, the forest grew even quieter, the watchful horror spooling in the air. “Cernunnos, wake. Cernunnos, Lord of Autumn, Death of the Year, rise.”
For a long, long moment, the only sound Cassian could hear was his heart thudding in his own chest. Nesta had just begun to scowl, worried, when a roar sounded.
All animal in a way only fae could be, the clearing practically rocked with it. Cassian didn’t have time to wonder as he threw himself in front of Nesta, pulling her to the ground and shielding her as the tree exploded, as the oaks fell.
When light raced in to touch the forest floor, there before them was a man. A faery male as tall and broad as Cassian, made taller and more fearful still with the antlers than crowned him, dripping moss and foxglove.
Unyielding as steel, Nesta rose smoothly, facing the Autumn Lord.
“Cernunnos,” she said, the cool, perfect voice Cassian loved caressing the syllables.
“Little Death,” He called back, voice a joyful bellow, “What are you called in this life, old friend?” His eyes, now that Cassian could see them, were a stark contrast. One the crushing green of full summer leaves, the other a punishing true gold. He was still armed as hunter, despite his long imprisonment. An ivory horn at his side, knives at his wrists, and a mighty bow on his back.
“I am Nesta Acheron,” she replied, “and this is”-
“Warrior heart!” Cernunnos yelled again, “You smell of the blood of vanquished enemies, of promises kept. You are a good mate to Little Death, I can tell.”
Nesta looked like she was trying not to laugh, her jaw going tight with the effort. Could one laugh with the dread lord of the dying season? Cassian didn’t even try not to. “I’m called Cassian,” he said, laughter in every word.
Nesta raised a sharp, amused eyebrow at him, but Cernunnos was nodding, running his hands along the weapons that still adorned his body after all these endless years. “I owe you a great debt for my freedom. What did they say of me after they put me asleep?”
She didn’t shy from the bitter truth, met those horrible eyes. “Lord Connall took the throne once you slept, claimed it was his power. They called you lesser fae, carved your name from their stories until I could only find record of you in other courts.” Nesta’s voice had gone dangerously soft on the word lesser, vicious enough that the Lord before her inclined his head. “Lesser,” It was a growl from his ancient throat. “Tell me,” he addressed Cassian, “does the brother of your heart, the Lord of Night, not wear his wings with pride?”
Cassian could only nod. A bloody, horrifying grin split Cernunnos’ face at the motion. “The beasts and animals still heard me beneath the soil, loyal friends that they are, came to tell me of the passing of time while I dreamt. Your nightmare Lord is good and true, but the slime Connalls blood begat, who sit in my Forest House, are not.”
Nesta stepped forward, the ribbons of her gown snagging on broken branches. “The Night Court supports your claim. You will find an ally in us for all your days, but there is boon we must ask you.”
Cernunnos sized her up. So slight a stature, so steely a spine. Power that made the air sing, caged and bound in a beautiful, unyielding body. Cassian knew exactly what he was seeing, feeling. Nesta Acheron was a wonder, a force. Pride threatened to choke him.
“Little Death,” he rumbled, “I know of your deep honor, the old things speak of it on the wind. You are golden with it, and I will toast to you and your mating in my halls one a day soon. Do not ask me things, I would gladly grant you and your Warrior Heart a favor,” He moved like shadows, like wind, to clap Cassian on the back like thunder. “After all, we are friends now!”
Cassian hid his wince in a huffed laugh, taking over while Nesta’s smile sparked and grew, a bonfire in this terrible place. “The current autumn lordling killed his father and imprisoned his mother for power, with all but his youngest half brothers support. We’d ask that no matter how you hunt, how you choose to take your vengeance, we might carry out his death, for a great wrong he caused one of our family.” He had to swallow hard saying it, the words so insufficient for the wealth of pain triggered in Mor by the very sight of Eris.
“Eris,” Cernunnos sighed, voice deeper than mountains. “How many brothers again?”
“Six,” Nesta answered smartly, coming to Cassian’s side on silent feet.
Cernunnos nodded once more, before bringing his hands together in a clap so sharp it rang in Cassian’s ears. Foxes emerged from the trees, deer stalked the shadows, ravens beginning to call in the trees. “Plenty a number for us all to hunt!” He declared, “And a court to clear up too!”
