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Wealthy is a man whose children run into his arms, even when his hands are empty
An Italian Proverb
“Be good with Nesta and Cassian.”
Dramatic.
Eye rolls.
Azriel, who was standing by the fireplace, wrapped in his shadows, arms crossed on his chest, smiled faintly.
His twins, serious and indignant, stood in front of their mother, their chubby arms also crossed, mimicking his own stance. At the ripe old age of almost three, they were large, like all Illyrians, tall for their age, with two similarly round faces, eyes that glared like large emeralds and soft dark curls that crowned their big heads. Rolls and dimples abound. They were so unbearably adorable and cute, Azriel’s arms migrated behind his back, so he could squeeze his hands, lest he lunge at them and scoop them in his arms and shower them with hugs and kisses and pinches and nibbles. Who needed cookies when he had them?
Azriel hated leaving them. Even though this was going to be a quick trip to the Human Lands, just a couple of days, leaving the babies was torturous.
His family.
His family was everything to him: his own little world, his own inner circle, his whole reason for living. Now, looking at the twins, and his nine-month old son, who was sitting on the rug, flopping his tiny wings and chewing on a toy, Azriel wondered how he managed to survive without them for so long. Survival- -that’s exactly what it was. Over 540 years of survival, instead of living. He learned that he didn’t even know how to live, until very recently. He went through the motions of life, acting the part, playing the role, but he hadn’t lived a day in his life, and that was both terrifying and sobering.
“We always good!” declared the real head of the family--Ramiel.
The great irony of Azriel’s life, and maybe the Cauldron’s greatest joke, wasn’t that Elain’s and Lucien’s bond was an illusion and nothing but a simple spell, but that Elessar Ramiel Archeron was in fact baby Cassian. The joke was that Azriel was fated to raise ‘Cassian’. His son was a microcosm of all things Cassian and Illyrian--strong, proud, wild, a little chaotic, a little untamed, willful, absurdly brave and unbearably kind. No one cared for his siblings like Ramiel did--no one could ever possibly fuss or protect them, love them and adore them as much as Ramiel loved his twin Isabelle, and their baby Aurelian.
“Yes, we always good,” Isabelle nodded vigorously, wholeheartedly agreeing with her brother. “Baby too!”
“I am sure you are all very nice, but,” Elain wiped Ramiel’s chubby cheek with a napkin, “you can also stay with Fe-,”
“No!” Ramiel was scandalized, and so was Isa, who threw her hands up and shook her head, “no, ma, we stay with Cass!”
Azriel smirked.
“Ta, you come!” they finally noticed him, and Isa ran towards him, her arms spread wide. He picked her up and she wrapped her short, soft arms around his neck, tucking her head into his neck. “I miss you, ta,”
“I missed you too, my darling girl,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her soft, silky curls and breathing in that sweet tulip and vanilla scent that she possessed. His precious little girl, his treasure. Nothing truly compared to having children, but sons were a different kind of relationship than what he had with his daughter. He didn’t think that he would be--always thinking of himself as cold and detached--but once he held his daughter in his arms, he instantly realised that he was, in fact, a ‘girls’ father’.
“You go away, ta?” she asked, stroking his cheek and jaw with her plump, soft palm.
“Yes, sweetness, mama and I will be gone for a couple of days,” he explained, as he took a few steps and had his gentle bear of a baby crawl to him and eagerly wrap himself around his leg. Aurelian could already stand, but he was afraid to take any steps on his own, though he did walk if Elain and Azriel held one hand each. That was the only way he was willing to walk--between the two of them, as he made drunken, wobbly steps and then tired out after taking 5-6 and plopped down on his butt.
“Alright, one more,” Azriel swiftly picked up his youngest, receiving a sloppy smack on his jaw in return, and then finally stooped over Elain and gently kissed her neck.
“Mmm,” she sighed softly with enjoyment, as she turned her lovely face to him and kissed him tenderly. “Good morning, my love,” she greeted him. “I didn’t even hear you leave today,”
He kissed her again, soliciting a frown from Ramiel, who wedged himself between the two of them and latched onto Azriel’s shoulder as well.
“No more kisses, mama, tata,” Ram decided, “family hug.”
‘Family hug’ was his favorite. It was everyone’s favorite, but Ramiel loved family hug more than anyone, though not more than Azriel. So Azriel, following his son’s demand, scooped all four of them in his arms--his entire world--and tugged them to him, swinging tightly. The kids screeched and squealed with delight, laughing and squirming, squished within his embrace, and Elain smiled widely, finding his lips again despite the excess of little fat limbs and bodies and heads.
“Good family hug?” Azriel laughed, and a more joyous sound Elain couldn’t imagine. A sound reserved only for them, for Azriel’s family, for the ones he loved beyond all the love in the world.
“So good, ta!” yelled Isa, clapping her hands together, and Ram agreed with a nod. “You give good family hug, ta,” he complimented his father seriously.
“I try, my loves, I try.”
He finally set them down on the floor and they scattered about, busy with their toys and games. He plopped down in a plush armchair, spread his wings over the back and extended his hands towards the crackling fire.
Elain looked up at him and smiled a beautiful, silent smile that he knew so well. His smile. Just for him. His wing twitched in invitation and Elain walked across the blue and white carpet, her bare feet sinking into the luxuriously soft fibers. Azriel watched every step she took, his eyes skimming over the long slender legs, covered by thin gray tights and closely examining her body, dressed in an old black tunic of his. He very much appreciated both of those items on her.
She slid into his lap and immediately wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
“Hello, my love,” he greeted her properly at last, smiling at the sight and feel of her against his body.
“You were so stealthy in the morning, I didn't hear you leave,” she murmured and kissed his cheek.
“Not stealthy,” he kissed her back, burying his palm in the wave of her thick hair. “Simply lazy.”
She drew her knuckles over the simple shirt and pants that he typically wore at home, and he explained, “I woke up, threw this on and winnowed.”
“Why didn’t you wake me?” he scolded lovingly, kissing him again, “I would’ve made you coffee and breakfast.”
“If I were to wake my wife up,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, his lips tracing a path from her cheek down to her jaw, “it wouldn't be to make me breakfast,”
“Even if the wife enjoys making you breakfast?” she smiled, winking at him.
He squeezed her breast, still unbound under the cotton tunic, and playfully bounced it within his large palm, “If I am going to wake my wife up, it would be for other things.”
“Ahhh, and what things would those be?” she wondered innocently, her finger reaching inside his shirt and running along his bare chest.
He did the same to her, sliding his rough, warm hand under her shirt and cupping her breast bluntly, pinching the swollen nipple and causing her to bite her lip, before a moan could escape her pink lips.
“I can guarantee that these wonderful things,” --another mean squeeze--”would be bouncing like crazy!”
Ram approached and propped his cheek on Azriel’s knee, giving his father a once over. Ram wasn’t perturbed by his parents’ closeness, even if Azriel managed to swiftly remove his hand from under Elain’s shirt. Ram’s parents always kissed and hugged and it would be strange to him if they didn’t. When they were in the same space, they always gravitated toward each other, and shared everything--touches, embraces, kisses, plates, utensils, food, drinks.
“Ta,” Ram asked seriously, “when I have big wings like you?”
Az smiled and cupped the plump round cheek in his rough palm. Wings were a common topic of conversation between Ram and his parents.
“Once you are big, you’ll have very large wings,” he promised.
“Yeah?” Ram’s brilliant green eyes sparkled with excitement.
Elain nodded, and Azriel added, “Absolutely. Yours are already pretty big.”
Ram flexed his little wings for emphasis, and Elain stroked his head, saying, “Very large already!”
“When I be big?” Ram inquired.
Azriel threaded his finger through his baby’s curls and whispered, “Soon enough, my boy, soon enough.”
Teaching his little son to fly was a special time for Azriel. It was a time which he also shared with his brother, permitting Cassian to teach Ramiel as well. Given Ramiel’s general character and his eager impatience to gulp life and experiences by the bucket, it wasn't surprising that as soon as he began taking tentative steps, he yearned to fly. He’d stumble and then managed to pick himself up by his wings, even if he slammed into walls and furniture during his attempts to fly. The call of the wind, of the sky, sung within him and despite Ram’s youth, Azriel did not want to stop his son from experiencing the special freedom that flying afforded. Ram was quick and clumsy, but a natural, and all that Azriel had to train him on was banking, changing direction, and turning. Also, avoiding walls and furniture. Eventually, when Ramiel’s wings would strengthen and grow, they would fly higher and Azriel would teach him about currents, how to avoid them and how to use them to his advantage, how to bypass pockets of air, how to maintain steady speed, and so much more. And then it would be Aurelian’s turn...and so on. And Azriel knew that he would never get tired of teaching his children how to fly.
He glanced at Isabelle, who was playing with her baby brother, whom she adored and spoiled on par with Elain. Presently, she was holding Aurenlian’s tight little fists in hers, and patiently held him as he took a clumsy step, before falling back on his butt.
“Such good boy!” cooed Isa excitedly, certainly copying Elain and using the same intonations. Aurelian was not deterred, and grunting, he rose up again, clutching at his sister.
A tiny tug of sadness touched Azriel’s heart.
His amazing daughter was born without wings.
They would never share the joy of flight together, holding hands, gaining speed, gliding in the air like he did with Ramiel. It would be a silent sadness that he’d endure for the rest of his days--because his Isabelle was magical. Magical and incredible in every way.
“Cass have big too,” Ram went on, “but I think you have more big, ta.”
Elain tried to stifle her grin, while Azriel chuckled and said, “Yes, Cassian’s wings are very large, but mine are a little bigger. Just don't tell Cass that.”
“Yes, I will not say it to Cass,” promised Ram. He thought a little more about something of importance to him, and then added, “And then I have picture on hand too?”
‘Picture on hand’ meant tattoos.
“Yes, sweet boy, when you are older, probably.”
That was going to be a conversation for later.
A very serious conversation between Azriel--the Lord of Hewn City--as well as Cassian, the Commander General of the Illyrian Armies, and Rhysand, the High Lord of Night Court. Yes, there was Feyre, who was the High Lady, as well as Nesta, and the other two Valkyries, who were Carynthians. However, as it stood right now, Azriel had the most children, Cassian had none and Rhys had one. And the moment Ramiel and Isabelle were born, Azriel made the decision that they would not be participating in the Blood Rite. At least not in the Blood Rite as it was right now. Under no circumstances. Ever. He didn’t care if Ramiel would have 10 siphons, or if Isabelle would possess amazing strength and speed--his children would never be subjected to the brutality of the Blood Rite, with the possibility of death. The idea that his babies could be murdered, for no other reason than for some quest to the top of the mountain seemed so preposterous, so unfathomable to him now, that he didn’t even entertain it. He didn’t discuss it with Elain yet, though he was certain that she’d agree with him.