He turned away, back to them, and raised that legendary horn to his lips. It’s echoing call clanged in Cassian’s head, rose and fell like a fearful heartbeat. The howl of wolves rose in the air, answering their true Lord.
Cernunnos turned with that horror of a grin and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “I will take my time restoring the balance. When it is done I will call you, and we will end that serpents bloodline together! You and yours be ever welcome in my lands.”
Before Nesta could reply with courtesy, before the raging bloodlust in the air could capture either of them, The High Lord of the Dying Season had winnowed away, leaving behind only smoke and dead leaves in the wind, animals racing past their legs to join him.
Cassian buried his face in Nesta’s hair, adrenaline singing in his veins. “Holy rutting gods.” Against his armored chest Nesta was laughing, witheringly, perfectly. He could feel the heat of her through it, feel her triumph lighting them both up inside.
The sound was brighter than anything in this jewel toned land, truer than the rage of violence heady and thick in the air. The vengeance they’d let lose, the lines Nesta would cross, hand in his.
“You had to bet with the King of Faerie. It’s not my fault you lost”, Cardan said with an icy tone in his voice. Jude had tried to bargain her way out of the bet, but she had no chance against Cardan. He insisted that she’d hold up her end, no matter what.
It was a stupid thing to bet with Cardan in the first place, Even though they couldn’t lie, most faeries still found a way to fool you. Jude felt horrible that she has been fooled by him, of all the people. But the alcohol had taken the best of her. She just wasn’t able to hold her drink, especially against Cardan.
Now she had to do whatever he wanted for an hour. Jude was angry at herself, nearly as angry as she was at Cardan with his shiny black hair and the eyes as black as the wings of a crow, that were now sparking amused at her. He looked as if he came from out of space, clearly not belonging into the world she grew up in till she was seven.
“What do you want?”, she noticed how annoyed she sounded. It was good. She was indeed pretty annoyed and she felt herself getting more restless as she didn’t answer her immediately, but smirked at her for a couple of minutes.
“Well since I cannot tell you to harm yourself or release me from our bargain, you are going to serve me dinner. Like the pathetic human you are, Jude Kingmaker.” He looked totally pleased with himself.
If he wanted to play games, then she’d play with him. Jude put on a smile, bowed in front of him and left his room for the kitchen.
For the next three quarters of an hour she served him every food he wished for, always smiling on the outside, but thinking about ways to kill him painfully on the outside. She could certainly play the roll of a happy human servant.
Jude came back to his room after she brought the dishes into the kitchen again. They hadn’t talked much during his meal, the only audible things were Cardan’s commands and mockery.
“Can I do something else, mylord?” Jude asked and bowed again. His smile nearly made her punch him.
“Kiss me.”
That wasn’t what she expected, at all. Weirdly her stomach started to turn as if she ate thousands of bees and she felt herself move closer to him. At this moment she didn’t know whether her body was betraying her or if the bargain made Jude do these things.
It didn’t matter, because she kissed him anyways. His mouth on hers felt like the bees in her stomach were exploding and she was hot and cold at the same time. At first he didn’t kiss back, as if Cardan was surprised that she followed his command.
But then he kissed her back and kissed her and kissed her and kissed her a little more. In the middle of the kiss Jude felt as if the tail of a cat was brushing against her legs, but that feeling was away quickly.
Jude doesn’t know how they got here, just that it’s past
time anyone should be in the reception hall—even Cardan—that they shouldn’t be
alone together, and they most certainly shouldn’t
be kissing.
“How is she doing?” my brother asks me as I enter his room. I plop down on the end of his unmade bed.
“Better. I think she’s more comfortable here now, and she’s enjoying all the reading.” I run my hand through my hair, trying to tidy the seemingly untameable mess. Corin rocks the bedhead look, but I like to put at least a little effort in looking clean.
Corin sits up and looks at me, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Did you just go on a flight?”
I sigh. “I needed some time to clear my mind. I feel like I’m doing this all wrong.”
“But you said she was doing better.”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Maybe she’s just ignoring her feelings, burying them in books. Is that what’s supposed to happen? What do you even do for someone who just lost both their parents?” Corin moves so he’s sitting next to me. I lean my head on his shoulder. “What can I do?”
“You should get her interacting with more people–people who understand what she’s going through. Mom and Dad could help, I know.”
“I’m taking her to the city to visit her friend today. Should we all have supper together tonight?”
“By ‘we all’ you mean…”
“You and me, Mom and Dad. Maybe Christine and Hana, too? Then we might as well invite Cass and Nes. That’s everyone that’s here in Velaris. And we could invite Mila’s friend… I think her name is Luna?”
“Talk to Mila about it. I think it would be good for her. When are you going to the city?”
I glance at the clock on his night stand. “Now,” I say, getting up. “Thanks for the help.”
“Anytime, brother. See you at supper!”
I close Corin’s bedroom door behind me and make my way toward Milena’s room, not too far down the hall.
“Rean!” I turn at my father’s voice, and wait for him to catch up to me. “Where are you off to?”
“I’m taking Milena to see her friend… what are you doing here?”
“Am I not allowed to be in my own house?” he laughs.
“No, it’s just you’re usually–”
“I’m teasing. I came to talk to your brother. I’ll be back at the townhouse in an hour and be out of your way, don’t worry.” He bumps his elbow on my arm. “I’ll do my best not to embarrass you in front of your mate.”
I roll my eyes. “Actually, I was planning on us all having supper together tonight. I just have to make sure with Milena, who hasn’t even accepted the bond yet, Dad.” He laughs and puts his hands up in a fake surrender.
“Supper sounds nice. It’ll be good to finally meet her. I can judge if she’s truly worthy of my precious little boy,” he says, ruffling my hair. We’re in front of Mila’s door now.
“Dad!”
“I’m going!” He laughs all the way back to Corin’s room.
Sighing, I knock on Mila’s door and ease it open. She is sitting in the armchair we had brought up, reading a book, as usual. Her slippered feet are tucked under her, and she wears an oversized sweater and leggings. Even from the door, I can tell that her hair hasn’t been washed in days. She tells me that she is feeling better, but it sure doesn’t look like it.
She looks up from her book and smiles, and my heart skips a beat.
“Are you ready to go?”
Her smile falters a little, but she stands up and puts away her book. I use my magic to summon jackets for both of us, and hand one to her. It’s warm here in the House of Wind, but it’s still Winter in the rest of the Court.
She takes my arm, as always she does when we go somewhere. It’s almost as if she’s afraid of letting me out of her sight.
“I’m excited to see Luna,” she sighs. “But I’m also nervous. Should I feel nervous?” Her green eyes stare straight ahead, wide and a little unfocused. I tell myself she’s just tired.
“It’s okay to feel nervous,” I assure her. “There’s a lot for you two to talk about.”
“I’m going to tell her we’re mates. I’m excited for that.” It’s impossible for me to hold back my smile. We’ve only each other known for less than a week, and already I can’t imagine a life without Mila–without my mate.
“I was thinking,” I start, “how would you feel about having supper with some of my family tonight?” Her hand tightens slightly on my arm. “It’ll be casual, and I promise we can leave whenever you want.”
She takes a deep breath. “Alright.”
“Yeah?”
“Who will be there?”
We’re on the balcony now, and summon my wings and lift Mila into my arms. I wait until we’ve leveled out in the sky and the wind has died down to answer her. “My brother and parents, my aunt and uncle–Nesta and Cassian–and two of my cousins.” She nods. “We can invite Luna, if you want.”
Her face instantly lights up.“Yes, I’ll ask her! She’ll be so excited.”
The wind rips through her hair, leaving strands of gold across her face, which is turning red in the cold. Seeing her mussed like this–the way I so often am–makes her even more beautiful, though I didn’t think it was possible. She shakes her head to get her hair out of her face.
“So, where exactly does Luna live?” I ask. “Am I even going in the right direction?”
“She lives right by the library. I’m not exactly sure how to navigate through the sky.”
“I know where to go.” I veer left, and within five minutes, we’re there. I set Mila down on the ground, and she heads in the direction of one of the apartment buildings that line the street.
Despite her jacket, Mila shivers a little as we walk. I take her hand when we reach the entrance of the building. “I’m going to go take care of some things in town, so when you want me to come back, just give a little shout down the bond.”
“You can come too, if you want. You don’t have to leave.”
My heart breaks a little at my mate’s generous heart. “I want to give you some time with your friend, but let me know when I should come back. I’d love to meet her.” I kiss her cheek and take back to the skies before she can try to change my mind. Only after I’m well into the clouds to I realize–I just kissed her again. It felt like such a natural thing to do, I didn’t even think about it.