“I think I want picture on hand,” reflected Ram, looking at his chubby arm, which sported a delectable roll of baby fat around the wrist. Azriel smiled, rubbing his son’s head, not in any hurry to see any ‘pictures’ on Ramiel’s smooth, soft arm.
The doorbell rang and the children perked up instantly, jumping up and yelling, “Cass! Is this Cass?”
Azriel nodded, laughing, “It’s probably Cass.”
“Don’t run!” called out Elain, just as they sprinted past, with poor little Aurelian crawling speedily behind them.
Cassian’s voice boomed, with his usual, ridiculous greeting of ‘’Morning, Illyrans!’ mixing with excited squeals and gushing, the growling of their pet wyvern Lor, and many ‘Cass!’ this and ‘Cass!’ that.
Azriel kissed Elain’s nose, shaking his head, muttering under his breath ‘ Illyrians ’.
Elain laughed softly, her voice sounding like little silver bells chiming next to his cheek. He should probably have released her from his embrace, off his lap, but he made no move to do that and only tightened his arms around her. She nestled her head next to his neck, purring quietly. “Our Illyrians,” she chuckled.
“We have one Illyrian who is more Illyrian than all Illyrians combined,” grunted Azriel.
“And he is the very best,” insisted Elain.
“That he is,” Azriel couldn’t disagree.
Nesta and Cassian did not have children.
Unlike Elain and Azriel, who couldn’t wait to become parents, start a family, create their own little intimate space just for them and their little ones, Cassian and Nesta were in no hurry. Elain became pregnant so quickly and easily--first Calanmai--that the twins were almost a surprise. Almost. Insatiable, voracious, endless lovemaking was probably to blame too. Only a year after Ramiel and Isabelle were born, Elain was expecting again, and then Aurelian arrived. Now,
“Good morning!” Cassian entered the play room, holding Isa and Ori, as everyone called Aurelian, in his arms, while Ram was marching alongside, already deep in conversation with his uncle.
“Good morning, Cass!” Elain greeted them and he smacked a kiss on her cheek.
“The weather is fuc--...crap,” he announced, tucking in his damp wings, which he shook off before entering the house.
“Do you need a towel?” Elain asked, seeing as his long hair was wet, and he gave a dog-like shiver.
“No, I am alright,” he assured her, but moved closer to the fire. “Petal,” he said, skimming her, still curled in Azriel’s lap, casual, but pristine as always. “How are you always more beautiful than the last time I saw you?”
Azriel’s scarred hand instinctively gripped her hip a bit tighter, holding her possessively. Azriel had always assumed that he was more rational than the average male, but when it came to Elain, his rationale and self-control flew out the window.
“I am right here,” he gritted through his teeth.
“So you are,” Cassian teased. “Making our Petal blossom.”
Azriel made a gagging sound and Elain burst out laughing, as she finally rose to her feet.
“I’ll go make breakfast,”
“You don't have to,” Cassian began but she waved him off as she slipped from Azriel’s embrace. “We haven’t eaten yet.”
Azriel kissed her hand and she made her way to the kitchen.
Even at home, Elain was always put together, dressed simply, but somehow, elegantly, her gloriously lovely hair pinned with her engagement kinj’all-- a traditional Illyrian engagement gift, which typically ranged from simple to elaborate. Elain’s was...elaborate.
Because it seemed that Azriel couldn’t stop gifting her jewelry and bedecking her in finery, she had a slew of betrothal gifts from him-- starting with the ornate, extravagant bracelet. The Fae did not have a customary betrothal token, though the Fae of the Night Court favoured bracelets or cuffs. Elain treasured her bracelet above all other gifts and never took it off. Probably wisely, too--Cassian thought to himself whenever he saw that glittering band around her thin wrist--that thing was worth more than most kingdoms had in their coffers. He supposed that if Azriel wanted to buy the entirety of Spring Court for Elain, so she could play with flowers, he could probably afford it with the bracelet alone. Cassian wouldn’t put it past Az to consider doing just that.
Following the human custom, Azriel actually proposed marriage to Elain with a ring. No one but the two of them were privy to what took place and how Azriel actually proposed, but her ring was a far cry from the iron-and-pearl monstrosity that Graysen gave her. Cassian still recalled that ugly iron ring that she kept twirling around her finger for months, even after Graysen grossly rejected her in front of many. Cassian only heard about what had transpired between her and Graysen that day, and even thinking about it made him clench his fist. If it wasn’t Elain’s right to tear Graysen apart herself, if she so wished, Cassian knew that he’d be very willing to rip the man’s tongue out of his stupid mouth.
Azriel’s ring, however, did not disappoint. An elegant creation, designed by Az himself, it was adorned with diamonds of different hews, blue amethysts, silver and shards from his own cobalt siphons, harkening back to the day when he and Feyre rescued Elain from Hybern, and when everything changed between him and Elain.
Lastly, there was the kinj’all.
Azriel was reluctant to introduce Illyrian customs to Elain, despite what Rhys, and Cassian himself, told him. Eventually though, it was Elain who took interest in reading about the Illyrian culture, legends and traditions. To Azriel’s dismay and surprise, and Cassian’s delight, she learned the Illyrian alphabet, then some words, and eventually phrases. By now, she could hold a rudimentary conversation in Illyrian. When the babies were born, it was Elain who insisted on following Illyrian protocols and rituals of baby naming, of presenting them to the world, of teaching them Illyrian songs and games, and ordering both Azriel and Cassian to speak Illyrian to them, so they were fluent in the language. Cassian didn't think that Azriel ever came to terms with his Illyrian part, even if he benefited from it, and became an unsuppressed warrior with seven siphons because of his Illyrian heritage. However, it seemed that now, Azriel has managed to accept his birthright to a certain degree, ignoring everything dark and brutal and violent, and only concentrating on the rich history, family traditions, training and flying...
And proposing…
A kinj’all was an Illyrian male’s engagement gift to his bride. Always an ornamental piece, it also served as a weapon, for the Illyrian male was obligated by law and honour to protect his female. He also had to teach her how to defend herself, if needed. A kinj’all often passed down from generation to generation, but Azriel’s mother did not have one, so he created one especially for Elain.
It looked innocent enough--a beautiful hairpin, the hilt decorated with Illyrian runes, embossed with mother of pearl and tiny diamonds. But the ‘heart’ of the pin was its unique, retractable needle blade, smelted from rare Illyrian steel, obsidian, and a sliver of Azriel’s own Truth-Teller. Life Song was what he named the kin’jall, and once forged, it was a dangerous, powerful Made object that contained Elain’s own powers, the mysterious power of Azriel’s legendary dagger, as well as the might and darkness of Narben.
As Elain strode down the corridor, Cassian glanced at the innocuous-looking jewel that haphazardly held part of Elain’s hair up. He felt his skin prickle at the thought of so much power contained in one simple object.
His eyes still on Elain, “Again?” Cassian grunted, while sitting heavily in an armchair.
Ori immediately began showing him his blocks and some type of rotating toy, probably from Day Court. These kids liked technology way too much, he had to admit. For example, Ramiel figured out how to work a Symphonia within minutes. It took Cassian two days. Moving pictures, another invention from Day, was all the rage and he couldn’t even begin to figure out how to work the contraption. It was Ramiel who showed him.
Azriel’s face remained placid, but a corner of his mouth twitched.
“Again what?” he shrugged.
“Will you stop impregnating poor Elain every five minutes?”
“No.”
“I’ll have to start charging you for my nanny services then.”
“Spending time with Ram is not a burden, but a privilege,” reminded him Azriel with a grin.
Cassian couldn’t argue, and nodded.
He loved the children. Loved them.
It used to be that Cassian loved Azriel more than anyone else. Then, only 500 years later, he met Nesta and everything changed, but his love for Azriel remained. So he loved Azriel, and Azriel loved Elain, and Elain loved Nesta, and Nesta loved Elain, and then the children came and to Cassian and Nesta, they were simply an extension of their own relationship, of the strange quartet in which they existed.
Ram climbed on Cassian’s lap and asked, “Cass, what we do with you?”
“Work on strategy,” Cassian said immediately, sounding like the general that he was.
“Ta, we do stagerty!” Ram announced immediately.
Azriel stroked Ramiel’s head, and nodded.
“Is hard?” Ram worried, scratching his ear, his round face scrunched with concern.
“I think that if you listen to Cass and work on your strategy, you will be successful,” assured his Azriel, “and maybe win,”
Ram nodded slowly, mostly to himself, looking preoccupied. This has been his greatest source of concern lately--winning the snowball fight. Azriel wasn’t even sure if Ram knew what the concept of ‘winning’ meant, but Cassian jacked him up so much that Ram could only talk about the snowball fight, which was amusing, to say the least, since he’d never made a snowball in his life. Last winter, the closest they came to snowballs was making crooked snowmen in front of the house. Elain was very heavily pregnant with Aurelian then and Azriel tried to occupy his rambunctious twins as much as he could, though both Ram and Isa kept running into the house, grabbing Elain by the hand and dragging her outside, to ‘look at snowmens”.
Rhys, Cassian and Az had made the decision to introduce their sons to the delights of the annual snowball fight once the boys turned three years old. First, it was just Nyx, and Azriel still remembered it clearly--little Nyx ambling in the snow, making tiny fluffy snowballs that disintegrated in his cute red mittens. Feyre worried, and Nyx was sporting red mittens, red hat and red scarf, so he wouldn't be lost among the trees, as if the three of them would let him out of their sight even for a second. Now it was Ramiel’s turn--his first snowball fight, which he awaited with wild, impatient excitement. The kids’ snowball fight took place the day before Solstice, while the males continued the tradition and fought on Solstice morning.
In order to prepare, Cassian and Ramiel were working on ‘strategy’. Azriel didn't have the heart to warn his son that uncle Cass had the worst record of winning the annual fights, having won a paltry 76 times. Azriel’s tally was well over 200 by now. Rhys was somewhere in the middle. But all this strategy talk was likely designed for Cassian’s benefit--so he could run through it and practice and tweak whatever wasn’t working before the actual fight. Poor sap. The last time he’d won was the year when he finally got together with Nesta, and that was also nothing but a fluke, because Azriel was too busy trying not to murder his High Lord and brother Rhys, and Rhys was trying to do the same to him. All because of the beautiful woman who was now conjuring delectable scents that wafted from the kitchen.