I hope she isn’t upset.
___________
Milena
I still feel the ghost of his lips on my cheek as I climb the stairs to Luna’s apartment. I don’t think he even meant to do it, but I’m glad he did.
Before I know it, I’m standing in front of Luna’s door. Taking a deep breath and mustering up my remaining strength, I knock.
She doesn’t answer right away, and I wonder if she’s even here. What was her schedule? Did she have a class today? Maybe she crashed another lecture?
I knock again, and just before I’m about to give up and call Rean to come get me, the door opens.
At the sight of my friend–her familiar dark hair, her smile, the scent of chocolate, whatever emotions I’ve been holding back for the last four days suddenly come breaking to the surface, and as much as I try to hold it together, I burst into sobs. Luna is instantly there, hugging me, pushing the hair back from my face, wiping my tears.
“Mila,” she murmurs. “I heard what happened. I’m so sorry.”
She steers me into the apartment and sits me down on her couch. The tears have all but stopped now, and I take a few deep breaths again to steady myself. Luna sits in the chair across from me on the other side of the coffee table, which is piled with open books. She must have been studying.
Luna’s dark eyes are a fiery furnace, and her hands are clenched at her sides. “I’ll kill whoever did this to you. I swear it–I’ll kill them.”
“I know.” I say automatically. Then I make sense of what she just said. “Wait, you think someone did this on purpose?”
“You don’t? Mila, what else could it have been? Your parents wouldn’t have let an accident like that just happen. They’ve put out small fires in the bakery before–they know what to do.”
“I guess I just hadn’t really thought about it. Why would someone want to hurt my parents?”
“You have to admit you don’t know much about their past. They never told you or anyone much about their lives in the Spring Court. They completely broke any old ties.”
I jump at a sudden realization, and Luna’s brows shoot up in confusion. “That’s not true! I remember, Mum used to write letters. I don’t know who they were addressed to, but I know they were going to Spring.”
“If we can find one of these letters,” Luna stands up and paces the room, “we can write to whoever this person in the Spring Court is and get some information.” She stops and looks at me. “Where can we find one?”
“There might still be one at the post office, if it hasn’t been sent yet. I can get Rean to check right now.”
Luna’s jaw drops. “Wait, say that again. Did you say ‘Rean’? As in Prince Rean?”
I wince, just a little bit. I planned on telling her in some big special way, but this will work too. “Prince Rean is my mate…”
“WHAT? Mila, why didn’t you tell me?!”
“I was going to, but then, you know…”
Realization flashes across her features, deep and burning. “I’m sorry, of course.” She sits next to me on the couch and puts a comforting arm around me. “Did you accept the bond?”
“We’re taking things slow. Or at least, we’re trying to.”
“But you can mind-speak with him? You said you were going to ask him to find the letter…”
“He’s daemati,” I think back to what he explained to me that first night. I know I heard him, but I wasn’t really listening. “He set up a sort of bridge between our minds–not as strong as an accepted bond, but enough that I can talk to him if I need to. I didn’t want to be alone.”
“He sounds very kind. You’re going to introduce us, right?”
“I was planning on calling him over here at some point during our visit. Do you want him to come now?”
“Yes! I need to make sure he’s worthy of my friend.”
I reach down the bond again. Luna wants to meet you.
I sense his amusement, then hear his voice in my head. I’m on my way.
“Don’t be too harsh on him,” I say, turning my attention back to Luna. “He’s a little awkward at first, but a charming kind of awkward–if that makes sense.”
“Oh,” she nods sarcastically, “perfect sense.” She stands back up and walks to the kitchen, which is technically in the same room, just along the back wall. “I’ll make us some tea.”
“Tea sounds lovely,” I sigh, leaning back on the cushions. It’s only been less than a week since I last saw her, but I’ve missed Luna. I’ve missed this apartment, cluttered as it is. I’ve missed the sense of familiarity. “Oh, Lu, can I borrow some clothes? Just until I can buy some more.”
“Yeah,” she calls from the sink, “take whatever you want. Even my favourites.”
“You’re a gem,” I call back, heading into her bedroom.
By the time I come back to the living room with a bag full of clothes, a soft knock sounds at the door. I rush to open it before Luna can.
“Rean,” she exclaims, “come on in, have a seat! Let’s chat over some tea.”
We spend the better part of the afternoon chatting around Luna’s coffee table. Rean survived Luna’s neverending list of questions, but I could feel that he was getting anxious at some points. Luna is a sweetheart, but she can also be intimidating, especially when it comes to looking after her friends. I could tell that she was happy with him, though. We also invited her for supper at the House of Wind, and she nearly burst with excitement. I could hardly make out a word she was saying.
Before we left, Luna pulled Rean aside and said something that I couldn’t hear. Rean’s face turned red, and he nodded and stumbled over his words. I’m glad to have a friend that loves me so much she would threaten a prince.
“That was actually very fun,” Rean comments as we fly back to the House of Wind. “It’s only fair that you meet my family now, though,” he teases. The wind tousles his dark hair, mussing it again, and I know it’s going to annoy him. I’ve learned by now that he likes to keep it neat, but usually to no avail. I reach up and run my fingers through the black curls, smoothing them back into place. His arms tighten around me slightly.
“I didn’t think I was ready to meet your family, but I’m excited now. Thank you for coming, by the way. I know Luna can be…”
“Scary?”
I hit his chest with my fist, and he chuckles. I feel it in my entire body. “I was going to say protective… caring.”
“And a little scary.”
I sigh and shift the bag of clothes in my arms. “Hey, I don’t have to dress up for supper, do I?”
“Nah,” he shakes his head. “We’re pretty laid back. You could wear a bathrobe, for all they would care.” I only nod.
When I get back to my room, I plop down on the middle of the bed, and let out a long sigh. Today has been a long day, but it’s not over yet. I know I’ll have both Rean and Luna there with me, but the thought of supper with so many people makes me a little anxious.
But it will be good, I know. This will potentially be my new family, so while I am anxious, I’m even more excited.
Aedion looked up from his place of vigil at the front of the warship to see Lysandra leaning against the railing a few feet from him. The shifter had always been light on her feet but this time, she had surprised him.
She sidled closer when she noticed the Aedion’s glassy eyes and reddened nose.
Aedion looked the opposite direction, shame colouring his cheeks as he was caught with his heart on his sleeve.
“Aedion, you don’t have to hide from me. I understand your need of the Wolf of the North mask in front of our armies… but don’t pull that shit with me.” Although her words were harsh, the softness of her tone let Aedion feel that she understood the emotions warring inside him.
Aedion huffed a breath in an attempt to steady the deafening roar in his ears, the rattles that threatened to escape from his chest. He instead focused on the evening sky around them, the stars twinkling undisturbed despite all the horrors the world below had suffered, the horrors they themselves had experienced. When the lump in his throat cleared, he turned back to face her.
She had already reached a comforting hand out to grasp his own and tugged gently, and Aedion followed her as she led him below-deck and into his cabin.
Lysandra led him to his rickety double bed covered in rumpled, moth-eaten blankets and nudged him to sit before she turned to close the door with a quiet click.
Aedion, whose vision had unfocused now that he was somewhere the Wolf wasn’t needed, barely registered the soft shifting of the bed as Lys climbed up beside him.
He did feel the slight pressure on his cheek as her gentle hand pressed against him and he allowed her to force him to face her.
“Talk to me,” she whispered, her concern written so plainly across her face.
He saw in her eyes everything he needed and the lack of judgement as she beheld him was worth more than anything.
“Do you ever just want to curse the gods for the shit hand you’ve been dealt? Some days I just want to scream, why me, why you and why her.”
His voice broke on the last word and a tear trickled down his cheek. Lys wiped it away and then took both his hands in her own.
“Not always. My shit hand brought me to you, to her and to a court that changed the world. I’ve been on adventures and fought in battles. I’ve seen more of the world than I ever dreamed…” she paused and cleared her throat. “And I’ve learned to love and the true meaning of friendship. Friends I would die for, friends I tried to die for. And even though it wasn’t enough and the price was still her in the end, she left the world a better place. A safe place.”
Aedion’s hands clenched around Lysandra’s slender fingers and he drew a deep breath.
“I don’t know how to feel most of the time, Lys. I am riddled with guilt because I’m alive and my cousin is not. But there is also relief because she saved our world and she saved you. And I know that Rowan will raise their child to be everything Aelin died for and more, but I also know he expects me to come home someday. To see the little girl with her eyes, my eyes. I just don’t know how to face them. I’ve been running for so long.”