“I swear you are taller than three days ago when I saw you last,” Cassian smiled, looking at his perplexed nephew.
“Oh yeah? I more big?” Ram was nodding, wholly agreeing with the assessment.
“By the time Solstice comes you’ll be as big as Nyx!”
“And I be good with snowballs.” concluded Ram, “We win, Cass?” he asked, hopeful.
Cassian, his huge hands outstretched towards the roaring fire, nodded confidently, “Of course we will. We will probably beat your tata too.”
Azriel, who had his youngest son and his wyvern at his feet, watched Lor hold the back of Aurelian’s shirt in his teeth, as he assisted him in standing up, cocked his brow.
“Bold of you to assume that you can beat me,” he muttered under his breath.
“But tata have to win too,” Ramiel interfered, looking upset, glancing between his father and his uncle. “I win, but tata too. And you Cass. And Nyssie.”
Now Azriel knew for sure that Ram had no understanding of the concept of winning. And that was alright. His little boy slid from Cassian’s lap and climbed onto his and hugged him.
“Tata,” he stroked Azriel’s cheek with his soft hand and asked, “you wanna win too?”
“You can win, Rami,” offered Azriel gently, kissing Ram’s hand, “I would love for you to win.”
“I think we win all ,” decided Ramiel. “You want it, ta?”
“I think it would be nice if we all won,” agreed Cassian, while Azriel nodded.
Cassian turned his face to the fire, swallowing a glob of thickness that was lodged in his throat. There was something so delightful in Ramiel’s innocence and goodness that sometimes, it hit Cassian like a bushel of bricks. Ram was about the same age now, as Cassian was when he was taken away from his mother and left to fend for himself in the violent wilderness of the Illyrian training camp. And not only did Cassian feel bad for himself at times, especially when he watched how much Ramiel and Isa and Ori were loved by their parents, what their presence did to Azriel, how love and devotion poured out of his brother because of them, but also because the children were being raised so well. He truly, if quietly, admired both Elain and Azriel, in how they treated their children--respectfully, kindly, with just enough discipline to make them well-behaved, but also permitting them freedoms according to the kids’ ages and personal needs. Isa and Ram were twins, but drastically different in temperament and attitude and shared only a few common personality traits. Elain and Azriel, both thoughtful and observant, noticed those particulars early on, and carefully catered their attention in different ways to each child.
Fae children did not age the same way that human children aged. Looking at Ramiel’s soft round face, his chubbiness, his trusting, simple attitude all reminded Cassian that Ram was still basically a baby. It would be a long time before he grew into a ‘boy’. Both Ram and Isa would be talking and gradually learning how to do things, but they would remain in the ‘toddler’ stage for years. Fae children developed very quickly in certain aspects--speech, agility, general intelligence, but they also retained their childishness for much longer as well. Nyx, almost eleven years old now, was just becoming a boy himself. And as Cassian’s eyes skimmed quickly over Azriel’s scarred hands, which held both of his sons, Cassian was internally horrified yet again at the thought of little Az locked inside a dark cupboard. With no access to life. With no access to the most barest of necessities. With no access to love or human contact or touch. What Ram took completely for granted--the freedom to talk to his father, to climb on top of him, to question and ponder and laugh--all of that was denied to Azriel when he was the same age. There was something heart wrenchingly terrible about it, and it made Cassian shudder.
“Are you cold?” Azriel immediately asked, noticing everything.
“Ugh, just chilled,” Cassian lied.
“I give it blankie!” Ram jumped off Azriel’s lap and ran to pull a throw off the sofa and then dragged it and carefully draped it over Cassian’s lap.
Cassian smiled softly and murmured, “You are the best boy, Rami.”
“Because I give blankie?” Ram shrugged, clearly not understanding where this praise was coming from. “Is more good with blankie!”
“It is wonderful with a blanket,” agreed Cassian, “but you are still the best boy.”
“I stand in corner a lot ,” lamented Ram dramatically and sorrowfully, sighing. He plopped his head on Cassian’s thigh and added, “So I don’t be good. Isa is good. She don’t stay in corner. Maybe with me…”
It was true.
For disciplining purposes, Ram was sometimes sent to stand in the corner, to cool off and think about his behavior. He wasn’t very keen on contemplating his behavior and usually stood there either pouting and angry, or with silent tears running down his fat cheeks. When he was standing in the corner, Isabelle circled him with concern, running from Azriel to Elain, begging them to release him, usually babbling incoherently, saying ‘Rami good!’. If they didn’t acquiesce, Isa simply stood or sat in the corner with him. Yes, technically it defeated the purpose of Ramiel’s discipline session and his time out, but neither Azriel, nor Elain had the heart to pull them apart.
“You two are such good friends,” Cassian noted, patting Ram’s head.
Ram nodded, “Yeah, she is sister and I love it.”
“Breakfast is ready!” they all heard Elain’s call.
The baby was most excited about the food, as he clapped eagerly and extended his arms to Azriel, demanding to be picked up. Around their ankles, Lorcan was yipping excitedly as well, knowing that this meant breakfast for him as well, and he almost toppled Ramiel, pushing and shoving ahead.
“Please don’t tell me you are getting any more pets,” Cassian muttered under his breath, as he tried to wrestle with the wyvern and straighten him out, while pulling the throw out of his teeth. A smile ghosted Azriel’s mouth and he did not verbally commit to not getting another pet. Though he didn’t think it would happen any time soon.
Elain still mourned the sacrifice of Bryaxis, who died, protecting the two of them, when the Rift opened up. If it weren’t for Bryaxis, there would be no Aurelian, and Ramiel and Isabelle would be orphans.
Even when they became carranam on that barren hill, Azriel and Elain did not have enough joint power to close the Rift, and it threatened to consume the world, starting with the two of them. They fought together, their magic pouring like a river of pure power from both of them, his darkness and her iridescent light, twining together, potent and pure, it pushed back at the Rift again and again. Even when he was virtually drained, her bottomless reserve still sustained him and reverberated against the pulsating tear in the essence of the world. They had both witnessed the breaking of the Cauldron, its dark oily power leaking out of it, and it took Rhys’s immense might, as well as his life, to finally reforge the Cauldron. Was Elain more powerful than Rhys? It was debatable, but possible, and her power manifested in a different way--the Power of Life--which they thought would be enough to sew back the tear of the Rift. It wasn’t. Neither of them were enough. Nor were all the combined armies of the world. Nothing was going to be enough to make a difference. Until Bryaxis. Bryaxis who’d arrived and dissolved itself into their flow of power, allowing them the opportunity to close the Rift just enough for all the High Lords to finally stitch it together. But Bryaxis knew what was coming, and the last words that he whispered to Elain were ‘Raise all your children well’.
Elain mourned Bryaxis. Azriel did too, for he’d grown to like the strange otherworldly being that was Fear itself. Not to them though. Bryaxis was simply a presence, that enjoyed Elain’s garden, Azriel’s own shadows, and the scent of baking. When the babies were born, Bryaxis protected them, and loved them, as much as a creature such as it could love anything or anyone. They rolled around in his darkness and played with his shadows, and Bryaxis was always able to lull them to sleep. Bryaxis cared and protected Isa more than anyone else--perhaps with the exception of Elain. Because Isa was special. Isa was magical.
In memory of Bryaxis, when Aurelian was born, they named him Aurelian Bryaxis and even Cassian accepted the name, acknowledging the ultimate sacrifice of the creature, and what it meant to the world as a whole, but also to Elain and her family. To her, Bryaxis was simply a friend--one that fit well in her menagerie of strange beasts and monsters that gravitated towards her for some reason. She was the tamer of the fanged beasts after all.
In the kitchen, the table was set and the fireplace was ablaze. Azriel put the baby in his chair and then went to Elain, who was still stirring something on the stove. His large hands rested casually on her hips and he ducked down and put his chin on her shoulder. ‘Smells delicious,’ he murmured and she kissed his cheek, smiling. “By the hooting that our baby son is currently demonstrating, it does seem to smell delicious,” she laughed softly, and kissed his cheek again.
Cassian knew that he was witnessing a moment that was intimate and that he shouldn't be ogling, but after he strapped Ori into his seat, he reclined comfortably in his chair and just settled in. No worries. No training. Only the patter of rain outside and the warmth of fire here, along with the scent of coffee, though he preferred tea himself. Azriel detested tea. Elain, once she’d discovered coffee, completely gave up on tea, but they kept a tin of fine black tea for Cassian.
That’s how Elain was, thoughtful and kind and pleasant, but Cassian also knew that she could be calculating and ruthless, on par with her husband. She was the fanged beast herself who protected her family as any ferocious wyvern would.
Once, Amren was callous enough to say something out of turn about Azriel, in her usual blunt and impolite Amren manner. Typically, Amren left Azriel alone, for he frightened even her, even prior to him becoming the Lord of Hewn City...She always sensed that there were was something about him, a hidden power thrumming within him, and because she did not fully understand the source and depth of that power, Amren felt that it was best to leave him be. It was a typical monthly family dinner at Rhys and Feyre’s, when both Mor and Amren had made an offhand comment about Azriel’s governance of Hewn City. It was only recently that Azriel and Elain had the Power select them and the rule passed onto them. Buzzed, as always, Mor teased Azriel about his inability to rule with an iron fist, while Amren said something about Elain’s softness and not being cut out for Hewn City. It was one of the few times when Cassian was reminded that Elain was Nesta’s sister, and as unusual as it was for Elain to hurt others with words, she cut straight through both Mor and Amren, enviserating them with only a few sentences, and reminding Mor than she’d accomplished far less in 520 years in Hewn City than they did in two. Savage pride glimmered in Azriel’s bright hazel eyes when he watched his wife stand up for him and their little family, since she was pregnant with the babies then.
Cassian and Rhys both kept quiet back then. Cassian just felt pride. Pride and happiness for his brother, because he got himself a woman who would rip the world apart to protect him, and loved him the way he deserved to be loved.
“I see my baby,” Elain said, bringing a pot of coffee to the table, with Azriel carrying two dishes, “and I see my wyvern, who is gnawing on a throw for some reason, and I see the two men who are ready to eat, but I don’t see two other members of the family, and that make me a little nervous,”
“Ma and ta, we come!” Ram and Isa arrived together, holding hands, as they always did.
Because Ramiel always held Isabelle’s hand. Every day. From the moment they were born.
“Well, that’s good! We were wondering what happened to you?” said Elain with a chuckle.
“Baby lose it sock. We bring it,” Ram explained, waving Aurelian’s tiny sock in his hand.