Lysandra scooted closer to him and her warmth pressed against his side, her head rested on his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and breathed her ever-changing scent in deep, allowing it to wrap around his heart, to soothe.
“I don’t think he expects you to do anything but live. To cherish the gift our queen died to give us.”
She was right, of course. She always was when it came to Aelin, to Rowan. Aedion always let his hotheadedness blind his rational sensibilities but Lysandra was there to ground him, to give him shit when he was being irrational.
“How can you always be so okay with everything? I don’t -“
“I’m not, Aedion,” she interrupted before he could go on. She pulled away and looked him hard in the eye.
“None of this is easy. I miss her every single day and no matter how long it’s been or how far we go, it doesn’t get any better. They say time heals all wounds but Aelin is not just a wound. She was a storm to be weathered, a force to be reckoned with. Her laughter and joy were as fierce as her cutting words to her enemies. You don’t just forget that.”
Lysandra’s breathing had quickened and Aedion regretted upsetting her or causing her any pain.
“We all lost her, Aedion. But you know just as well as I do that she would whip your ass from Terrasen to the Wastes if you refuse to learn to live in a world where she does not exist. If you don’t forgive yourself. It wasn’t your fault. None of it was.”
Aedion’s heart clenched as a single tear ran down her slightly pinked cheeks.
His fault. All his fault.
“Lys, I’m so sorry. Please…” he reached out to her, desperate to close the emotional and physical distance he felt between them and her rigid posture fortunately relaxed.
She allowed him to pull her close and tuck her head under his chin. He ran his hands through her hair, massaging her scalp as he went.
“You need to stop blaming yourself, Aedion. She wouldn’t want this for you. For us.”
Aedion detangled his hands from Lysandra’s hair and placed a finger under her chin so she would look at him. She obliged him with no restraint.
He traced his thumb over her full bottom lip and then leaned in slightly to press unsure lips against her own. Lysandra leaned in and kissed him back with every ounce of assurance she had.
They broke apart and Aedion felt a part of his heart lighten for the first time since that dark day.
“Lys, as long as I have you, I can do anything. Don’t ever stop telling me how it is. Always remind me that she was here, she loved us and she wants us to be well. I can’t promise I’ll ever be as I once was… but with you, I can take on the world.”
Lysandra smiled softly.
“It’s only been a year, my love. We all need time. Rowan needs it as much as we do and when we’re ready to stop running, we will go home and help raise that beautiful little girl to be as wonderful and giving and selfless as her mother was.”
Aedion nodded, his resolve once more strengthening, as it always did when Lysandra talked sense into him.
The pressures of court would always be there. Rowan would always welcome them home. And Lysandra would always remind Aedion that while Aelin was lost, she was not forgotten.
And one day, that knowledge will be enough to walk through the gates of Terrasen and help rebuild the court that rattled the stars.
I barely feel the cold stone, barely feel the impact as I sink to my knees.
My home, everything I’ve ever known, is up in flames. Parts of the building are brick, so it is standing, but everything else is… gone. It’s all gone.
I suddenly realize that my parents might have been inside and might not have gotten out, and scramble to my feet, sprinting toward the burning building. The smoke in the air burns my lungs, stings my eyes.
Someone grabs my arm before I get too far, and I turn to see Rean, his face frantic, violet eyes wide.
“Mila, you can’t go in there,” he tells me.
“My parents might be in there!”
He looks behind my shoulder. “No,” he says, “they’re not.” He points to the building across the street from the bakery, where a group of fae are gathered around a pair of stretchers.
I hadn’t even noticed all the other fae here. Those with water manipulation abilities are putting out the flames, while healers tend to the victims–my parents.
I’m at the stretchers in an instant, hardly seeing anything through the tears that won’t stop flowing. Someone pulls a sheet over one of the forms on the stretchers–my mother, I recognize–and I frantically try to stop them. “Stop,” I scream, “that’s my mum!”
“Mila,” I hear a voice rasp.
I turn to him. “Papa.” His skin is burned so bad I hardly recognize him. “Papa, what happened?” I kneel by the stretcher, careful to stay out of the way of the healer. I’m afraid I’ll cause him more pain if I touch him, though I desperately want to hug him.
“Em…” he’s trying to tell me, but he’s fading.
“Papa, it’s ok. I love you.”
“Emrick Maddox,” he manages.