“Thank you, my loves,” Elain took the sock and put it on the baby, while Ramiel helped Isa climb in her highchair. It was strictly his job, so no one dared to help. Isa did a good job on her own, but he always stood by her chair, and moved her legs if she needed him to, and didn’t step back until she was settled. And then he climbed in his chair in about five seconds.
When Azriel found out that Elain was pregnant, it was possibly the happiest day of his life. And the most horrifying day of his life came soon after--when he’d learned that Elain was expecting twins. Because having a baby was dangerous enough, especially for a Fae. Having an Illyrian baby, even a half-Illyrian baby, for someone like Elain brought back the blood-soaked memories of Nyx’s birth. Having twins though--that was death assured.
Never did he feel so helpless and so frightened, as he did as he watched her belly grow day by day. The happiness that he experienced, the utter excitement, the joy and elation were incomparable. He felt the two of them under his ruined palm, the life he created within the woman that he adored beyond reason--moving and kicking, perfectly alive and well, and healthy according to the healer. Elain blossomed as well, beautiful beyond belief, completely calm and unbothered, even by the heft of them. She loved being pregnant. Loved the kicks and the moving, and even the inevitable discomfort. And Azriel hated himself. Hated that he couldn’t be the rock that she needed, because no one could ever read him the way that she did and she knew that he was completely undone by the worry, the unbearable prospect of losing not just them, but her as well.
It would’ve been as expected. His joy and contentment couldn’t have lasted. Life was too good. Azriel knew that he was never meant to be happy, that somehow, somewhere, he was marred by darkness, and that his existence was always going to be a tortuous path, a walk hand-in-hand with death. But he didn't expect that it would also claim Elain--that his darkness would push her into the abyss as well.
He broke down only once. She was in her eighth month of pregnancy. Only two more to go, though with twins, it sometimes took even longer than the usual 10 months to grow them. Which, for Azriel, only made things even worse. The wait was intolerable. And he hasn’t slept in almost a year. It was Solstice and they had just returned from the annual celebrations at Feyre’s, laden with gifts, some sneaky, anticipatory baby presents among them, even though before the babies were born, there should be no gifts. But it wasn’t possible for them to prevent Mor from gifting two silver rattles and Cassian from giving Azriel a tiny toy sword. “Next year, this time, we will start teaching them, brother!” Cassian muttered excitedly, forgetting that they ’d only be ten months old.
If they were born at all. And looking at the stupid toy sword, and the shiny rattles ( silver is good for teething , according to Mor) Azriel lost it. He wept. He couldn’t help himself. Wouldn’t stop, couldn’t stop. He knelt in front of Elain, his arms wrapped around her thighs, his face buried in her round stomach, and he sobbed uncontrollably, begging her not to leave him. Selfishly, because he was so disgustingly selfish, and he did not want to be alone again. He did not want to face the chasm of solitude, the darkness of empty nothingness like he experienced in his cell. Elain had given him everything. She gave him love and laughter and life. She adored him passionately and wholeheartedly, and she walked with him, hand in hand, no matter what happened. And now, he was going to be lost again, forever, this time. There would be no turning back for him. Only grievous sadness, and no light, no sun, no warmth in his existence.
“Promise me one thing,” she said to him then. He soaked her dress with his tears, and remained on his knees, clutching at her.
“No!”
She smiled and stroked his hair.
“Why not?”
“I won’t do it. I know what you’ll say, and I won’t do it.”
She gently cupped his cheek and made him look at her. His eyes were wet. So were hers, but she cried for him...not with him. She was not sad.
“Tell me you Saw something,” he demanded. Begged. “Tell me.”
“Will you promise then?” he pressed.
Stubbornly, he shook his head, “No!”
Her delicate fingers lightly brushed over his cheeks, and she pressed her thumbs over his eyelids, making him close his eyes and breathe.
“All I want you to do is promise me that you will not act rashly,” she requested.
“What do you mean?”
“That if you choose to end it--and I know that you will,”
He exhaled a wrenching sob, because he would. She knew it as well. If she went, he was going to go with her. He knew exactly how he’d do it. He’d take her with him, into the sky, and they’d fly together one last time, with her in his arms, one last time, before he’d plunge back to earth, and not open his wings.
“I will,” he vowed, without trying to deny it. Elain saw and knew him well enough to know that that would be a lie.
“Set the affairs in order,” she said softly.
He was confused, “What?”
“You are a Lord,” she reminded him simply. “And I am a Lady. We have a Court. We have thousands of people whom we rule over. You are a Seven-Siphon Illyrian warrior, one of only two. Your network of spies supports the entire Night Court--guarantees the safety of my sisters, my nephew.
“Don’t be rash. Leave the world a better place. I will still be waiting for you, on the other side. I will always wait for you. For as long as it takes.”
You see, the baby girl, who was eventually named Isabelle, gave up her wings.
In her mother’s womb. Isabelle gave up her wings, so that her brother and she could be born, and all three of them would survive. So that her father would not die of sorrow and loneliness.
There was no other explanation.
No High Lord, including Thesan or Rhys, no healer, including the very ancient and experienced ones, and no library book could explain it. It was Amren’s only explanation. The girl gave up her wings. There was no logical, or even illogical reason as to why that happened, or how, but when Elain went into labour, it was a normal labour. Long and unpleasant, but Rhys took the pain away--or rather minimized it, so she could still feel and monitor the movement of the babies--and then, the girl was born. She was small and weak, especially when compared to the chunky loud baby that emerged after her, wings and all, screaming and demanding attention.
And Azriel just about lost his mind. From happiness. From exhilaration. From watching Elain, exhausted, but smiling, weeping tears of love and joy, as she clutched the two babies to her breast. He was still worried about everything . Still was disbelieving that this was even happening. That this was real. That he wasn’t standing above a bloody mess that was his family, but that he was watching his fat-cheeked son yawn widely, and his little girl sniffle softly.
It was Azriel who tended to Isa for the first months of her life--vigilantly, savagely, without respite. She was weaker and slower than Ramiel, did not eat as well, and when she did, took forever, so Azriel was the one to bottle feed her any time she wanted to eat. He held her constantly in his arms, making sure that she was warm and comfortable, and that she always felt loved. Not only was Azriel in love with his daughter, because she was a tiny pretty doll of a girl, but he was perpetually grateful to her. Perhaps it was absurd, but he firmly believed that Isa did something...consciously. That she possessed power that no one else had. That she knew that she had to be born.
The only other person who loved Isa more than Azriel was Ram. When they were born, Isa was a bad sleeper, and at a certain point, stopped growing. She ate, but didn’t gain much weight, or expanded in size, and remained small and a bit feeble. The healers offered suggestions and gave advice, but nothing helped, and she remained frail and delicate, barely able to hold her head, even when Ram was ready to sit up at three months. It was Azriel’s mother who suggested that Ram be placed in the same crib as Isa, and sleep with her. Azriel did not doubt his mother outright, though her advice didn’t make much sense to him. But then he reminded himself that she was a mother of seven. Surely she knew better. When they laid Ramiel beside Isa, the change was truly remarkable--Ram held her to him, his roly-poly arm thrown over her body, keeping her near, and not only did they sleep through the night from that moment on, but incredibly, Isa began to grow after that. She strengthened, and started eating faster and more, and Ramiel was alway by her side, helping her out in some manner or another. When he was able to sit, and then even crawl, he also learned to hold the bottle with her, because she found it heavy and tiresome. Baby Ramiel didn’t mind and simply sat with her, holding the bottle with her, when he was all of nine months old.
Eventually, Isabelle grew and while she did not catch up to Ram in size and sheer might, she was a lovely little girl, who looked mostly Illyrian, sans the wings. She resembled Elain in her beautiful features and had remarkably bright green eyes, yet her coloring was Azriels--golden skin, dark curls dusted with golden highlights, and a full mouth that she inherited from him.
Ramiel still cared for Isabelle with utmost attention and devotion. Emotionally, he was even more dependent on her than she was on him--that famous Illyrian possessiveness was alive and well in him. Even if they fought, though it happened rarely, and she pulled on his wing in anger, he did not retaliate. He never, ever hit her. Never pushed her. Never hurt her in any manner. When she tugged on his wings, he simply yelled, “No hurts on wink, Isa!” and that shamed her enough for her to give him a conciliatory hug and say ‘Solly, Lami’.
“This looks amazing, petal,” Cassian muttered, looking at the delectable spread on the table. Both Elain and Azriel were fine cooks, though she was also a very good baker. Cassian would be lying if he said that he didn’t invite himself over to their house on purpose, more frequently than he cared to admit, not only for the company and to play with the babies, but also for the food. The House tried, but Cassian wouldn’t call the fair exactly gourmet . It was basic grub that, at times, reminded him of the Commanders’ cafeteria at the camps. Palatable, but delicious? No. Basic grub that consisted of mystery cutlets, blurry-looking soups, decent bread, cheese and whatnot. The House still primarily catered to Nesta and her tastes, which left Cassian eating whatever was put in front of him.
Elain cooked wonderful food and today’s breakfast was a testament to that--black currant scones, ham and leek quiche, eggs, fried sausages, and rich porridge with cream, and not that bland mush that the House served.
“What are you smiling about?” Elain teased, as she ladled a heaping serving of porridge into his bowl.
“Just remembering how I found you two out,” recalled Cassian, grinning, and taking a sip of his tea. “If you didn’t make such good things, it might have taken longer to discover your little secret…”
“How’s that?” she inquired.
“Oh, he never told you?” Cassian smirked, as he watched Az roll his eyes and sit next to Elain. They always sat next to each other, because Azriel was incapable of being away from her when she was near him. Also, while she fed Ori, Azriel fed her, immediately cutting up a sausage for her, and spearing it with a fork.
“I don't think that he did,” she admitted, while Azrile leaned in and gently kissed her neck.
“I am eating!” Cassian screeched, scandalized. “There are children present!”
“You are acting like a maiden on her wedding night…” muttered Azriel and kissed her neck again.
“Speaking of wedding nights,”
“We are not,”
Cassian waved him off and said, “May I tell the story?”
“About your wedding night?” Azriel drawled. “Please don’t.”
Elain was giggling softly, as she spoonfed Ori, who decided to laugh along.
Cassian cut into his juicy sausage and recalled, “He stopped eating,” nodding towards Azriel.
Elain gave him a quizzical look, and he continued, “Day after day I watched him and I noticed that he barely ate,”
“When was this?”
“Apparently when you two were sneaking behind our backs,” he said meaningfully.
“Uh-huh,”
“For weeks I watched him, and he totally didn’t notice me,” he added proudly, helping himself to a scone, while Azriel’s cheeks dusted with a little pink and Elain smiled and kissed his cheek, “you didn’t?” she whispered.
“I was...preoccupied,” Azriel muttered.
“He was!” Cassian nodded vigorously, buttering the scone. “Because a week goes by, and then another, and all he eats is bread and cheese at the House...drinks his coffee, disappears for luncheon...never there for dinner. And I began to worry,”
Azriel smiled faintly. Because he knew that Cassian did. Cassian worried. For him, about him and it was the most endearing thing that Azriel never thanked Cass for. Cass was the only one who cared, when no one else did.
Gobbling down another scone, Cassian murmured, “These are really good, Ellie. But anyway--he isn’t eating, but he isn’t losing weight either. So I figured that he must be getting food from somewhere. A month goes by and finally, I can’t stand it anymore! It’s not like him, you know, not to be careful or cautious...But I managed to follow him one night, all the way to the Rainbow Bridge, after which I lost him because she hid in his shadows,”
“Love shado!” supplied Ram, who was smearing his porridge around the bowl listlessly.
“Anyway, I tried a few nights after that…”
“And?” Elain was so taken with the story, she even paused the spoon midway, causing a disgruntled grunt to come out of Ori, who grabbed her hand and helped himself.
“Do you know how difficult it is for an Illyrian of my size to hide in plain sight?” Cassian lamented dramatically.
“You were hiding in plain sight?”
“Practically! I couldn't fly over him, because he’d hear and recognize my wings!”
“So what did you do?”
“Spied the old fashioned way--hiding behind lamp posts and in dark alleys,”
Elain cocked her brow, “ You hid behind lamp posts?”
“I didn’t say I was well -hidden,”
“No you didn’t…” she agreed. “So, what happened?”
“Finally spied where he was going every night and who was feeding him delicious dinners!” he winked. “He brought me straight to the townhome,”
“Ahhh,”
“You are the master of stealth,” Azriel announced, shaking his head.
“I am!”
“If you are ever demoted from your Commander General post, I may hire you as a street spy,”
“How kind of you,” Cassian made a face and elicited a loud laugh from the baby.
“And?” Elain pressed.
“And like the gentlemale that I am,” Cassian added primly, “I observed a rather passionate kiss between my brother and my sister-in-law, and then made good my escape.”
“Indeed?”
“Indeed. And kept my mouth shut even from my mate. Who apparently already knew, or suspected, but that’s another story.”
“But,”
“Mama, I want cookies!” Ram announced.
“Oh yes?” Elain’s voice was calm, unsurprised.
Ramiel nodded, brandishing his spoon in his hand, perhaps indicating that he was going to eat his cookie with a spoon?
“Alright,” Elain agreed.
Her consent was so quick and easy that it took Ramiel completely by surprise. He even dropped his spoon. Elain’s agreement even raised Isa’s eyebrows, who obviously wondered why she didn’t just ask for cookies herself.
“Oh, is good, ma!” Ram nodded eagerly, “you give it.” And he extended his hand to her, opening his palm. Ready.
Calmly, Elain nodded, and said, “let me make you a salad, and then I,”
“What salad, mama?” Ram frowned. He was not a great admirer of salads.
“A tasty salad,” Elain explained, while Azriel was trying to stifle his laugh, and Cassian buried his face in his cup, trying not to snort, especially when seeing Ram’s crestfallen face.
“With chicken?” he asked with a glimmer of hope in his voice. Chicken salad was the only ‘salad’ that he liked.
Elain continued, as if nothing’s happened, “With kale and goat cheese,”
A look of horror splashed over Ram’s round face, “No, ma!” he exclaimed, “I don’t want it. Only cookies,”
“Well, I can’t just give you cookies,” she reasoned, “so you’ll just eat your salad and then you’ll have cookies,”
“I don't want kale,” he muttered.
Vile weed.
It was a known fact that kale was Ramiel’s nemesis, as was goat’s cheese, the texture of which he couldn’t stand. He loved all cheese, except for that one.
“Or, you can eat your porridge,” she suggested, “and then the House will give you a biscuit or a cookie,”
Frowning an angry frown, Ram grunted, “I wanna go to grandma.”
“Grandma?”
“Yeah, she love me and give me good stuffs...She don’t give kale ! And we play and have fun and play with grandpa too and with Lena and with Nat and,”
“I thought you wanted to go with Cass and work on strategy?” reminded him Azriel.
Strategy plans dissolved under the weight of cookies.
“I thought so too,” sighed Cassian.
Now, Ramiel felt bad and reached out for Cassian, patting his massive hand with his plump one, “I want sta-, sagre-, sgarety, I want sgarety, Cass,” he assured him.
Isabelle, who was listening to all this quietly, finally made herself known and interrupted, “I want to go to Nessa!” she even crossed her arms on her little chest. “Rami you go to grandma, and I go to Nessa,”
Cassian smiled softly, finding Isa’s instistence sweetly endearing, because Nesta was not always the person children gravitated to.
“No, I go to House too,” Ram grumbled, sighing. Defeated.
“I gonna go on pony,” Isa shrugged. “With wings. Pony with wings.”
“I want it too,” her brother requested jealously. “Cass, I go?” he asked.
“I am sure Nes will take you on a pony as well. But you know, you already have wings, I don’t,”
Seeing how all his plans were crumbling to naught, Ramiel insisted, “No! I want pony,”
“Alright, alright.”
“We’ll go to grandma’s right after Solstice,” promised Azriel simply, since he knew that his mother was going to spew fire if she didn’t see her grandchildren, and plans to visit were already made. He also felt guilty because he hadn’t seen his baby brother, who was just a bit older than Aurelian, more than a handful of times, not to mention all his other siblings.
Elain got up and asked, “would you like a banan instead of a cookie?”
Cassian didn’t know what she was referring to, but judging by the exuberance that both children immediately displayed, clapping their chunky hands and nodding, it was something…
phallic looking…
“Cass, you love baban? It’s so good!” vowed Ram, while Cassian watched the yellow--
“What is it?” he asked.
“Is baban!”
Isa, rather unhelpfully, supplied, “Varin give babans to us.” Then she confirmed her brother’s sentiment and added, “Is good.”
Deciphering what they were talking about sometimes was a challenge in itself. Varin or baban didn’t make it any easier to understand.
Elain handed him the smooth object, which he assumed was either a fruit or a vegetable. “Try it,” she offered. It didn’t look particularly appetizing, but the General of the Night Court Armies was not going to back away from a challenge. So Cassian opened his mouth and positioned the thing sideways, so it didn’t look too indecent...when a brown, scarred hand shot out and clasped his wrist tightly. “Easy there, big fella,” Azriel said, amusement dancing in his eyes, while Elain was smiling,
“What?”
“It needs to be peeled,” and Az peeled the fruit for him. It smelled nice. “Also,” he handed it back to Cassian, “don’t be weird. You eat it vertically.”
Cassian chewed and it was--
Absolutely delicious.
“What is this?” he marvelled.
“Is good?” Ram was eating his own, smacking his lips.
“It is! Where did you get it?”
Elain explained, “Varian brought them for Amren, from Summer. They only grow there,”
That explained why Cassian wasn’t familiar with them, since he was technically still banned from Summer Court. For accidentally destroying one building.
“You know how she is still figuring out what she can eat and how well she can digest various foods. Varian thought that banans might be something she could enjoy. I don't think they fully agree with her, but she is trying. She gave the surplus to us and now,”
“Varin bringed more!” Isa said. “Varin is nice. I like it.”
Cassian only hoped that the House would be able to produce these banans magically, if he asked for them. Because he sure hoped so.
“Go get your jackets, and bring me Ori’s as well,” Azriel instructed, as he dressed his youngest for the road.
Cassian cleared the table and washed all the dishes, while the children gathered themselves together, but now, he pulled Elain aside, and whispered, “Ellie, do you have a moment?”
Azriel glanced at them, but in his usual manner, said nothing and did not question.
People came to Elain all the time, with their private issues, for word had spread that her power was Life. She was also clearly and unusually fertile for a Fae, and that was thought to be a good omen. So they came. Mostly females, asking for things, sharing, requesting a drop of her magic, knowing that she was Cauldron blessed, because the vessel from which all life came, loved her.
Azriel wasn’t sure what the Cauldron felt for Elain, for it was an inanimate object of immense power, and Azriel couldn’t say whether this thing possessed feelings or emotions. It was a kindred spirit though. The Cauldron came from a different world, where magic flowed wild and so powerfully, that two beings and a pot could create life that seeded an entirely different world. That little extra bit of the wild Life-magic was what the Cauldron gifted Elain. Azriel pondered if her Life-magic was the reason the two of them were chosen as Lord and Lady of Hewn City, and if she had the will and might to revive a stagnant Court because of what flowed through her. After all, she stood alone and faced the Rift, and the Rift shuddered in her presence.
The essence of their carranam was still a mystery to both of them, but it worked, and if for nothing else but in making amazing children.
Azriel kissed Ori’s cheek and watched Elain and Cassian disappear into her greenhouse and the apothecary, where she often worked.
Cassian linked his hands behind his back and looked around. Elain had her own shop and laboratory in Velaris, where young healers and witches came to practice their art, learn and perfect potion making, and studied plants and their properties, whether healing, poisonous, deadly or arousing. But Elain’s personal specialization was in matters matrimonial and mating, baby-making and sexual. Which, Cassian had to admit, was rather ironic, considering how modest Elain was and how, when he first met her, she refused to even mention or discuss sex. She still didn’t, not casually, and she probably wouldn’t have, if she didn’t discover how healing her touch was. It was actually Nesta’s terrible cycle pains that Elain, unwittingly, eased just by placing her hand on Nesta’s stomach. It took years to understand how to harness that energy into something that any healer could administer--in a tonic form. And that’s how it began. Females from all walks of life, from all Courts, learned that there was a tonic that eased their debilitating pains so successfully, they were able to function normally during their cycles. Word spread quickly, and those who were able to travel to Night Court, obtained the tonic in great quantities, for their families and friends. With the earnings for the sales of the tonic, Elain was able to finance a bigger operation, which expanded into other specialities, but mostly it trained younger healers, who used more advanced techniques of healing, developed medicines and remedies with emphasis on female health.
“Congratulations,” Cassian said softly, once he made a circle around the oval room and looked over heaps of dried plants and flowers, viles and glass jars, and a pile of notes and scribbles on a chalkboard.
Behind him, Lorcan’s claws clacked on the parquet floor, as the little wyvern followed him around. Lorcan was very protective of Elain, and though he was no bigger than a large dog, Cassian knew that the beast could turn vicious, if his mistress was ever threatened. Or the children. Because Lorcan cared for the children since they were born, always hovering over them, escorting Elain when she went on walks with them, getting them out of trouble, picking them up when they fell, and hissing at everyone when they were napping.