What does that mean? Is it a person?
“Is that who did this?” I’m so confused.
My father doesn’t answer. His eyes are closed, and while his chest is still moving, it’s slowing down. He’s dying. I take his hand now, and hold it to my heart. “I love you,” I whisper.
His chest stops moving. I scream.
____________
Distantly, I hear Rean speaking to me. I still clutch my father’s hand in mine, unable to leave his side. I half feel Rean rubbing circles on my back, kneeling on the stone street next to me.
“… back to the House of Wind.” I catch the last part of whatever he just said to me, and I’m pulled back out of my thoughts.
“What?” It comes out more of a croak than an actual word.
“I said, we should get you back to the House of Wind.” His voice is soft, soothing. Pitying.
“I don’t want to leave them.” My voice is barely more than a whisper.
I look at him now and see him fighting back tears as well. “They’re not here, Mila.” He pulls me against his chest and I realize I’m shaking. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers into my hair.
Rean stands and lifts me into his arms, and I bury my face in his neck. I want this all to go away, for it to be just me and Rean and nothing else.
____________
Rean flew us back to the House of Wind and set me up in one of its many rooms. He told me this one was right next to his, so if I need anything, all I have to do is tug the bond. The bond.
Call me a terrible person, a terrible daughter, but right now, Rean is the only thing I want to think about.
He’s my mate.
I have a mate.
And my parents aren’t here to know it.
Was it really just hours ago that I stood in my living room with both of my parents, instead of lying in an unknown bed, unable to sleep? Was it hours ago that my mother fixed my hair and laced my gown, and my father twirled me around and taught me how to waltz? It feels like a lifetime, like time is moving too fast and two slow all at once.
After hours of laying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, I fall into a fitful sleep.
____________
I wake with a jolt, an urgent thought echoing through my mind–some fragment from my dream.
Remember whose you are, Buttercup.
My mother’s final words to me.
Just as I was leaving for the House of Wind, she had taken my arm and said those words.
Remember whose you are.
It’s as if she knew what would happen, but I know that thought is ridiculous. She couldn’t possibly have known. Could she?
It’s early morning now, and dim light streams through the curtains. I roll over and bury my face in my pillow.
If my mother had known what was going to happen, why wouldn’t she have tried to stop it?
A soft knock sounds at the door, and after a moment, it opens. I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes.
“I brought you some clothes, and some other things you might need,” Rean whispers. “Sorry to wake you.”
I thank him, and he turns and leaves again, closing the door softly behind him.
Of course he would need to bring me new clothes. I don’t have any now–save for my gown. I don’t have anything anymore.
I throw the covers back pull myself out of bed to inspect what Rean left for me. There is a simple tunic and leggings, some underthings, and a couple toiletry items. The tunic is soft and a navy blue colour, embroidered with swirls of silver on the hem and collar–something I probably would have chosen for myself.
I put on the clothes and put the toiletry items in one of the drawers of the vanity by the closet door. I then hang my now dirty gown in the closet, almost wishing I could burn it. I don’t even want to look at it.
I take this chance to look around the rest of the room–something I didn’t do last night. The large bed I slept in is along the far wall from the door, right in the middle. There are twin nightstands and lamps on either side, and an abstract painting hangs above the headboard. The left wall has the vanity and closet, as well as a floor-length mirror. The right side of the room has a door leading to the balcony and a large window with flowing gauze curtains. The room is decorated in shades of yellow and blue–coincidentally my favourite colours.
My stomach growls quite loudly, and I decide I should probably go and find some food, only I would probably get lost very quickly in the House of Wind. I have no idea what part of the house I’m in, let alone where the kitchens are. There’s only one thing I can do.
Gently, I tug on the bond. It feels strange, but not uncomfortable. Like a string tied to my heart, which slackens when Rean is far away and tightens when he is near. I reach down the bond with my mind, finding my mate on the other side.
Are you alright, Milena? His voice echoes in my mind. I can sense his worry, too.
I’m just hungry.
Should I bring you food? Or do you want me to bring you to the kitchen?
Will anyone else be in the kitchen?
Not if you don’t want there to be.
The door opens as Rean arrives to escort me. He holds out his hand to me, and I gladly take it, savouring the feeling of his calluses against mine (It’s surprising how many calluses one can get from cutting cakes. Something about the way I press on the knife creates an especially bad one on the palm of my left hand).