Even though Lorcan and Cassian were old pals and well-acquainted, it didn’t mean that the wyvern was going to leave Elain alone and not offer scrutiny and close supervision. So he followed Cassian around, his black beady eyes keeping track of every movement.
“Thank you,” Elain said simply, and Cassian did not elaborate, for it was considered inappropriate to discuss pregnancy with a female who was not yet showing.
He stopped in front of one wall that was covered in strange messy collages, papers with scribbles on them, ribbons and gods only knew what else.
“New experiments?” he nodded towards the wall, trying to make sense of the items pinned to it.
Elain burst out laughing.
He whirled to face her and asked, “What?!”
“That’s Rami’s and Isa’s artworks and projects that they make when they play here, or bring back after their days at their playgroup...They assume that they are helping, because I keep all of it here.”
“Oh shit,” Cassian laughed.
He recalled Azriel’s private office in Hewn City, which actually had the same artwork scattered and pinned everywhere. Cassian doubted that Azriel ever threw out anything that was made by his children. Framed above his desk was a set of three white canvases with small handprints on them, made with different coloured paints. A new white canvas would be taking its place on that wall soon enough.
Elain wiped her tears and sat on a stool, crossing her legs. Lorcan landed at her feet, folding his wings around him.
“Thank you,” she said.
“What for?” Cassian leaned on his forearms over the high drafting table.
“Staying with them...they can be a handful,”
He shrugged, “Ellie, we love them. You know that,”
“I know, but,”
“Nah, they are family to us, just as they are to you. Isa is a perfect child, Aurelian is the best baby, and Ram...well, Ram is,”
Elain cocked her brow and smiled.
“Ram is my blood and my life,” he added with a warm grin.
“I am sorry I’ve been terribly busy lately,” she said.
“It’s understandable--a Lady, a Life-healer, a mother, and a wife...There is a lot on your plate,”
“Perhaps,” she agreed, and he knew that she was waiting for him to explain. But he stalled.
So Elain continued, “It doesn’t excuse that I haven’t visited Nesta in almost a month, and...how is she?”
“Well,” he said quickly. Maybe too quickly.
“How’s training? Her...battalion?”
Elain was still barely familiar with military jargon and it always sounded a little funny when she attempted to remember the proper terms, ranks and weaponry.
“You know Nes,” he chuckled. “She is tenacious.”
There was an awkward pause, which was unusual, because it was unlike them. Cassian and Elain were close and good friends.
“How are the two of you, Cassian?” she asked simply, but bluntly.
He looked down at his hands and said quietly, his voice serious,
“I know it’s only been twelve years...and I know I shouldn't be impatient…”
Elain remained silent, listening to him. Her stillness and attention reminded Cassian of Azriel.
“Twelve years is nothing, it’s,”
“Why are you trying to convince yourself, Cass?” she wondered.
“I am not,”
He grunted under his breath and said,
“It’s me, El.”
“What is you?”
“The healer said…” he sighed, “Nes is like you, you know. Like Feyre. In fertility, she is basically still human--it shouldn’t and wouldn’t take her hundreds of years to conceive a babe, like a Fae female might.”
“There are human women who can’t conceive,” Elain reminded him, “but it is true--the healers have confirmed it, with myself and Feyre. I assume that Nesta is the same. But you are fully Fae, therefore,”
“So is Rhys,” he reminded her, “so is Az. And yet, you are expecting your fourth,”
“That’s because we apparently have no self control,” she chuckled.
He smiled. Weakly.
“I feel like I am failing her, El,” a ragged breath tore out of his broad chest, “because I know she loves your younglings, and I know she wants one of her own. Even if it’s just one, we’d be so happy. We...Gods, Elain, this is difficult to talk about,”
She put her hand on his and squeezed gently, “I understand,”
“May we keep this between each other,” he requested softly. “Even from,”
“Az knows not to ask, for I never share. What I hear and what people tell me stays between us, and only us.”
She jumped off the stool and went to a large wooden cabinet with glass doors and asked,
“Has the healer identified the problem?”
“Not exactly. I think it’s just that I am a fucking...sorry...Fae, and we are...I don’t know…” he shook his head, “what if we are incompatible? What if she and I aren’t made to,”
“Well, you are mates ,” she reminded him simply. “So,”
“So were you and Lucien,” he shot and she gave him a cool look over her shoulder.
“Gods, El, I am so sorry! I didn’t,”
“You are mates,” she repeated, brushing his comment off with a wave of her hand, “Lucien and I were bespelled. We were never meant to be together, never meant to procreate. Nesta was made for you, and you were made for Nesta. The stars and worlds had to collide so you two would be created from the same dust...Trust me, Cassian, Nesta and you are compatible. But,” she took out a vial and then another, “we are here to perfect the Mother’s work…” she set them in front of him and said, “the world isn’t without snags and faults. But nothing happens by happenstance...nothing is random. Perhaps I was given a gift that could help you create your own world with Nesta. Just a piece of a larger puzzle.”
He looked at the vials, but did not touch them.
Elain squeezed his hand and made him look at her, “Cass, listen to me. Children do not define you, or Nesta. It will happen when it will happen, but Nesta will never love you any less if the two of you won’t have children. There are plenty out there who need love and who could be adopted.”
“I know. You are right.”
“And as you wouldn’t love Nesta less if she couldn’t bear children, neither will she blame you for any of this. Also, as Az says, the right children come to you at the right time . I like that philosophy.”
“Ram or no one?” Cassian smiled.
“Ma!” they heard furious banging on the door, and just in time. “Why you there? Come and be with us!” Ramiel called.
“Take both of these in the morning, a teaspoon should do it,” Elain explained, and handed Cassian the vials.
“Thanks El. Should we…” he paused, “umm...do things ...more?”
“You asking me whether you should be having more sex with my sister is not how I anticipated to start my day,” she groaned. “But, no. Unless you want to,” she quickly raised her hand to him, “don’t need to know...Fae fertility peaks in the middle of her cycle, so do what you will with it...Also, your annual Frenzy.”
He sighed, and bit his lower lip, thinking.
“You know, we never had our original, first Frenzy...What if that is the reason,”
She shook her head,
“No, it wouldn’t have any effect on fertility. Though perhaps you shouldn’t have avoided it back then,”
“I wanted to give her space,”
“I understand. And whatever happened, happened. But the annual week of Frenzy is there for a reason, and that’s the optimal time to try for a baby, for mated couples. Since your mating took place on and right after Solstice, and Solstice is coming up, you should consider going to your Illyrian cabin for that week…”
Her gaze was pregnant with meaning.
“So, while you are strategizing with my son, about him winning the snowball fight, perhaps strategize about something else as well,”
“Nesta doesn’t love the cabin, especially not in the dead of winter,”
“Well, bring out your romantic side and sell her on tales of mulled wine by the roaring fireplace, sweating in your birchin, snowball fights, pine garlands, and,”
“Pfff, alright,” he was thinking deeply, his brow creased, “I’ll have to be inventive!”
“The House has too many interruptions,” Elain reminded him. “Make your Frenzy your time. Just the two of you. No fighting battalions.”
Cassian stood in front of her and then took her in his arms. He pressed her gently to him and kissed the top of her head, “Thank you, Elain,”
“Elain?” she chuckled, “you never call me Elain!”
“Alright, petal. Thank you. You are the best. It’s good to have a healer in the family that actually knows how to do shit.”
“Just live your life, Cass, and don’t think about it too much.”
***
May I present: Azriel, Prince of Velaris. Lord of Hewn City of the Night Court of Prythian. Shadowsinger. And Lady Elain, the Cauldron Blessed. Lady of Hewn City of the Night Court of Prythian.
“Good gods,” Azriel groaned, “seriously?”
Elain smiled under her breath, amused.
“Lucien does like pomp and circumstance,” she murmured, as she lay her hand on Azriel’s proffered arm.
The grand doors fell open and they entered the glittering reception room of the palace.
“You truly are the most gorgeous woman in the world,” Azriel vowed, as he gave her a side glance-over.
Elain wore a cobalt blue velvet gown, plain and long-sleeved, but with a sparkling gauze mantle that fluttered behind her with every step that she took. It was Hewn City heraldic jewelry pieces that were the talk of the assembled courtiers, who whispered and muttered to each other, as Azriel and Elain made their way down the polished marble floor. Elain only ever wore formal Hewn City tiaras and necklaces to official receptions and meetings, since she had no need for them otherwise, considering how much Azriel gifted her himself. Phenomenal pieces for the birth of each baby, for every anniversary, for her birthday...Her collection could already rival Feyre’s, not to mention her engagement jewels and her kinj’all, but Elain was thoughtful about how she presented herself to the world, and even despite their considerable personal wealth, she and Azriel lived relatively modestly in their manor.
This morning, Azriel winnowed to Hewn City, picked up a number of velvet boxes and now Elain sported the Hewn City Flower Tiara, which was her favourite.
Azriel himself did not wear anything but his formal military uniform, and only two siphons, which was more than enough for a fight in the human lands. Not that he was expecting one.
“I bet Lucien is wearing cream breeches,” he half-snarled quietly.
She grinned, “Behave. Lucien is fashionable.”
“The little fireling is going to call you his ‘mate’ won’t he?”
“Likely.”
“Dear Lord and Lady of Hewn City, welcome!” Vassa, splendid in a white gown that contrasted beautifully with her dark golden skin and bright auburn hair, stood up from her throne and made her way towards them.
“Your Majesty,” Azriel greeted her formally, bowing his head slightly, while Elain curtsied.
“Let’s skip the formalities, shall we?”
“My dear mate,” Lucien appeared behind Vassa, wearing a dark blue jacket, cream trousers and boots. “It is always a pleasure to see you,” and he kissed Elain’s hand. “Shadowsinger,” he nodded curtly to Azriel.
“Lucien,” Azriel didn’t bother with a title either. “You look good.”
“You as well, Shadowsinger. Your position becomes you.”
Vassa and Elain looked between the two males and ever so slightly rolled their eyes.
Vassa linked her arm with Elain’s and said, ‘please come along. We have a luncheon prepared and we can begin discussions promptly. There will be a ball in your honour tomorrow night.”
“Vassa, it’s really not necessary,” Elain murmured, but Vassa shrugged, and winked, “why the hell not? I never pass up an opportunity to party! Especially with you.”
Elain laughed.
“I hear that the revelries at Hewn City are unlike anything we, poor morals, can even fathom! Fire Night, I hear? What is that?” she leaned towards Elain’s ear and whispered, “is it true that it’s an orgy?”