Rean leads me down numerous hallways, and I try to memorize the route we take. It’s actually not as far away as I expected it to be, and I’m confident that I’ll be able to find it again. I’m going to have to learn where everything is since I’m probably going to be here for a while–I don’t exactly have anywhere else to go.
My parents both had no other family, and very few close friends. I know they had friends in the Spring Court, but it seems that when they came to Night, they mostly kept to themselves. I have a small group of friends, but I would rather live here with any of them anyway. I make a mental note to visit them soon, though, to let them know I’m alright. Well, relatively alright. Anyway, I want to tell them about Rean. Luna will likely lose her mind when I tell her–she’s been hoping I would find a partner for decades. Just look at me now, Luna! I have a mate and it’s Prince Rean!
I search the kitchen for something I can make, and settle on some bread and cheese. Rean hands me an apple, too.
Thinking about my friends makes me wonder when I’ll be meeting Rean’s. Everyone in Velaris knows about the legendary group–mostly Illyrians (half or pure blooded) and master warriors, as well as notorious trouble-makers. I don’t feel like I’m up to meeting them any time soon, but it’s something we can talk about. I’ll likely come across a few of them in the House of Wind, anyway–namely his twin, Corin. But even just thinking about having to socialize with anyone makes me feel anxious. I can honestly barely even handle being around Rean, and the only reason I can at all is because he’s my mate. There’s a certain level of comfort that he brings with him, an effect of the bond.
“You look lost in thought.” I almost jump at Rean’s voice. I guess I was pretty lost in myself.
“I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep much.” He gives me a pitying look and I hate it. I just want things to be normal. “I’m fine.”
I finish up eating my small meal, and place the dishes I used in the sink. I turn back to Rean, who is waiting near the door. “Why don’t you show me around a bit?”
“Of course.” He smiles and holds out his arm for me to take. He leads me down a few more hallways, the late morning light streaming in through the windows. There are so many windows here, covered with billowing curtains. I know they must be using some sort of heating spell to keep this place so warm from its place up in the mountains. I know I haven’t even left the city, but it feels like another world in the House of Wind. It must be the sense of luxury that I’m not used to–my family wasn’t exactly poor but we were far from wealthy. My parents worked hard for and were proud of what we had, though. They had built their lives in Velaris from the ground up.
Rean stops in front of a door and pushes it open, revealing an enormous library. I can’t help but gasp at the sheer size of it and the shelves upon shelves of books inside. Back home, I had a single shelf that was bursting with all my favourite stories. Here, I could spend the rest of my life reading and not even read all the books. “Let’s stay here for a while.”
“As you wish,” he chuckles. I follow him inside and waste no time browsing the stacks of books. Rean seems to have already chosen a novel, and now sits in one of the armchairs by the fireplace. He doesn’t open his book yet, though. He watches me from where he sits with a glint of admiration in his violet eyes. I shy away and return my focus to the books around me, which are overwhelming in their variety.
“What kind of books do you like to read?” Rean asks.
“Oh, all types of books. I’ll read anything.” I select a large book that catches my eye. “I do have a soft spot for romance, though.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Book in hand, I make my way back to Rean and sit in the armchair across from him.
“That’s an amazing book,” he says, nodding to the book I chose. “We’ll have to discuss it when you finish. There’s one part that Corin and I can never agree on the significance of.”
“We’ll have our own little book club,” I remark, opening my book.
He chuckles in response, but we both fall into silence as we read. We stay this way until well after lunch time, only stopping when we get too hungry to wait to eat any longer. We eat alone in the kitchen again, and when we’re finished, Rean suggests we go out in the garden.
“Can we take our books with us? I’m finding mine so interesting, I can hardly bear to put it down.”
“I knew you would love it. When you’re finished with it, I have some books that you might also enjoy.” The books appear in his hand–magicked here from the library. “I’d say our book club is off to a good start.”
In the garden, we sit in the grass under an enormous wisteria tree. His shoulder and thigh are pressed against mine, the contact feeling strangely intimate. We spend the rest afternoon as we spent the morning–reading together in a comfortable silence. The next day, we do the same, occasionally breaking from our reading to chat over a cup of tea. We spend four days with this routine, and in that time, we both speed through two large books each.
As much as it hurts to admit, I don’t think I’ve been this at peace in months.
foxboylucien 