Elain blushed slightly and only nodded. She didn’t elaborate. Didn’t tell Vassa that she participated in those festivities herself, in front of the entire court. Those were Fae things and humans weren’t privy to them.
Azriel, who was content not to speak with Lucien unless needed, nevertheless asked, “How does it feel to be King?”
“Only king-consort,” Lucien retorted modestly.
“You rule three human kingdoms now--more land and people than the Night Court and Day combined,” reminded him Azriel. “Also, stop calling my wife you ‘mate’.”
Lucien’s mechanical eye whirred and he grinned,
“So sensitive, Shadowsinger. She is my mate. Forever. Just because she isn’t mated to me, doesn’t mean she isn’t my mate.”
Azriel sighed with annoyance, “You aren’t fucking mates.”
“Language, language. You are in fine company, Azriel,” Lucien tsked at him.
“Hybern and Koschei tricking you into thinking you are mates doesn’t make you two mates,” Azriel countered flatly.
“Oh, let’s not fight old battles,” Lucien decided breezily, as they followed Vassa and Elain, and in turn, were followed by the rest of the courtiers to the great veranda, where luncheon was set up. “You got her. Got your Power handed to you through her. Closed the godsdamned Rift with her. I think we can all rest assured that the Cauldron chose you two for a reason.”
Azriel didn’t respond for a bit, thinking, before saying, “So did you, Lucien. With Vassa. You’ve been able to put all of this together and it’s an admirable effort, if I am being honest.”
Lucien was mildly surprised by the unexpected praise and glanced at Azriel.
“We all have our paths to walk,” he said.
“Yes. And perhaps the Cauldron does choose wisely. You and Vassa and the humans, and Elain and I...in Hewn City,”
“Who would’ve thought that I would end up in the human lands?” Lucien chuckled dryly, “it would’ve been absurd only a decade ago.”
Azriel nodded, as he reflected, “Same. I wouldn't have thought that my destiny would be to marry a once-human woman and become carranam with her, and be chosen to become Lord of an underworld kingdom.”
“And your younglings?” inquired Lucien, with genuine curiosity. “How do they fare?”
And it dawned on Azriel that things have truly changed, and he’d hoped for the better. Because for the duration of the lunch, he and Lucien discussed their children--Lucien’s two boys, whom he called his ‘carrotsticks’ and Azriel’s three. And somehow, it felt natural and peaceful, to talk about children, who finally had a secure future to look forward to.
Azriel wondered if Vassa’s immortality passed on along to the boys, or whether they’d simply inherit part of Lucien’s and live unnaturally long human lives. No one knew right now.
The land was covered in snow. Overnight, it fell in fluffy piles and now rested like big fur hats atop manicured bushes and paraphets of the palace garden. Lucien had brought the tradition of Solstice celebrations to the human lands, and now, festive garlands hung from all lamp posts and balconies. Downstairs, the halls were decked with holly and evergreens and apparently tonight, there was going to be the unveiling of the great pine tree in the ballroom, along with festive cocktails and seasonal music, and the court was invited to participate in the tree decoration. Lucien was intent on celebrating Solstice with gusto fit for a king.
Elain lay sprawled across the bed, naked and breathing heavily, a blissful, satisfied smile on her full lips. Azriel tried to keep the kissing...controlled. He knew that her ball gown was somewhat revealing, particularly around her shoulders and neck, so he couldn’t enjoy some of his favourite parts of her to his full delight. The same went for her lips, which already looked rather bee stung, though he’d hoped that by the time they needed to attend the meetings, the swelling would subside.
“I miss the babies,” he complained with a sigh, stroking her calf and her foot, which rested on his chest.
She smiled widely and pressed her manicured toes into his inked peck, tickling him playfully.
“I thought you were a stoic shadowsinger who could not be touched by such trivial things as his babies not being around in the morning.”
“You thought wrong, my love,” he argued, and kissed her foot. “Not to say that I didn’t enjoy pressing you into the window glass and fucking you very thoroughly today,”
“And giving the groundskeeper a shocking eyeful,” she reminded him with a laugh.
“He saw you?”
“Oh, certainly,” Elain nodded vigorously, grinning mischievously.
“Naughty,” he smiled, and she proposed,
“I want to do that at home,”
“Do what, exactly?”
“I really enjoyed it,” she licked her plump lower lip, “the heat of your body behind me, and my front pressed into the cold glass. It was...delectable,”
“Perhaps I should try it as well,” he mused.
“I think that you should... we should…”
He reached to her flat belly and put his heavy palm on the warm skin.
“Any ideas for names?” Azriel asked, stroking her gently, while she laced her fingers with his and her eyes grew misty with warmth and love.
“I am so excited, Az,” she confessed. “I can hardly wait,”
“Well, wait we’ll have to, my sweet, but soon enough...I am so happy about this as well. Can’t wait to see what we’ve made this time!”
She laughed and looked down at her naked body, her breasts that had grown just a bit heavier lately, though she was largely unchanged still.
“I don’t know if I should give you the right to unilaterally name our children, without telling me prior,” he added, smirking. Because Ramiel was Elain’s idea. And Azriel was so delirious with joy and relief that when she told him that that’s what their son would be named, he immediately agreed. Only later did the realization struck him that his son would be named after the damn Illyrian mountain. Naturally, Cassian adored the idea.
“Ramiel is the perfect name for our son,” she retorted.
“I mean, yes, but...Fine. It is the perfect name. But going forward, let’s discuss it first.”
Elain sat up and crossed her legs, affording him a lovely view of everything that he wanted to see.
“You can’t do this!” he protested, “because I will agree to anything.”
She giggled and pushed his shoulder, before taking his hand and kissing it.
“If it’s a girl, I was thinking perhaps after Rhys’s mom?” she kissed the other hand, before he cupped her breast and brushed his thumb over her nipple.
“I love the idea...but,”
Elain was surprised, but waited for him to explain.
“I think Cass would want that name for their girl.”
“Ah,”
“We never discussed it, but she was the only mother he’s ever known. The one who took him in and honestly, gave him a life. His natural mother gave him life, but Rhys’s mother actually gave him a life. I think it would mean a lot to him to have that name,”
“Of course,” Elain agreed wholeheartedly. “I think it would be lovely!”
She squeezed his hand on her breast and gasped softly, before saying, “And if he has a son, obviously he’ll name him Azriel.”
Azriel rolled his eyes and buried his face in the pillow. Elain was laughing.
“You have to admit that he loves you! If I didn’t know better, I’d say he loves you more than Nesta loves him.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, he,”
“Cass loves Az. Az loves Cass,” she teased.
Lady of Hewn City’s gorgeous burgundy gown, her ruby and diamond necklace, and her diamond headband were the talk of the ball. When she and her frightening, but devastatingly handsome husband made their appearance, the attendees craned their necks to get a better look.
Supposedly, she used to be human. How she became Fae, no one really knew.
Supposedly, she was engaged to their King Consort Lucien as well, but something had happened--no one knew the story behind that either--and the engagement was broken off. Some said that they were even mates, in a Fae manner. Whether that was true or not, no one was sure. Obviously, it wasn't particularly acrimonious, since King Lucien was the first to sweep the Lady in a dance.
Lady Elain was unusually, almost indescribably beautiful, otherworldly, and she made a good pair with the King--a handsome, Fae pair, despite the King's scar and mechanical eye. However, when her husband stepped in and offered her his arm, stepping easily alongside her in a gavotte, before pinning a small holly to her shoulder, it became clear that the two of them were in fact absolutely, perfectly, incandescently matched. She was a part of him, just as he was a part of her. Whatever their souls were made of, it was the same starlight and sunshine.
Azriel held Elain’s waist, watching her flushed cheeks and glittering eyes, as the two of them swirled and stepped along to the music. The crowd of guests seemed far away, a sea of silk and velvet somewhere in the background.
“What?” she whispered.
“When I saw you, I fell in love,” he murmured to her. “And you smiled. Because you knew.”
“Darling,” Elain breathed, tears sparkling in her brown eyes, “you are all I ever wanted love to be.”
Elain sat her flute filled with sparkling lemonade down and fanned herself. It was hot. At least two hundred people crowded the ballroom, and despite its vastness it was still too warm and too jampacked. Everyone was gathered around the mammoth pine tree, which smelled divine, but was now heavily studded with ornaments, but only on the bottom. Elain figured that servants would have to climb up on ladders to decorate the rest of it. She was going to oversee the decoration of Hewn City, once they returned home, and of course both Isa and Ram couldn’t wait to put their stamp on the house. After flying ponies and snowball fights, this was the next big item on the agenda.
“Elain fucking Archeron, as I live and breathe!”
Elain, who was standing by the window in the hallway, cooling off, turned around with a frown on her face.
In front of her stood a paunchy, ruddy middle-aged man. Well-dressed, he looked plain and unfamiliar--his brown beard was touched with gray, as were his temples. His thinning hair was brushed forward, to cover up the baldness.
“Graysen?” she gasped quietly.
His eyes skimmed over her, ogling her bare shoulders and her neck, unabashedly staring at her breasts, which were pushed by the bodice and created a notable cleavage. He looked down at her slender waist, the cut of her hips and all the way to her legs.
“Lucein said you’d be coming,” he said.
Goodness.
Elain had forgotten how quickly and rapidly humans aged. Especially men. Graysen used to be--or perhaps still was--a soldier, his face exposed to the elements for years, and now his skin creased around the eyes, against his mouth.
It has been some time, she had to admit. Almost 15 years since everything’s changed, and since she’d met the Fae. Graysen was 26 when she saw him last, when he virtually spat at her and demanded that she give him back his iron ring. Gods...what did happen to that ring? She couldn’t recall. Maybe it was in her box of keepsakes where she kept small things that were remnants of her human life. Her father’s wooden carvings, the rose that he’d made for her. Her mother’s gloves--how did she even have them? Maybe that’s where she threw that ring.
Now, she was faced with an ageing human man in his 40s, already past his prime, his jowls a little loose, his stomach no longer tight with muscle. It used to be that she thought of him so fine a gentleman, so gallant and valiant. So handsome. But that was until the moment when she laid her eyes on a winged Fae, who was beautiful beyond belief. And everything changed.
“Quite the greeting, Graysen,” she said coldly.
“Oh,” he attempted a smile, which looked more like a grimace and she smelled alcohol on his breath, though he wasn’t drunk, “shall I call you Lady Archeron?”
He took a step closer.
“See,” his knuckle brushed down her bare upper arm and she jolted.
She was Azriel’s wife.
No Fae would ever dare look at her out of place, let alone permit himself to touch her. Brazenly.
“See, I remember you as a little nobody,” Graysen whispered, stepping even closer, now crowding her. “Nothing to your name. A poor little piece of,”
“I suggest you do not finish this sentence,” she ordered imperiously.
“Or what?” she laughed hoarsely.
Another glance over and he continued,
“You were a nothing . And I took you in. You and your harpy of a sister, that bitch...What was her name? Nesta! That hateful bitch, who sauntered around like she was queen, when she was worth less than dirt on my shoes.
“And I gave you,”
“You gave me nothing,” she hissed, feeling a hot flush spreading over her cheeks, her neck, hating herself for her reaction. “Your father took us in--not you--and my enormous dowry was the reason for his kindness .”
“Your dowry...Your younger sister was whoring for the Fae and they were kind enough to pay her well for her services,”
Elain’s hand flew to his face, but his reflexes were quick enough to stop her, as he grabbed her wrist.
“Let me pass,” she demanded.
“Uptight, just like before…” he moaned. “Took me months, as I recall, to even get you to flash an ankle,”
“What do you want, exactly?”
He looked her over and she thought that he’d spit on the floor, but he refrained.
“We counted on your dowry, you little idiot,” he hissed, releasing her hand, “counted on it to pay our soldiers, to fortify our estate, to,”
Elain trembled with shame and rage, “May I remind you that you are the one who discarded me like I was trash?”
“That I did. A fine moment that I remember fondly. You look even more disgusting than when I saw you last. These ridiculous ears…” he flicked her elongated ear, making her flinch. “Your skin...Your smell,” he sniffed, and then made a face. “I wouldn’t touch you if you paid me! But because of you, we lost much of our wealth…”
“Because of me?”
“You!” he snarled, a drop of his spittle landing on her shoulder. “Because of you, it was Vassa, and that prick Jurian, who was able to step in and take control of the lands...It was…” he came even closer, his chest almost touching her breasts, “ mine . That was the agreement. Mine!”
He began raging, breathing hitching, eyes wild, “It was going to be mine! The land, the people. We helped you in your fucking war, and what did we get in return? I have nothing, but a crumbling estate and not enough money to patch the leaking roof!”
He paced in front of her, muttering, “It was going to be mine. And you betrayed me. You became this...this thing…” he spat, “this Fae. Where is my life? Where is my bride? Where is my land?” He banged on his chest with his fist, “I took you in and you betrayed me,”
“I never,”
“Shut up. Shut the fuck up and don’t open your damn mouth. It’s your fault. It’s all your fault, your whorish sister and her High Lord, or whatever the fuck he is. You dragged us into this war and we never recovered,”
“You would’ve been dead,” Elain reminded him, “if it wasn't for the Fae and for my brother-in-law. All of you. Or enslaved, if you were lucky. Don’t blame me for losing your lands or money,” she shrugged, “it takes time and skill to manage, and if you couldn’t do that, then,”
At that, Graysen swung. His fist, tightly closed, hooked and flew towards Elain’s face.
But Graysen, whom she once loved, underestimated her speed and her reflexes. Didn’t understand how quickly she could move. How fast her reactions were.
This was not the Elain that he knew 15 years ago--the soft, kind, demure flower grower, who enjoyed parties and picnics.
With lightning speed, she leaned back just enough to avoid his fist. Wide-eyed, he watched, almost as if in slow motion, as Elain reached behind her and the next thing he saw was a needle-like weapon in her hand. In the next second , the blade and the pointed edge pressed into his throat.
This Elain did not scream or call for help. She wielded her razor sharp weapon with grim determination and expertise. She did not blink or hesitate, and he felt the cold steel break his skin, though she was utterly controlled with her movement, and did not cut him any more than she wanted to.
Calmly, she said, “I am the Lady of Hewn City, Graysen. Lady Elain. The Cauldron blessed.”
Graysen panted. Terrified. Because those honey-brown eyes that he once knew so well, were like a dark storm on her perfect face. And her hold of the steel was true.
“And my husband taught me well.”
And then he felt it.
The presence.
Pure darkness.
Pure rage.
It was behind him.
And he knew. The Dark Lord was there, standing over his shoulder like Death.
Elain did not move, but the pressure on his throat eased just a bit.
“My husband, you see, is an Illyrian warrior. One of the greatest to ever live. And when he asked me to marry him, he gave me his love and this kinj’all. And because I was going to marry an Illyrian warrior, I was going to learn how to defend myself and never feel weak again. He didn’t give me an ugly iron ring of superstition and foolishness, in hopes that it would ward away the Fae. He gave me a weapon and offered to teach me how to use it.”
Graysen swallowed and Elain wrinkled her nose.
“It would seem that you’d pissed yourself, Gray.”
She looked down at the spreading puddle under his feet.
With a practiced move, she tucked the hair pin back inside her hair bun and then delicately lifted the hem of her skirt.
“I don’t want to ruin my gown,” she gave a little shrug and walked past him, without turning her head.
“Perhaps, at the end, we all get what we deserve,” she whispered.
Graysen stood, expecting...something.
Elain, though, said cheerfully, “Another dance, my love? And then we can retire for the night.”
“Of course, Lady Elain,” a dark midnight voice answered. “Would you like me to take the trash out for you?”
“I think that it will remove itself.”
It was late afternoon the next day when Azriel and Elain landed at the House of Wind.
Azriel’s shadows were laden with gifts for the children, new human bestelling books for Nesta--she loved human romances to this day--special spices for Cassian, as well as a crate of aged whiskey, and new paints for Feyre.
After a series of meetings, Elain and Vassa had some time and took a carriage into the city, where they went on a shopping spree, causing a bit of a gawking melee from the residents, who rushed to watch their Queen and the Fae Lady in the shops, buying toys and paints.
“Let’s not announce ourselves just yet,” proposed Azriel, smirking. “And see what trouble all of them had gotten into?”
Elain chuckled and kissed his cheek, “Is that nice? To invade their privacy like that?”
“I think that I am still technically a resident of this House?” he reminded her, as he swathed them in shadows.
“You don’t think that you’ve lost that privilege when you got married?”
“Never!”
“Snoop.”
“Trust me, sweetheart, I do not want to snoop on the majority of things that Nesta and Cassian get into in this house…”
“Eww, please don’t.”
They entered the living quarters and heard noises coming from the common room, where they headed quietly, unseen.
Nesta and Cassian had changed the layout of their wing of the House, making it less formal and cosier, taking a cue from Elain’s manor, where the kitchen, the dining room and the living room were all located in the same space.
The Nessian household--something Elain and Azriel called Cassian and Nesta between themselves--was bustling with quiet activity. In a brightly lit kitchen, Cassian was chopping something aggressively on a cutting board. Baby Aurelian was strapped to his chest with a Illyrian baby wrap, and dangled happily, babbling and drooling, as he chewed on an apple slice.
“Or, I think rosemary...nah, thyme,” Cassian pondered out loud, reaching for the spice rack above and rummaging through glass jars. “What do you think?”
Aurelian responded confidently with a “Bawaba--ah,”
“Yes, I think I agree. Thyme it is.”
Cassian then proceeded to drop half a teaspoon of dried thyme on Ori’s head, looked around guiltily, and blew the herb into the air, quickly wiping off the evidence.
Azriel shook his head, watching all of this transpire before him. Elain was shaking with laughter next to him.
“That wrap--you have no idea how much shit he gave me about it,” he whispered into her ear, “when I suggested that it’s convenient and that he use it. Never ! He yelled. He is not a nursing mother , he said. Look at him now!”
“Ori is going to be well-seasoned.”
A pile of banans on the counter did not escape their attention. The House listened.
In the living room, by the fireplace, they watched Nesta and the other two, as well as Lorcan, who was snoozing on his pillow.
Nesta, her legs tucked under her, was reading a book, and Ram and Isa sat on the rug on the floor, listening. Whatever this book was, it surely was shocking the hell out of Ramiel, who was watching Nesta with wide eyes, his hand covering his mouth. At one point, he couldn’t handle it any more and exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air,
“No, Nessa! Wolf gonna eat piglet?!?”
Nesta shrugged mysteriously and said, “I guess you’ll have to wait until the end of the,”
“No, I don’t want it,” he cried stubbornly, “this bad story and I don’t like it. Why wolf eat piglet?”
“But he hasn’t eaten the piglet yet,” Nesta reminded him evenly, “what if the piglet fights back?”
“Yes, Rami, be quiet!” Isabelle ordered impatiently. “I wanna hear more,”
“Is piglet gonna fight?” with this, Ram jumped up and ran to the sofa, climbing on it and wrapping himself around Nesta’s arm, looking at the book, as if he knew what it would say.
Azriel felt Elain tense momentarily against him, when Ram put his cheek on Nesta’s shoulder, budding his head into her and breathing heavily. Would a scolding follow? Would she snap at him, as he worried about the piglet’s fate? Would she order him back to the floor?
Nesta wrapped her arm around him gently and kissed the top of his head.
“Do you want me to read more, my sweet boy?” she asked. And such gentleness Azriel’s never heard in Nesta’s voice.
Ram nodded, “Yes, you read it, Nes.”
“Alright then,” Nesta tucked him against her and continued reading. The piglet fought back.
...They ate dinner together at the House.
The kids had made holly wreaths and crowns to wear at Solstice, and told how the ‘ladies in dresses’ helped them and how much fun they had, and how the ladies gave them pie too. All of that was said in one breathless go. Ladies in dresses were the priestesses of the Library, and they adored the children’s visits, probably more than anyone else. They always did magnificent arts and crafts with them, took them to feed the baby pegasus and entertained them with puppets and songs.
As they got ready to go, Cassian called after Elain.
“Good trip?” he asked.
She nodded, “Yes. Signed some agreements, danced, ate, shopped, sat in too many meetings.”
“Great!”
Excitedly, she added, “I almost killed Graysen!”
“Yeah?” Cassian’s hazel eyes lit up in savage delight. “Good girl. Why didn’t you?”
She huffed, “Didn’t want to stain the floor. Vassa has very nice floors.”
“Understandable.”
“He pissed himself though.”
“And that’s punishment enough.”
He helped her gather all the wreaths and crowns and hot cocoa pouches in a bag and then said, quietly,
“I thought about what you said.”
“Uh uh,”
“While we are waiting for things to happen, I thought it would be a good idea to visit your orphanage and see...see if there is an Illyrian youngling or two who’s in need of a family.”
Elain smiled.
***
Cassian did not win the snowball fight. His strategy did not work. Ramiel won the snowball fight. His first win.